Five rings of brilliant blue mana illuminated the silvery frame of the Aethersphere. The heavy globe within its core wobbled to find equilibrium, the pointed tip of the indicator oscillating wildly between negative fifteen and twenty-seven.

Oraculum drew closer to the instrument with his eyes fixed upon the core. He felt his heart rate increasing as the indicator slowed—a result of zero would signal the end of the divided realms, the pinnacle of achievement—his ultimate goal.

Gradually the globe wobbled less and less. Projecting out from the center, the indicator passed zero with decreasing velocity and never again returned, its orientation below the horizontal marker. Oraculum silently noted the numbers as the oscillations slowed.

Eight. Fifteen. Nine. Forteen…

This was the first measurement taken since the repositioning of Ezrazeit’s stone; a difficult undertaking that had taken years to accomplish. There would be consequences for a nonzero result. He felt his heart rate increasing further, though not from excitement, from anger.

Around the twenty foot sphere stood ten of his most trusted advisors—dimensionalists adorned in cerulean robes with silver threads. Their nerves betrayed their stoic expressions, subtle fidgeting meant the waiting was becoming too much for them to bear. All twenty hands clutched thick tomes filled with calculations and sketches of their field of study. Each stated beforehand that they believed their estimations were correct, and yet…

“I was promised a different result,” said Oraculum, his tone warning the gathered ten. “Make the needed adjustments and try again.”

With the command given, the dimensionalists rushed to action. Two of them steepened the tilt of the smallest ring of blue mana while two others rotated the middle ring by one degree. Half of the remaining six checked their calculations and made one percent changes to the orientation of the outer two concentric rings. The last two of the ten opened their tomes and began their review of the second ring, an uncertain cadence in their voices.

Oraculum wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Do you consider…”

“No,” Oraculum interrupted. “Let Kaelin and Uther make their adjustment as they see fit.”

The cadence in the voices of the aforementioned two became noticeably more uncertain, bordering on frightened. Oraculum approached them, arms open to calm them down.

“Trust in your abilities,” he said to them, though with a volume that allowed all ten to hear. “Demonstrate your knowledge is worthy of the robe you wear. We are all watching.”

Calibrating the Aethersphere was a task of great difficulty, the range of possible configurations so wide and complex that only the best and brightest could understand. However, the stress of the task had unintentional consequences: loss of confidence, loss of ability, and the worst of all—disillusionment with the desired goal. More than a few advisors had lost their way over the millenia and every so often Oraculum had to trim the fat, so to speak.

Killing them was the most effective way.

For one, killing was necessary to maintain the extreme focus of the other advisors, for Ezrazeit was founded to bring about the end of divided realms, and Oraculum made certain there was no deviation to that purpose. Secondly, it created openings for the best neophytes to advance, and that progression was needed to maintain overall morale.

The third reason, the one he’d never disclose openly, was he took pleasure from the task. There were so few opportunities to wield his true power. Prior to Ezrazeit, advancement had been his singular focus, and even though he had achieved a level that elevated his status to a minor deity, fully flexing his hard-earned power brought a dopamine rush that rivaled even the highest enlightenment of the mind.

He was, after all, only human.

“Well? Tell me what the problem is,” said Oraculum, his patience wearing thin.

The shorter of the two dimensionalists, a toad-like being named Kaelin, stepped forward with his palms held open in protest. “Is there no tolerance for outcomes other than perfection, Oraculum? We cannot find any error in our calculations that would require a change in the second ring, nor the other four. How can we be certain some external factor is not influencing the Aethersphere?”

Oraculum smiled, somewhat amused by the implication the blame should be shifted elsewhere. “Perhaps you have lost understanding of the underlying principles of this device, Kaelin. The Aethersphere is not affected by minor perturbations of this realm.”

“No,” Kaelin replied. “But not all beings that travel this realm are minor.”

This fact was true, but being told the information without evidence to support it was the equivalent of backtalk. Hiding his annoyance, Oraculum chose to continue the conversation to hear Uther’s opinion on the matter. “An external factor is your equal’s answer. What have you to say?”

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“Master… I… agree with Kaelin,” said Uther, struggling to enunciate the words. He kept his eyes focused on the smooth concrete floor of the observatory, saying nothing more.

Outright killing the two lingered on Oraculum’s mind. After all, the non-zero result was a failure, and failures had consequences. Though he couldn’t pinpoint Kaelin and Uther as the blame specifically, they hadn’t offered up any real solution besides calling into doubt the work of the other eight. That wasn’t good for cohesion, and as their silence persisted, the more anger bubbled up inside Oraculum. Killing was the only way to quiet that anger. He clenched his fist and approached the dimensionalists with the intent to create two open positions within his advisor ranks.

