***

Days later, I go back to Professor Kairim, with a draft for a relic description project saved on my tablet.

Everyone seems to think the formal description of relics is boring, but I found it surprisingly interesting.

Even relics of insignificant power have unusual properties - they reflect images slightly altered, or they always fall on the same side, or cast shadows that don’t match their shape. Researching their history can be insightful, too: where were they found, exactly? Were they close to other relics? We don’t know, after all, if some of the relics we find are meant to work in synergy.

Archival research is fascinating as well. Did the Thaumocracy, or the Old Council, study a particular relic? The Thaumocracy mages managed to fully activate a few Precursor relics, producing different, sometimes stronger effects than the ones mundane researchers observe.

The connection isn’t always obvious - why would a relic that normally distorts color suddenly purify water when handled by a mage? Which one was its original purpose?

As for the Old Council, their research is much more cautious, but it yielded the few real breakthroughs ever achieved in relic research, like the creation of theta detectors and theta disruptors.

Classification sounds less interesting than trying to use the relics, true. But to my surprise, the more I delve in the course material, the more I see the merits of the historialist approach - how can we understand the relics, if we don’t study them closely, together with the context that brought them to us?

And of course, there would be other options open to me, to study the relics. If I could take one outside the Vault, I could carefully peek at it in the Else, I so want to…

No. I’m not here for that. Even if the thought makes me a little sick, I must remember I’m here as a thief. I won’t really study the relics, magically or otherwise.

I hate thinking about that, so I shove the thought away. What matters is that I have a project proposal that needs Professor Kairim’s approval.

At the exact minute xir office hours begin, professor Kairim’s door slides open. Xe looks at me from behind xir imposing black desk, frowning for a moment, then xe nods.

“I appreciate punctuality,” xe says. “So, you already have a project idea for my course? While I usually recommend students to start their research as soon as possible, I still wish to point out that there's plenty of time, my finals will be in six months.”

“Yes, but I see no reason to delay,” I say, stepping into the study. The door slides close behind me. “I prefer taking my time for archival work. I’m new to it, after all.”

Xe nods, with a small smile, and I can tell xe’s pleased. Much as I try to shove the truth about my reasons away, I feel worse and worse about deceiving xem.

“So, what is your idea?” Professor Kairim asks, leaning forward from xir black throne-like chair. “Can I see your proposal, if you’ve written it down already?”

“Well, I meant these only as informal notes,” I say, taking out my tablet and feigning reluctance. I did hope xe’d ask, and I drafted it very carefully. Impressing xem is in my interest, of course, but I honestly want xem to think highly of me, and I’m nervous about xir criticism at my project idea.

Why do I care about either? Again, I shove away the unhelpful thoughts. I’m a student, of course I care about impressing an expert in my field.

I connect to the professor’s tablet and send xem my proposal. Xe opens it immediately, and starts reading carefully, silent and concentrated. It’s not the skimming read I expected from a bureaucrat signing me a permission, or the fast, suspicious gaze of a teacher correcting homework.

Xe looks like a scholar examining an interesting document. I wonder if xe learned to look like that even if xe’s reading a grocery list, or if xe actually gives any student’s homework the same attention xe gives to the Thaumocracy annals.

“That’s well structured,” xe says, “even if I should suggest some more concision in your future scholarly work. Which you’ll produce without doubt - I see you have a true interest in the subject matter.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling proud and stupid and frustrated. “Is it viable for your class?”

Xe nods. “Definitely. A minor relic, which so far received only a cursory description, and hasn’t been studied with rigor in modern times. Also one that, as you rightly note, probably worked in combination with some other device. Did it attract your attention for some specific reason?”

I combed the database of stored relics - it turns out it’s open information - and found something kept in the same aisle as my real objective. It’s a small stone object, similar to a toy spinning top, which if made to rotate, quickly reverses its spin, violating a bunch of physical laws in the process.

But I can’t mention the convenient positioning, of course.

“The relic has a weak enough effect,” I say, “but it creates an outright physical impossibility. Admittedly, most relics have effects that challenge physics, they’re magical after all. But the minor ones usually aren’t this… blatant? Distorted reflections, an object slightly colder than the room it’s in, a box with inner volume slightly exceeding its outer dimensions… they’re all interesting effects, but you wouldn’t immediately see the relics doing something impossible.”

Which makes sense, even if it was Iketek who explained that a spinning top spontaneously reversing direction is a serious breach of the laws of physics. To me, it looked like a physics misdemeanor at most.

Xe nods, looking pleased. “Some would call it a much less obvious form of magic. But while not impressive, it is as you say a blatant demonstration of magical properties. The relic doesn’t simply use magic as a source of power for a mundane effect. Like the many perpetual-motion relics, it produces a force that doesn’t follow the laws of dynamics. Very good reasoning. Also, it’s an easily handled object, and one that is almost impossible to hurt yourself with, so it’s fitting for a student project.”

