The study of the arcane arts is premeditated with the cultivation of the mind. The rigors of controlling divinity itself demanding of its user immense concentration and centeredness: a perfected soul in supplication of gods.

Kobari, a major arcane school, was developed simply for the necessity of cultivating such centered minds. The production of art and culture, of learning and academic progression a path along the journey of Magehood.

Samuel’s delicate fingers draw in the deposited sand a nearly perfect representation of the scouted mining pit. Marked out priority targets represented with differing symbols, guards and workers each pertaining to a necessary form of elimination.

“May I suggest an increase in prioritization of the light machine gun emplacement.” Auditor Manara speaks up through a mouthful of sustenance. “A weapon such as that is difficult to manage despite its non-lethality to me.”

A change in plan executed, Samuel redrawing out the list as he stares at the woman.

Within her hands an opened airtight case of white animal fat is exposed to the desert air. A thin layer of slightly melted foodstuffs immediately begins to liquify against the heat of an afternoon sun, the immensely caloric rich foodstuff a reserved luxury for those of arcane practice.

A nostalgia in the eyes of the boy at the material, his cold voiced request done purely from instinct and insistence. “May I have some.”

The woman pauses at the words, a smile followed by a light chuckle. “I assure you what I am consuming is not, by any definition, classified as food.”

Samuel answers with insight and knowledge. “It is a mixture of derived fats and minerals created to maximize caloric storage and assimilation. Its consumption is reserved for mages who are preparing for periods of heavy augmentation use.”

Attracted by the words, the sibling perks her resting head up. “May I have some as well?”

A nostalgia as Manara remembers her own brothers and sisters’ instance of the discussion, the disgusted looks on their faces at the taste of the substance too difficult to result in replaying in other forms.

“I would not suggest it.” The woman attempts to hide a smile.

“A single spoonful.” Samantha pleads calmly.

Reluctant sigh hiding within it a secretive expression of familial joy, Manara relenting as she motions for the twisari fratrem to approach her.

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Spooning out a single serving of the paste the girl is the first to bite in with a voracious appetite.

The warmness of the human body turns the solid chunk of material into an oily mess within the mouth, a rejection of precious foodstuffs imminent as the girl stubbornly makes a face of disgust and contempt.

“Do not waste it.” Manara teases.

A tasteless mass overflowing the mind, the girl swallowing under duress as the neutral aftertaste remains coated throughout her entire preliminary digestive system. Samantha coughs, her sibling next in line as the woman scoops forth another serving.

Samuel fares much better, a system already familiar to the taste and texture of the derived foodstuff the boy takes the single bite without hesitation.

Samantha retches as she watches her brother consume the serving without protest, voice harsh in physical distress. “This is terrible.”

“It is not good.” Samuel agrees as he takes a deep breath. “However, the existence of mages necessitates its consumption. The usage of caloric energy sources for augmentation demands its user the implementation of high concentration foods within their diet. This is especially in the case of combat schools such as Aanar and Danar.”

“You speak as if you are used to such an act.” Manara notes with a slight sarcasm.

“In desperate hours, one must be able to consume any and all things.” Samuel states simply. “Such is the truth of a Mage’s existence in this world.”

“Such it is.” Manara agrees with care.

Auditor Manara meditates as she continues to eat, sitting in silence as she watches the twins before her work through a battle plan.

Recentering her mind towards a conflict to come, the preparation of killing removed in a centered mind. A duty oathed to a distant nation; the augmented soul worthless in the face of a terrifying prophecy. A truth hidden in the purpose of the Auditors, the losethi themselves an icon of a danger to the very existence of the Armin Collective.

Manara suppresses unease at the thought, a twisari fratrem destined for this world of something greater than themselves. A lone pair, a bond woven in the womb, wandering beneath dead gods. Within academic knowledge of religious text a feeling of hope and fear emerges at the very implication; of a prophecy spoken long ago to change the very existence of humanity within the holy walls.

Auditor Manara takes a deep breath as she supplements mediation with prayer; a belief rarely practiced yet done with finality at the brim of conflict.

A safe return to a home across an ocean of sand and time.

Of preservation against a conflict to come.

To a future uncertain, of intertwined fates to be separated.

“Stratos and Strata, twins above, grant me insight to this war ahead. Armin, great protector, guide my mind and my hands in this act, so that I may return home to my collective.”