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Mage Mage
1:06 - Initiation, of sorts

1:06 - Initiation, of sorts

When Alix woke for the third time in a row with a strange feeling in his head, he thought little of it. But after a moment of feeling disoriented in a bed Karsus had led him to last night, he focused on the feeling a moment longer. My headache’s mostly faded, he realised, This is… something else entirely.

He wasn’t sure what, exactly, it was. But where once there had been pain, now there was a new sort of tingling sensation at the core of his brain. It didn’t get worse when he shook his head around or fluctuate when he blinked in rapid succession. It was simply there. And after excruciating hours of the pain, Alix was glad for any respite.

The room he was in was bland, sparse. It was part of one of the buildings he’d assumed weren’t connected, but actually they all were. The entire ring of old houses and establishments were connected on the inside in a complex that Karsus had called the Wormwood estate. The facilities were a base-slash-school, as well as a few other probable things that Karsus hadn’t deigned to tell him. But Alix wouldn’t be staying here long.

He’d overheard from a vague conversation with someone that specialised education in Lacurna was much less centralised than Alix had been led to believe. It makes sense, he thought, I would be immediately suspicious if there was a special branch of the University which nobody could enter. There was no one location where a cohort of mages-in-training could study.

Lacurna’s mage underworld required more… diverse classrooms.

There were politics at play too, most of which simply went over Alix’s head. Why I’m not staying in Wormwood much longer, for starters, he thought. He assumed Karsus had done some work behind his back, something to organise how their deal would work. Alix needed to meet with him again, only this time not in Karsus’ office. He got up, ready, and headed toward a section of Wormwood further along the bottom floor.

In the warm light of morning, the Wormwood estate felt much more inhabited than it did the previous night. People shifted all around Alix as he made his way through the curving, mismatched corridors that wound their way through the mishmashed houses. It was never dense, but whenever Alix walked past someone who gave him a look and shifted to the side, it felt like the Wormwood base was more like its own microcosm than part of the Burns.

It can’t be all these people who are here for magic, he thought, in fact, most of them just look like ordinary people, performing jobs around the place for upkeep. Or maybe auxiliary members of the group that aren’t here for magic.

Eventually, Alix found himself in an open-plan workshop with a rolling wooden shutter door pulled up to one side, showing a view of the internal courtyard. The faint but bitter smell of smoke pervaded the entire room. But it was otherwise spotless. Polished tools sat neatly on racks beside the central bench. An empty forge and anvil were situated beside it. In the back, though, was a wiry figure hunched over a writing desk, pencil scribbling away loudly.

“Ahem,” Alix faux-coughed politely. When the artificer didn’t notice, he tried harder.

“Hello there. I was directed here by Karsus and was wondering where I could find Jericho—”

“Hmm?” The figure dropped the pencil where it fell to the ground with a clatter. Alix winced. “Well then I s’pose you’ve found what you’re looking for. Where is that old chap Karsus, anyway?”

Jericho stood and cracked their elbows with a flex, then looked around as if they expected Karsus to come running around a corner. Their wiry hair was tied up in a messy tail behind their head, a sort of ruddy brown that wasn’t clean enough to be auburn. What Jericho was wearing might possibly be called clothes, but to Alix looked more like a combination of a thick, fire-retardant apron and a straitjacket.

“I was, uh, told to wait for him here,” Alix offered while the mechanic walked over to inspect the inside of the forge.

“D’you know what you’re here waiting for?” They moved to the workbench and faced Alix, apparently finding the chimney in order.

“Not waiting any longer.” Karsus arrived, startling Alix but not Jericho. The man handed them a steaming mug. The two sipped drinks for a moment while Alix watched.

“Cheers.” Jericho put the mug down. “So, what’s he here for?”

“Alix,” Karsus turned to him, “You’re aware that since you have official records and meet certain criteria, you’re not going through typical White Hand channels. Reyla has elected to send you into a more high-profile program in Lacurna proper. For that, your identity of Alix Lanyura will need to hold up to scrutiny, and therefore your profile must be immaculate.”

