Ana was toweling her hair, still damp from her shower - they had showers in the manor, and they were available to every servant at that! - when Daphne barreled into her.

Not that the collision did much in the way of injuring Ana, of course. The older teen - now woman, Ana supposed - practically bounced off of her, yelping. There was a clatter as a number of silver tools and what looked to be measuring devices fell to the floor, held aloft previously by the masterful application of Daphne’s majorly skriptless magic.

“Ouch!” Daphne grumbled, rubbing her head. Locks of wheat- blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders - the older maid never bothered to tie her hair up even during work-hours, instead preferring to keep them in rudimentary braids, or, more often, letting them stay frazzled all throughout the day. “Ancestors! What’s the guard-captain done to you?”

Ana blinked. She looked down at herself, inspecting her form for any injuries. Of which there were none, of course. She would have felt it if she’d received any-

She blinked.

Huh. Maybe I really have gotten stronger.

“Training,” Ana replied, simply. She moved to hoist Daphne up, who took her hand without hesitation. While grumbling, of course.

Mere weeks ago, Ana would have devolved into a stuttering mess in this precise situation. Now, she was talking to a comital scion - albeit one who’s House no longer existed - on equal footing. As colleagues. As friends.

Daphne was still her teacher, of course, and Ana respected her for it. But with the way the older girl acted... it was hard to see her as any authority figure.

And to be perfectly honest, I think we both prefer it that way.

“What is all this, miss?” Ana asked, after the two of them had gathered the various accouterments Daphne had strewn across the floor of their shared bedroom.

“Sensors,” Daphne squeaked, before she managed to offload all of her equipment onto her bed. “Nothing high-end - those are much more sensitive. But... middling gear is enough for my purposes. I’ll make y’all see!”

She pumped her fist in the air. Then she collapsed backward onto her bed, obvious enervation settling over her. “Oh, god,” she groaned. “I should’ve taken multiple trips, bringin’ all this up. Or gotten one of the assistant maids to help me.”

“Maybe... you should just exercise?” Ana asked, tentatively. “Wouldn’t just carrying your stuff be less taxing?”

Daphne snorted. “As if,” she retorted. “I’m a full-blooded scholar, through and through! We Chanters don’t need you fitness-types ruining our delicate constitutions.”

Ana frowned, feeling the small creepings of an unfamiliar emotion crawl over her shoulders.

Indignation? Ana thought, raising an eyebrow. Didn’t know there was competition for this sort of thing.

“They are two entirely different paths, after all,” Ana said, sighing. “I’m grateful that Lord Vernas would find one such as myself worthy to impress his knowledge upon.”

Daphne was silent, for a moment. And unusually, it was Ana that broke it.

“Is there something wrong, miss Daphne?” she asked, tilting her head.

“No, it’s just...” the older woman stuck her legs off the side of her bed, allowing her center of gravity to throw herself feet-first onto the carpet. “Your path. Huh.”

Ana blinked. “My path.” She repeated.

“Of the two primary magical arts, you follow the Path of the Breaker, of course,” Daphne said, dryly. “I follow the Path of the Chanter.”

She blinked. “Yes,” Ana said, frowning. “I know this. The Paths we choose are important. They determine our futures.”

As she spoke those words, Ana reminisced on the gold-embossed words that Daphne had so thoroughly impressed upon her during their lessons. But moreover, as she spoke that word - Path - she felt something tremble within her soul.

Like the universe itself was calling out to her about its importance.

“The very first principle any text, treatise, or teacher would remark upon, should they relate to any subject that is at least somewhat magical,” Daphne said, walking around the room. Then suddenly, she snapped her fingers, turning to Ana, who was sitting on her bed on the other side of the room.

“What d’you think your path is, then?” she asked. In response, Ana could only blink.

“My path...” she thought. “I’m not quite certain what you mean, miss. Everything I’ve been taught on paths has been on their importance. Not what they are.”

“Deliberately vague,” Daphne said, waving her hands dismissively. “The definition for such things is usually unnecessary. At least, when I was in college, I was told that anyone that has potential to use magic is eventually destined for a Path, even though they may never actually find it. But it’s always there, like a… subconscious thing. Hells, I’m probably the least motivated magician on this side of the continent right now, and I can tell my Path - whatever it actually is - just won’t let me stop my research. It’s part of why I asked the Lady to allow me to perform experiments in the Manor.”

Ana paused. “Oh,” she said, before her eyes widened. “Oh! That’s... that’s great news!”

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Daphne smiled wryly at her exclamations. “Well, yeah,” she muttered. “‘S all swell. Lady Briar gave me permission real quick.” She frowned. “Well, as long as all the materials I use are declared to be safe.”

“You do mention your work an awful lot during our... lessons,” Ana said. She couldn’t help but grimace. The math-y part of academics - even magicology, which was necessary for any half-decent mage - had never truly appealed to her interests. Ana was a very physical sort of girl, despite her relatively slight constitution. “It’s something you seem very passionate about.”

“That’s ‘cuz of my Path,” Daphne said. When Ana blinked, she continued. “It’s related to our soul. Or something. There’s a lot of nonsense that gets thrown around whenever mages get philosophical. And it’s an old science, too. Talk about the soul started way-” she stretched out her arms, as if to accentuate the sheer breadth of magical history “-back, from the time of the Physiologist or even the Mother of Magic herself.”

“The... soul?”

