A breeze carried the scent of fresh pine and daffodils through the window. The hint of winter still clinging to its coattails was perhaps partially responsible for the tickle in Sceth's spine.

Not that the trace cold mattered in this room. At its centre was a softly burning hearth set in a circular stone depression. It was large enough for even his tallest student to lie in, engulfed... should they wish, which he hoped they wouldn't. Sceth imagined his classes were marginally favourable to burning alive.

The irony hardly escaped him as he watched Flame. The Lothlo boy stood at the tilestones just before the hearth.

Flame raised his hands slightly. His forehead furrowed like the tide coming in. The heat of the boy's focus emanated like a ghostly hearth of its own.

The hearthfire danced in its own merry way for a few seconds, before beginning to bend to Flame's will. Sweat dotted his brow from both the heat of the hearth and the strain of concentrating. The stones beneath his feet rocked slightly, and he shifted his weight.

After a few seconds more, the fire molded itself into two distinct trails of flame, like two horns emerging from the hearth's base - a devil in the earth. Their shapes pinched in here and rotated there under Flame's guidance. Finally, they took on the shape of two symbols, scrawled in pulsating red.

Flame looked over expectantly.

Sceth gave him a slow, subtle nod.

The boy's mouth quirked into a likewise imperceptible smile.

Sceth waved him back to his seat, before getting up from his own desk and addressing everyone. The two dozen and some odd members of his class sat at their desks opposite him, arranged in concentric arcs around the Hearth. With a more curt wave, Sceth let the blazing symbols return to their normal business of acting like fire. They began to smolder down, casting dramatic shadows against the back wall.

“Yes, as Flame has correctly iterated and partially demonstrated, Metronomen and Wreath. I know the two sways haven't been directly relevant to your studies up to this point, but despite weeks of the two terms cropping up, I have seen them used in the wrong contexts several times still. Of course, as you are beginning to find out, the deeper we get into the sways, committing to Elements, and most importantly, actually putting this knowledge to physical practice, it will get easier." The hearth died. The mid-morning light made the room appear soft. The chill under Sceth's skin felt more tangible suddenly. "Your body and mind will work in tandem to make memory reality. But please try your best to remember.”

Sceth stifled a yawn and smiled at his students.

"Magic is young. Or old depending on how one looks at it, but as far as our aim of studying it goes, very young indeed. I don't imagine the lens we approach it with will always remain the same, but what we are trying to teach you here isn't merely how to move a rock or a tongue of fire. We want you to know when to and why. And as simple as something like terminology is, it's the first step."

Sceth remembered something an instructor of his had once said: 'It's a long way to the horizon, and understanding comes more than once.' Was he conveying that well?

"There are new trinkets in the basket by the door. Like the other ones, these are designed to resist you. Please pick one up on your way out and have it in the distended position when you bring it back next meeting. I, unfortunately, have something I must attend to, but if you must find me, you know where and when."

Sceth scanned the crowd of youthful eyes. Even the most bored of expressions held a little curiosity. It was the kind of youthful excitement that demanded to prove itself. Of course. They were finally putting their years of study into something practical. He imagined it must be quite cathartic if only for that reason alone.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Dismissed."

The silence of his students was rapidly quashed by eager chatter and the clatter of chairs and study materials. The basket supply dwindled. Sceth sat back at his desk and gathered up papers.

When the silence had returned, he looked up. The room was almost empty.

Almost.

Flame stood by the doorway, intently studying the hearth's black embers. The boy was slight with messy hair, although no longer "sickly" or "malnourished" as he had first been when he'd come to the Academe.

Sceth's eyes met Flame's briefly. The boy's gaze was implacable. There was a slight eeriness to it that he couldn't explain. Something like the feeling of being watched twice over.

Flame left.

----------------------------------------

Sceth's office was a trio of vaguely circular rooms. On a floor plan, it would resemble a blocky snowman, each block set a couple of stairs higher than the last.

He'd foregone the customary carvings on the doors. They were plain and dark with bronze door knobs. A golden plaque was set at eye level with his name.

The door opened without a creak. Inside, there was a warm, cosy smell, not unlike that of a library. He couldn't find the right words for it, but it was the smell of years of learning in a room well loved. It settled upon the wooden floors and danced around the lights that hung from the ceiling in place of the dust that usually accompanied rooms like this.

Several swords and other weapons were hung on the walls, high enough that he would need a ladder to reach most of them. They were from all over the continent. His serpentine was elsewhere. He preferred not to look at that one.

The room housed a number of other things, but he always enjoyed seeing the wooden rack that held his collection of instruments - ocarinas and other vessel flutes, a tambore drum, and several stringed instruments including a harp. A chair was always beside the harp so it could be played whenever the mood took him.

To the other side of the room was a desk, and probably the most expensive piece of furniture he owned. It was a sleek fixture made from Amadiene Cherry - tougher than real cherry and just as rich a colour. He'd commissioned it through a friend's workshop in Schiant.

Behind the desk were several shelves set into the wall. Ebon-hickory, if he recalled, and of much simpler construction. The shelves were brimming with books, trinkets, and any number of other oddities.

Galente sat at the desk. She was scribing, papers set upon a writing tablet. Her fingers occasionally fiddled with the quill's feathers in those moments where writing meant thinking. Those were the moments he could almost see steam rising from her head.

"The boy has the potential for so much in the future. I can see it," Sceth muttered as he closed the door behind him.

"Who?" asked Galente, not looking up.

"Flame."

"Ah." A pause. "Any others like him?"

"Maybe."

Galente did look up. "Sceth. Remember that you have more than one student."

"Yes, yes. I'm... not downplaying anyone." He walked around the room and idly plucked the harp's strings.

"This isn't like an apprenticeship."

"Yes, yes," he repeated.

Galente's tone changed to something more businesslike. Well, she always had a crisp, formal diction, so it had the effect of making her voice seem to stand up straight. “There's a word for you. Olivier’s calling in her favour."

Sceth mused. She’d used her last one some time back, of course.

He’d humor her.

“And? Does she want me to do some remembering?”

Galente paused, lips pursed. There was a clack as she laid a less-than-palm-sized token onto her desk. She pushed it toward him. It was a simple coin of lightly corroded brass and an old sigil stamped on one side. He saw Galente's corpse in her chair. He saw a knife plunged into her heart. Then, it was just Galente again, proferring the coin.

Sceth grew still.

“Oh. I see.”

Galente cleared her throat. "She'll also want to talk in person. Sometime in the next month."

"This" - Sceth dragged the token along the desk with his finger ("Please don't do that," said Galente) - "might require a few favours on my part as well, then.”

Galente was already taking out a fresh sheet of paper.

"Galente, do you happen to know if Drago is still at Sandtsel?"

"Yes. Last I heard."

Sceth nodded. "If Kaenus is still here, I may have a letter to send with them."

“Would you like me to grab you a-” “That’d be nice, please.” “-drink?

“…”

"Surprise me. Something... from another time if you can manage. I think that will help me here."

Galente's eyes were as steady as ice. The slight tilting of her head was more than enough to express her exasperation.

"Of course." The choice names she could call him stood unspoken. He was thankful for that. She already knew where the drinks would be as well.

He wondered what Galente would have made for him. Cloudbrew? Vodka Collins? Darker Brisk?

He walked deeper into his office, into his private room. The door he left open just a touch.

His easel was set up beside the window; there was a raging storm, fast approaching.

That was how he had drawn it.

Outside, the sky was pale and quiet - a lovely blue, streaked with cloud.

His head was starting to ache again.

He needed paper. And a quill.