“So, I can just… take it from the Vault and study it? A Precursor relic?” I say. I mean, even if I weren’t a thief, it’s weird that they let a student do that.

“As long as you don’t take it out of the vault level,” professor Kairim says, stern. “But most of the relic laboratories are there anyway. There’s supervision required for more dangerous, or precious items, but relics don’t break easily, and this one is classified as not dangerous. I’ll sign you an authorization, so you can take it out and study it.”

“When we’ll do laboratory testing for my class,” he goes on, “I’ll help you write a formal description. If you find some small undescribed property, we could also work on a technical paper. Having a publication as an undergrad will do good for your career.”

I realize, with the feeling of looking down from a cliff, that right now I’d like doing my archive research, and maybe publishing a paper, more than owning the Art the Veil, more than mastering any magical power.

I let Tharvais fade a bit to the back of my mind. As Korentis, yeah, sorry for the professor, xe’s nice, but no way describing spinning tops in mind-numbing detail is as cool as owning the Black Liar’s guide to magic.

“Thank you, professor,” I say. “I’m looking forward to beginning this work.”

I tilt my head, and I’m about to leave when the professor clears xir throat. “One last question,” xe says, steepling xir fingers like the villain from a Thaumocracy historical thriller. “What draws such a young student to my field? I’m not complaining, of course. But it’s uncommon. Rigorous, historically rooted study of relics is something that grows on people, usually. The ruins themselves, or the grand theories about the Precursors, are more popular with undergrads.”

I pretend to think about it - but I came here prepared for this kind of question.

“You can’t hold a whole archaeological site in your hands,” I say. “And you can’t touch a theory, or a theta signal. But I could hold that relic in my palm.”

Xe nods, as if I had said something very deep, and not a paraphrased quote from xir books. I liked it, though.

“May I ask what fascinates you, professor?” I ask, kicking myself for making this conversation longer than needed. “You’re a full professor for a prestigious university, you could work on any project you wish. But you’re still very focused on formal descriptions and archival research. Some people think they’re menial, introductory work, but you obviously don’t.”

Xe seems surprised - for a moment I fear xe’ll be angry. After all, I half-insulted xir whole field of study. Some students do say xe only does descriptions because xe’s too boring for actual research, but xe really doesn’t strike as some lazy academic doing the bare minimum.

“It’s a good question,” professor Kairim says, speaking slowly, as if truly thinking about the answer. “And yes, description and cataloging is considered less prestigious than archeology proper, or functional study of relics, or working on a general theory of their use.”

Xe makes a pause, then xe goes on, xir tone still formal, a professor giving a lecture. But there’s a hint of passion, now.

“We work on the greatest mystery that ever was,” xe says. “We try to put together a puzzle older than our history, vaster than our world, possibly involving non-human species. What we have is an endless paradox.

“Precursor ruins were here before us, and yet there’s no evidence they were built before the Ship’s landing. There’s actually some geological indication against it.

“The ruins were built by mages, for mages, but the Council and the Thaumocracy, for all their power, could never replicate them. The ruins are full of machinery, perfectly preserved, and yet none of it works. Some ruins look perfectly sealed when we dig them up, and yet they’re mostly empty, with relics haphazardly strewn around.

“What were these sites? What happened to them? Most importantly - who, or what, built them?

“Despite centuries of research, we stumble in the dark. We lack the general picture and most of the details to truly solve this puzzle. And this puzzle matters, it matters deeply, because we know the study of relics led to the Empress’ Fall, and later to the Breaking of the Moon, and the ascension of the Three. It’s an enormous problem, and we work on it with both hands tied, and our eyes closed – because we can’t use magic, we don’t know anything about the Precursors, we’re still not entirely sure they were even human to begin with.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Some of my colleagues focus a lot on what the relics do. And no doubt, that’s important. Some have practical utility - Rakavdon uses powerful relics to keep the canals’ water clean, for example. The study of relics allowed us to build theta detectors.”

Xe sighs, and steeples xir fingers over the desk.

“But it all seems a small gain, to me,” he says, his voice lower, “compared to the tiniest chance of solving the puzzle, of learning who made these things, and how, and why. So, I think we can’t afford to discard any information. As long as we understand so little, who is to say that the exact placement of a relic isn’t essential? Most of my colleagues think details such as the time elapsed since a relic was unearthed don’t matter, but do we really know that, with sufficient confidence? What if something changes in the relics, once we move them? It definitely happened in a few cases.

“So that’s why I believe in our work. I think while we stumble in ignorance, we can’t afford to decide what matters and what doesn’t. Every scrap of information we can gather about the Precursors and the Relics should be studied, cataloged, and made available. One day, maybe, we’ll have enough scraps to piece together the truth.”

