21 - A flash of lightning

‘Mistrust of precursor relics is not a matter of superstition.

The value produced by studying them is dubious. Despite centuries of academic work, the fate of the Precursors is still poorly understood, and the research on their ruins and technologies has yielded limited insight.

The risks, however, are well documented. Ruin exploration and interaction with relics has caused a large number of deadly incidents [4][5][6].

Most concerningly, it is well established[1][2] that the study of relics – specifically the complex known as the Endless Stairway [3] - allowed archmage Keidesek to initiate the events which led to the Breaking of the Moon.

Furthermore, The Book of the Officers - which despite its religious value, is undeniably a historical source - clearly states that the relics should be left alone. While religious prohibitions are irrelevant to the Laws of the Alliance [7], we argue that the Book’s warning can’t be reasonably dismissed as ignorance or superstition.

Even without the Book’s prohibition, there would be a compelling risk-and-reward case for banning the study of the Precursors.

Our world can’t afford another catastrophe on the same order as the Breaking.’

Advisory note from the ThauCon Agency’s Strategic Committee to the Parliament of the World Alliance.

I look at a grainy, unsteady video on my tablet.

In the few frames that aren’t too dark nor overexposed, it shows people dancing in a nightclub - the Moonbreaker. I can’t believe there’s a nightclub named after the Three Traitors, but apparently, people find it cool.

It’s a shitty, unsteady phone video taken by a nightclub patron. She claims that a friend of hers suddenly approached two young people, talked to them for no reason, and that her friend forgot about it immediately later.

CivInt, of course, didn’t flag the video as interesting, and told the informer that her friend must have been on drugs. Fortunately, I wouldn’t trust Investigations to find water in the canals, so I periodically check the reports from the public.

I advance the video frame by frame, until I get a decent view of the suspects. They are the only two people who aren’t dancing - a thin, pale kid and a shorter, thick set boy with sandy hair and a strange tattoo along his arm.

Would Korentis and his friend really go to a public place, just like that? And to a night club named the Moonbreaker - is it some sick joke? And while Korentis could make someone talk to xem and forget about it, what would be the point of it?

But maybe I’m overthinking. The picture is poor quality, and with hair dyed white and fluorescent paint, it’s hard to tell if that’s actually Korentis. As for the Kalestran, Daravoi, we never got a clean picture of him.

“Do those people look like our suspects to you?” I ask Kaelich as xe noisily munches his cereals.

“Are you already working? What’s wrong with you?” Xe says, his mouth still full. Xe looks at the video, though.

“I don’t know if that’s Korentis,” xe says, serious. “But xe’s kinda hot. Is Korentis that hot?”

I groan. “Seriously, Ser. This could be a trail.”

Xe shrugs. “Could be. Two kids, one slim and white, one thick and darker, with Kalestran clan tattoos. But that fits a lot of people, and the face is grainy. Well, we see pretty much every other part of the white kid’s body, but that doesn’t help much. Korentis doesn’t have significant tattoos other than the facial ones. Wait, or does xe? Do we have a swimming pool picture of Korentis, or something like that?”

“Of course,” Sorivel says, reaching us, “I come here and find Cerical working and Kaelich looking at sinful pictures.”

He shambles to take his place next to us at the table. He’s useless until he gets a coffee, which he swears isn’t a sinful beverage.

“Morning is the best time to work,” I say. “Especially because the three of you are still in bed.”

It’s nine in the morning, and the mess hall is slowly filling with groggy soldiers. I’ve been here for the last two hours. We’re off duty this morning, but that’s no excuse for tardiness.

Sori slowly stirs his coffee - real coffee at least, short and strong in the Zelenian way. “My old captain thought I was an uptight pain in the ass,” he says, and takes a sip. “I wish she could have you for a week.”

I never got the point of banter. And yet, I must admit, there’s something comforting about hearing slight variations of jokes my teammates made dozens of times.

“Look at this sinful picture and tell me if the half-naked sinner over there is Korentis,” I say, pushing the tablet toward Sori. Kaelich sniggers, as xe does sometimes when I speak without worrying to make myself sound normal.

“Captain forgive me for even looking at this,” Sorivel grumbles, “why don’t you Keresian wear clothes? Especially in this frozen, Navigator-forsaken country.”

Kaelich shrugs. “You people are prudes. That’s why you can’t enjoy a bath. Also, you don’t go inside the Moonbreaker wearing a coat, it’s not a place for formal wear.”

“Of course you’d know the place, if it’s a den of sin, you’ve been there,” Sorivel mumbles. “Anyway, xe definitely looks like Korentis. Have you sent Aeniki the picture? She can probably run some identification software. At the very least, she can check the bold guy’s tattoos - Kalestran tattoos are clan-specific, we know the Ruin mage is from clan Eich-Kal”

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

“I planned to do that, I just wanted to check that the similarity isn’t only in my mind,” I say. In truth, I hadn’t thought about it at all, and I didn’t know about Kalestran tattoos, but I should have. Sorivel looks at me and raises an eyebrow – oh, come on, that didn’t even count as a lie, it’s just a plan I formulated very recently.

“Well,” Kaelich says, still crunching xir cereals without covering xir mouth, “it makes sense that Korentis spends xir money partying, xe stole a necklace worth one year of our pay. I guess xe’s having some fun. Better than going nova.”

“I don’t think they went there to have fun,” Sorivel says, “you’re the expert in sinful places, Kael. But I’m pretty sure I read about the Moonbreaker as a popular place for illicit traffic. I think they’re still looking for their book.”

I grit my teeth. I don’t usually care that much about rogue mages - I even think ThauCon should be less aggressive toward them, and I made that point, if tangentially, in the essay that got me into trouble..