Daphne snorted. “Hell if I know,” she said. “But what I do know is that every time I throw myself into my research, I feel... stronger. Not physically, of course. I’ve never once had a need to throw myself into a fight. That’s what my research is for. But...”

She seemed wistful, now. “I think scholarship is my path,” Daphne said. “My purpose, if you want to be all corny and call it that.”

She picked up a silver instrument - a Manite-Meter, Ana realized. She knew what these were, at least; they were moderately expensive tools used to demarcate levels of ambient ether in an area into discrete unit quantities called Manites.

Father used them sometimes to gauge if the fields were ready for sowing. They were mostly an obscure metric, though, really only used by the most uppity of scholars in the most uppity of elite institutions.

“Purpose...” Ana murmured. She looked at her fists - covered in calluses that Lord Vernas had advised her not to heal, despite the offers from one of the few female healers in the Guard to do so.

She’s not just a girl, the guard-captain had retorted. She’s a warrior. Calluses are what make warriors. It’s your choice, of course; but to me, every callus is a scar avoided on the battlefield. It’s proof of your diligence.

Ana blushed. She coughed, shaking her head.

“So... you’re saying that to get stronger, I’ll have to find my purpose?” Ana asked, frowning. “That seems awfully arbitrary.”

“You already have a purpose,” Daphne replied. “So it’s not arbitrary. It’s a part of you. To be honest, I’m surprised you haven’t awakened already. A strong girl like you... people like you find their purpose easier than most.”

Ana stared at the older teen. “You know an awful lot about this subject, miss.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s part of my work,” she said. “Or at least, it was. Before my office in Therellian’s was ransacked by my useless colleagues and all my equipment was confiscated, I worked on the development of ether capacitors.”

If Ana looked lost, then Daphne certainly managed to profit off it. She chuckled - a light symphony of tinny laughter. “Mundane name, I know. But... ether capacitors are a lil’ different from regular capacitors. Bear with me.”

She stared off into the distance. Though Ana couldn’t sense it, she knew Daphne had her Inner Eye active - peering at phenomena residing so far beneath the physical realm that a mortal like Ana could never comprehend such.

At least, for now.

“You might have heard the phrase Magic is Will,” Daphne said, slowly. When Ana nodded, she continued. “That’s truer than most non-mages realize. Magic is our will. When I progress on the Path of the Chanter, I’m absorbing part of the knowledge that the Mother of Magic left behind when she first trailblazed her way to immortality. I’m learning how it is that we mortals can express phenomena beyond ourselves, of how we can ‘control’ ether. ‘Bout how we can actualize.” Daphne swallowed, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her uniform, before continuing. “When Lord Vernas or the Duke develop their magic, however incrementally, on the Path of the Breaker, created by the Physiologist, they’re honing their ability to literalize. To ‘hold’ ether. To make it exist, not just in an ethereal form, but in a physical fashion we can interact with.”

Daphne sighed. “I was trained as an Enchanter in college. Not a Chanter - I’m no battle-mage. I utilize Chanter-based principles of actualization to create phenomena that can hold ether - therefore literalizing it.”

She clicked her tongue. “At least, that’s the absolute base of what my work involves. Hells, I don’t-” Daphne paused, “-didn’t understand the specifics of how this sort of magicology works, even back at Therellian’s. I doubt my professors did, either. Only the Heroes know,” Daphne admitted. “But what is undoubtedly a fact is that ether requires our willpower to move. To conduct. To store. That’s why ether Capacitors are conventionally considered as impossibilities; objects don’t have souls. They don’t have will. They have to have will imbued into them, not the other way around. They’re missing that fundamental something.”

Ana’s eyes flickered as she blinked. “Paths,” she breathed.

Daphne quirked a brow at her. “Well, that’s my hypothesis,” she said, sighing. The older girl fell backwards, plummeting onto her bed.

“That’s my dream,” Daphne muttered - more to herself than to Ana. “Not power. Not even knowledge, really. Creating artificial Will is the dream of all modern scholars. It’s an art that was lost, after the Artisan disappeared.”

“That’s my path.”

Ana ruminated on that - at least, for a moment - before she next spoke.

“Is... this why Lady Everie has been unable to progress in her magic thus far?” Ana asked, frowning. “Is it because she can’t find her Path, whatever that is?”

Daphne stilled.

“I can’t say,” she finally muttered. “I doubt it, to be honest. It’s likely just some sort of external problem. Everie is strong. Powerful. Mature - even for scions of powerful bloodlines, with how fast they mature. But... she’s still a child. It’s hard to have ambition powerful enough to warp reality itself to your will at that age. And that’s what magic really is - commanding the world to obey your will.”

Ether is but a medium, Ana recited, remembering Inesorin’s words. It is the sea upon which the language of the universe travels.

Daphne sighed. “That much is clear. Everie... defies a lot of what I know. There’s something fishy going on. She’s hiding something from us - that’s for sure. I’m not sure what, though. And if she doesn’t want to confide in me about that...” she trailed off, a slightly hurt expression flashing across her face. “That’s her prerogative.”

Ana stood up. She turned, stiffly, then began to walk towards the door.

“Where’re you going?” Daphne called to her, still on her back. “It’s nighttime.”

“To check on Lady Everie,” Ana said. What Briar said buzzed in her mind - friends. Partners.

Take care of her.

Ana balled her fists.

“She can do what she wants,” she muttered. But I won’t let her close us out.

That’s what I did. And... look at what it cost me.