***

In the evening, we go out to practice – partly to avoid using magic too often in our flat, partly because Daravoi and Iketek are clearly itching to have a walk. Why do they want to go outside when we have a comfy, warm apartment with plenty of food and electronics, I’ll never understand.

“This looks desolate enough,” Iketek says, looking around at the broken glass-dome - the same where Daravoi and I decided to embark in this whole mess. “We can practice a bit, as long as you’re careful not to disturb the Veil.”

“Isn’t our apartment better for that?” I ask, “I mean, you did all the squiggly magic lines on the walls.”

I’m pretty sure those are called obscuring wards, but after spending so much time as a pompous student, I’m determined to sound as stupid as possible. It makes me sound like, well, myself.

“You’re passably competent in hiding your theta signature, I believe, so we can take a little risk,” Iketek says. “And we can’t properly practice Juggling , and Ruin inside our apartment, for obvious reasons. We’re going through cups at an alarming rate.”

“I learned to kill flies with Elsefire, though,” Daravoi says. “It was worth becoming a mage just for that.”

Iketek raises her eyebrows. “That’s surprisingly useful, both as pest control and as training exercise. Even if I wish I knew how fruit flies made their way in the coldest city on Refuge. This place never fails to disappoint.”

“Yeah, this city is shitty and cold, I’m freezing already,” I say, “and I’d been happy to stay in bed. So, what are we going to do?”

She took us to an abandoned playground - I was half-convinced she wanted to take sad pictures of broken slides while I shivered with cold.

“We’re here to break something,” she answers. Then she crouches to touch the snowy ground with one hand, and golden light flows from her fingers, spilling into the snow like ink.

A mound of golden snow rises, then changes shape and shrinks, forming a low, crescent-shaped wall between us and Iketek. Its surface becomes perfectly smooth, and when the golden light drains away, it’s no longer snow, but ice, flawless and transparent.

“Cool”, Daravoi says, “are you going to teach us that?”

“You’re terrible at Shaping,” she says. “And honestly, I’m not that good, either. I’ll try to teach you some of it when we’re done with Juggling. Right now, I made this only to act as a target. So, break this wall. You go first, Korentis.”

I study the wall, making a show of rubbing my chin. “Hm… I think I could kick it down?”

“You definitely couldn’t,” Iketek says, “it’s solid ice, twenty centimeters thick, and you are extremely weak. Try Elsefire, or telekinesis. You must gain some skill with those.”

I really don’t get the point, it’s not like I’ll ever be worth anything in a fight. But if I humor her, we can get home earlier.

I open my eyes to the Else - slowly, making sure not to make ripples in the Veil. The world acquires a blue tinge, and I’m suddenly aware that the moon will rise in a few minutes - I can see the vast gash in the sky, in reality, even when it’s below the horizon.

Iketek says Elsefire is the most basic form of magic - drag a little of the Else into the physical world, don’t do anything with it, and it will burn.

Daravoi says he sees the faults in the world, the weak points that can be broken, and he can destroy something by pouring his power into them.

Neither approach works for me. If I just Summon raw essence from the Else, it becomes Else-glass. And if I try to see the ways the wall could break, I see a spiral of confusing probabilities, most of them involving Iketek or Daravoi smashing it with their magic.

But I can make Elsefire, I did it in the past. I mechanically follow the sequence taught by the Council book: focus on my fingers, watch them disincarnate, imagine taking literal fire from the Else, then picture the anchor glyph for fire, and throw the collected essence like a ball.

It kind of works. A snarling mess of interlocking blue spirals forms in my hands, and I throw it, as if it had weight. It flies like a physical object, and sizzles and melts the ice wall. It leaves a molten dent in it, not even a whole hole.

I mean, it’s a fairly good dent! Definitely better than I could do with a lighter, And I have used Elsefire, like Iketek asked. But I know, now, how it feels when my magic flows properly, and this isn’t it. This is a brute force attempt that can’t even punch through packed snow.

That would be good enough for me, usually. Sort-of-success is the most I ever expected from myself.

With magic, it doesn’t feel enough. I don’t want passing marks, you tried. But I feel the familiar, slow moving panic that creeps on me when I realize I can’t do something that is easy for everyone else. Just sit down. Why can’t you be normal. Simply summon Else-Fire.

Iketek sighs, her fingers brush against the wall, and golden light repairs it.

“You try, Dara. But without touching the wall. You’re too reliant on contact.”

His smile changes to a scowl - he likes touching stuff and making it break, it’s his strong suit after all. But then he nods.

“I’ll try something.”

He crouches, and puts a hand to the ground, like Iketek did. In the Else, his head and chest glow a deep, dark red.