Suddenly, Oraculum noticed a subtle rippling of the blue mana within the rings of the Aethersphere. The observation reset his murderous intent. He needed a minute alone with the instrument, and knowing all ten were watching him closely, he raised his finger and pointed toward the observatory exit doors.

The ten advisors hurried out of the grand concrete room, clutching their thick tomes as they exited. A quiet began with their absence. A stillness that Oraculum needed to precisely observe the Aethersphere. To observe the mana. To confirm the rippling wasn’t being caused by him or any of the powerful beings that made up his council.

The rippling persisted.

It was subtle, so subtle that Oraculum believed no other could observe it visually. He didn’t see it himself. He felt it as a tingling. A sense that something foreign was moving within the mana that had not been there before. After a millennia of constructing and calibrating the Aethersphere, he had attuned to it, as if it were almost an extension of his own power. Yet the complexity of the instrument required others to help, and so he found himself with a conundrum: he knew there was a problem but he didn’t know which of his ten advisors he could trust.

Lacking clear answers, Oraculum left the observatory and walked the ancient stone passages toward Ezrazeit’s oldest wing. He sought the solitude of the Moon Tower, his exalted chamber, a hundred foot tall structure where he could think beneath the stars without distraction.

The familiar steps of the spiral staircase welcomed him with silent strength as he ascended the tower. Then reaching the top, he looked down at the sprawling complex of Ezrazeit, his feelings muted, disheartened at the situation yet not willing to concede that he had pushed too hard in his pursuit of the goal. Advisors had ample resources available to them. Perfection should be expected.

No path forward entered his thinking, so he turned his gaze upward to the gleaming white moon. There was a calmness to its beauty. A mighty power within its size. Then, after a few more moments of observing, something unusual caught his eye.

A dark cloud changed shape in the sky above the forest. The cloud became long and thin, then bulging and overturning, like it was churning rapidly through thousands of patterns in flight. As it moved higher above the horizon, its size inflated so greatly that it began to obscure the moon.

“A ravager swarm…”

Oraculum focused specifically on the swarm. He felt the presence of thousands of beasts—more specifically, thousands of stirge. The power level of each one was minuscule, but they were no longer independent. Each stirge was linked.

The massive ravager swarm was a new entity to itself, a form of the stirge that was so rare as to be called mythical to anyone who hadn’t experienced its terror personally. It took a certain number of the beasts that was almost impossible to gather before they started to devour themselves. Yet there it was. Oraculum marveled at the sight.

“Is this the source of the rippling?” he speculated aloud. With the size of the swarm now blotting out the moon, it certainly was possible.

His expression morphed to a wide grin of anticipation as he realized the opportunity in front of him. A gravity well was one of the more difficult powers to use efficiently, but the swarm offered thousands of beings within a defined region. That was plenty of justification to give it a go.

Oraculum raised his right hand into a fist and concentrated. A deep purple swirl formed in the sky, the center aligned within the ever-changing shape of the ravager swarm. Deepening his focus, the velocity of the swirl increased, though it remained tiny in comparison to the massive swarm.

Projecting gravity well…

He tightened his fist using all of his strength. The boundaries of the dark cloud-like entity, consisting of every single stirge within the ravager swarm, instantly collapsed inward to a singular point. The effect was silent. Fatal. Efficient.

Lowering his fist, the gravity well collapsed in on itself and vanished in the sky. He laughed at how easy it was—how pleasurable it felt. The act was cathartic. Oraculum no longer needed the solitude of the Moon Tower. He descended the stairs and hurried back to the Aethersphere.

“Master, is it your wish to continue?” asked the most senior advisor of the group of ten. Their presence within the observatory was unexpected. “We have checked Kaelin and Uther’s work and made the adjustment to the second ring.”

The two advisors mentioned by the senior did not make eye contact like the rest. They stood looking at the floor, still clutching their tomes.

Oraculum approached his ten advisors and surveyed their willingness to proceed. All of them seemed ready to resume the taking of measurements. The other thing he verified was the absence of rippling within the brilliant blue mana, though he did not make his action obvious or known.

No rippling persisted within the rings of the Aethersphere. The mana was perfectly smooth.

Turning to face the row of dimensionalists adorned in cerulean robes with silver threads, Oraculum showed no outward emotion—his expression purposefully stoic. Within, he felt a roaring anger. Perfection could not be achieved with the gathered group of ten. This was clear.

He raised his right hand to quiet his anger. Extending his fingers outward, flesh separated from bone. His advisors fell upon the concrete. Bloody cerulean robes spread across the floor.

The anger gone, Oraculum lowered his hand. “I am sorry I doubted you,” he said to the ones still standing, speaking truthfully.

Approaching with open arms, Oraculum embraced his remaining advisors. Tomorrow they would be joined by new dimensionalists, the best and brightest neophytes elevated to their rank.

Kaelin and Uther stood speechless.

Oraculum smiled, his gaze returning to the Aethersphere. “Now let us continue our work.”