But Korentis is so grating. A bored rich kid who went rogue because xe could, didn’t even bother to keep a low profile, and yet evaded capture repeatedly.

Shouldn’t an intelligence officer, a real one, be able to catch xem in a minute, and prove her worth?

You aren’t half as smart as you think, Major Orner’s voice whispers in my mind. I squash the thought, and keep looking at the footage, frame by frame. Could I catch any hint of what they were doing?

“Why do you people wake up so fucking early,” Althea says, shambling into the room in a green silk pajamas. Team Red’s corporal glares at her from another table, but Council Agents have no obligation to follow dress code.

I mumble a greeting and don’t look as she approaches. I’m always nervous when we’re in public. We can’t kiss or hug, of course. But it feels dishonest to just treat her like any other team member. So, I pretend she isn’t there.

“So, what’s the plan for today, fearless leader?” She asks Kaelich. She makes a gesture, her fingers glow green for a moment, and coffee and sugar fly from the counter, landing in front of her.

“I finally got Sareas to sign our permission for magical training, so we could practice together,” xe answers, enthusiastically. “Then we could go out in the evening! There’s a full-sim movie about aliens hitting the theaters.”

“Fine,” Althea answers, and I start wondering just how much privacy would we get in a sim theater. “But if we’re going out, you’ll sign me a waiver for leaving the base without silver bracers. I’m not going out with those.”

“Wait,” Kaelich says, frowning, “why do you need that? I’ll sign whatever, don’t worry, I’m just curious.”

Althea rolls her eyes. “I need a waiver because three assholes broke the Moon, a few years ago. You might have heard of that. Everyone was really angry and they've been twitchy about mages since that. So, you’re technically my handler, and while it doesn’t mean much these days, you’ve got to sign a ton of paperwork.”

Kaelich nods. “Of course. It’s just that I didn’t notice Jaeleri ever asking for it, but he barely ever leaves the…”

He stops, so abruptly I turn to check if someone’s behind me and Althea. But a moment later, my own neuralink flashes with alerts - like angry red floaters over my vision.

That’s not good. I have do not disturb filters up, so it must be an emergency, but the alarm in the base are silent. I skim the notifications: emergency ThauCon Agency channel, ThauConBullettin breaking news, and three different news channels.

One World News - Breaking: magical terrorist attack in Valanes, Golden Coast. Hundreds presumed death.

ThauCon Bulletin - Emergency: code purple emergency in Valanes district, level 5 magical activity, ongoing

“What’s happening?” Althea asks, looking around. She doesn’t have neural implants, of course.

“Navigator, guide us,” Sorivel says, his voice shaking. “A magical attack. A big one.”

“Wait, Althea,” Kaelich says, “you’re from Golden Coast, right? Do you know anyone in Valanes?”

“I’m from the south, but I’ve some relatives,” she says, narrowing her eyes, “why?”

“You’d better look at this,” Kaelich says, sliding her xir tablet. Maybe I should have thought of that - but honestly, I can’t focus on Althea, right now.

QUERY: Valanes. News. Video feed, I command.

I immediately find three public feeds, with more popping in by the moment. Landfall Observer is usually reliable, so I blink twice to open it.

Watching a neuralink feed isn’t quite like being there, but it’s sure closer than looking at a screen. It’s a bit like being a ghost, floating and unable to move or talk, in a world with muted colors and slightly fuzzy lines.

So I find myself, unprepared, floating in front of a disaster zone.

“...from the town of Valanes, on the Golden Coast,” the reporter says. He’s a man in his late thirties, his body translucent in the recording, so that he doesn’t block the view.

Usually, reporters smile and look toward the public, giving calm commentary.

He doesn’t. He looks shocked, eyes wide, unable to look away from the rising pillars of smoke, from the people running in the street, screaming.

“We have limited information about the events,” he continues, with a strangled voice, “and lost contact with drones which approached further. We know a strong surge of magical activity was detected, a moment later hundreds of calls were made to emergency services.”

The visual switches to a drone camera, hovering above the sea. We’re a few hundred meters from the coast, which consists of a narrow sandy beach, and blocks upon blocks of squat concrete apartment towers just behind it.

Two buildings have collapsed into gigantic concrete piles. At first I think they’re on fire, but no, what’s rising up in the sky is not smoke. Just a cloud of dust.. It’s difficult to see what’s happening at ground level, but I can make out people running out of the dust cloud with clothes tied in front of their mouths.

“At least two buildings have collapsed following the – the event,” the reporter’s voice resonates in my head. “Hundreds of people have been reported injured, and emergency helicopters have trouble approaching because of the - the dust.”

The beach is thronged with people, too – some are jumping into the water on purpose, to swim away, some are simply pushed into the sea by the panicked crowd. I remember my parents’ stories from the war – magical fire falling from the sky, artillery shells turning whole neighborhoods to dust in minutes. Is it happening again? Has a new war come?

“The Agency for Thaumological Control has confirmed the attack is magical in nature, but… what is that?”

The reporter stops, gaping.

I see what he means - a thin line of light, like a purple slash through reality, cuts diagonally through a building. The line glows thicker, and the building parts, as if an absurdly vast, sharp knife had sliced it in half, and now was pushing the halves apart. One half of the building just floats in midair, like those cartoons for kids where characters don’t fall until they look down.

For a moment, I can see through the building, in the widening gap, there’s purple light swirling in mesmerizing spirals, and in the middle of it all there’s a single person, their body like purple glass, hands raised…

Then gravity comes back with a vengeance, and the upper part of the building - now unconnected to the base, and shifted several meters away - comes crashing down in an avalanche of metal and concrete. Dust erupts in every direction, chunks of concrete fly toward us, and despite years of using Stemlink, I scream and shield my face with my hands.

“We… we appear to have lost connection,” the journalist whispers.

***