Jagged tendrils of red light shoot from Daravoi’s fingers, moving over the snow's surface, reaching Iketek’s wall. Red lightning explodes inside the ice, and the wall disintegrates. Steam shoots in every direction, and shards of ice fly toward us, so fast that I Summon by instinct a possible world where they all miss me.

With sparks of blue light, the chunks of ice zip past me. A thin wall of golden light appeared in front of Iketek, stopping the fragments going her way.

“Ouch,” Daravoi says, but he laughs - he was the least protected, and the wave of icy fragments pushed him down on his ass. An ice splinter cut his cheek, drawing blood, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Sorry. Didn’t expect that.”

“Always be careful, Daravoi,” Iketek reproaches him. “Your path is immensely destructive. Even if you don’t mean to hurt anyone, you can cause secondary explosions, or collapse the structure you’re in. You must never, never forget that.”

I remember the video of a building sliced apart, and the cascade of dust and rubble flooding a neighborhood, and I wince. That was a Ruin-mage, like Daravoi. That’s some scary thought.

“Sorry, sorry,” Daravoi says, raising his hands. “You’re right. Really. I’ll be careful.”

Iketek nods. “That said, it was a good trick. Apparently, your magic works best flowing through solid matter. You can’t always rely on that, but when it works, it can be much easier than trying to force Elsefire to propagate through air.”

She turns to me. “Now, Korentis. Your Juggling improved a lot. Did you use that mind trick you told me about? You should find something like that for Elsefire. You really must learn to make it work.”

“Why?” I say, looking down. “Come on. I’m the scammer of the group, not the fighter.”

Iketek narrows her eyes. “You really don’t see it?” she asks. “You’re going to rob a place guarded by ThauCons, with their Council mages, and another powerful mage who is probably a Council agent. We don’t want a fight. But you must be able to hold your own, at least long enough to flee.”

I think about the council woman with the green, glowing eyes, or the grad student and the fury in his mental touch. The soldiers in silver armor. The idea of trying to fight any of them makes me sick. And my snow-melting ball of spirals definitely won’t do the trick.

“Ok, ok,” I say. “I hope I won’t ever have to fight, but you’re right. Better safe than sorry. I guess. How did you learn Elsefire, Iketek? You’re not good with Ruin, either.”

She stares at me.

“An older initiate would throw wooden balls at me with magic, until I learned to make a shield and break them mid-flight. Anger and suffering are useful to find the Path of Ruin.” she says, grim. “It did work, in time. But I’d prefer to avoid that particular teaching method.”

I wince, remembering when I accused her of being mean because she threw us snowballs.

She touches the snow, and the ice wall forms again. “Now, another round.”

I look at the half-moon, rising above the city’s skyline. The crack - glowing green now - extends into the dark part of the moon, and past it into the sky.

“If three old people broke that,” I say, “I can definitely break some ice, come on.”

Iketek looks surprised, then she laughs. “You… just used the Breaking of the Moon as a motivational speech? That’s disturbing in so many ways.”

Slowly, I let myself go deeper into the Else. There are strange things there, like eddies of light, and shapes moving at the edge of my sight. But that’s not what I care about now. I want the clarity of the Else, seeing the world for what it is - just a small, shallow layer of physical reality over the great ocean of possibilities.

The world is lies and darkness,

but I have seen the light.

The Else is more true, more real than the Here. It’s just that the Here doesn’t always like to admit it.

I could easily make the illusion of cutting through the wall with my magic. It’s a simple manipulation of light.

But light burns, lasers cut metal.

Suddenly, the idea is so clear in my mind, I have to force myself to slow down, to do it carefully, not to upset the Veil. I search in the spiral of potential worlds for one connected by a purple line - a world that can’t be, but that I can imagine. One where I am a ruin-mage, where my magic cuts and burns with ease.

I spin a Lie where I make a cutting gesture in midair, and a wave of blue light slices all the way through the wall, cutting it neatly in half. It will be a light-illusion, with no mental component.

Except I pour power in it, because to make it a convincing illusion, all the light and heat must be there.

So, in the end, what’s the difference between the illusion and reality?

The result is not nearly as clean as it should be. My scythe of light reaches the wall, but instead of cutting it neatly, the ice breaks and sputters and sizzles. I guess the elegant slicing effect of Elsefire doesn’t really work with mundane light and heat. But it still works. I made a deep notch in the wall, all across its length, melting and vaporizing ice. And, after a moment, the whole upper half collapses.

“That’s… a remarkable improvement,” Iketek says. She walks to the ruined wall and touches it, confused - she probably felt I was making a Lie, but her fingers find the wall really broken. She looks surprised, possibly even a little worried.

I make a deep stage-bow toward Iketek and Daravoi.

“Thank you, thank you, no need to clap! I just needed to make it a bit of a show,” I say. “Now, can we go home and play games?”