“Right…” Alix trailed off. He was glad to have some confirmation about his suspicions regarding how exactly he’d be learning magic, but Karsus’ phrasing gave him pause. What does he mean by high-profile?

“So here I am introducing you to one Jericho, the White Hand’s artificer-in-chief. Because you, Lanyura, will need to be fully outfitted before you’re sent into the lion’s den. You don’t happen to have your clothes size handy, do you?”

“You do clothes too?” Alix said to Jericho, who only raised their eyebrows, much to Alix’s embarrassment and chagrin.

“I do everything, hmm? Just see if I can’t. Anyway, artificery’s all the same once you’ve got a base. The Runes all stick the same.” They flapped an arm nonchalantly, seeming to forget about the pliers in one hand.

Right, of course. I need to get used to having my assumptions challenged. Runes were a new term. He’d have to look into it later. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever paid magical items any particular interest. All of that would need to be remedied. Soon.

What followed was a strenuous session of measuring, marking and occasionally cutting fabric. Karsus supervised in a few sporadic bursts but was mostly elsewhere. Alix tried to be polite and stay quiet. But Jericho kept making wry comments and prodding him when he gave no or monosyllabic answers. Eventually he switched tactics, asking so many questions that Jericho wished that they’d stayed quiet. Mother knows I’ve got it in me.

“Why’re those two spending so much on you anyway?” Jericho asked. Alix assumed they meant Karsus and Reyla. “Mother knows silk costs enough these days—”

“What’s that tool? That one there, hanging on the stand. With the sharp tip and gold-coloured pommel.” It was about the size of a pen, with a thin metal rod extending from a delicate handle. Jericho seemed unruffled by the interruption and looked over to where Alix meant.

“Oh, that? That old thing’s important for working with anything metal. It’s called a drive-awl. I use the Argold battery in the back to push the strong tip—diamond, since you’re interested—back and forth. You could write your name in hardened steel, clear as day. If you used the right technique, o’ course.”

Now that sounded interesting, much more than fabric import prices. Does it have anything to do with the Runes Jericho mentioned earlier? Though he couldn’t ask, because they were finished taking measurements for his torso.

“Well there’s that tidied up, I s’pose. Do you know what kinda enchantments Karsus wants on your outfit?” Alix could only shrug in response.

“Damn second,” Jericho muttered, but Alix could tell it was good-naturedly, “Works me like a slave, I swear it. No appreciation. What am I supposed to do with this one then? Oh! Here’s an idea.”

Jericho had paced back over to the drawing desk, but now spun around and came back to Alix, an unhinged smile plastered on their face. In their hand was a small metallic cylinder, which was promptly placed smack-down on the workbench near Alix.

“Y’know what this is?” Jericho asked. Alix didn’t. It was indeed a metallic cylinder—brass, about the size of a finger. Its flat bottom rose up in a regular shape before tapering in near a pointed metal piece inserted into the top. Alix completely drew a blank on what it might be.

“A few friends of mine, uh, we—they, I mean—they found it in, argh. Whatever. Me and Karsus stole it from a shipment just last week,” Jericho said emphatically, “But just look at it! Isn’t it elegant? They’re not widespread yet—a bit too expensive for common use—but they might be soon.”

“What… is it?” Alix asked hesitantly. Though it didn’t diminish Jericho’s enthusiasm. They seemed eager to explain.

“Well, they’re calling it a cartridge-bullet,” they began, tossing the cylinder between their hands, “This part’s the bullet.” They tapped the sharp tip. “Pointier, not like the round balls in muskets. Flies much better. And this section down here contains the flamepowder, neatly measured. The final thing—and why I reckon they won't be so easy to get—is this little charming piece down here.” Jericho tipped up the bullet to show Alix a small circular piece on the bottom.

“It’s a tiny contact-explosive. You’ve heard of those, right?” Alix nodded and Jericho continued. “When a piece in the gun moves forward and hits it, the flamepowder ignites to shoot the bullet. Then the whole piece comes out of the gun and another one can be slotted in. Neat, eh?”

Alix conceded. It was a prime example of how he’d once thought science was the only way forward. It was elegant. But now he couldn’t unsee how it was complicated and unwieldy without an entire contraption to activate it. Jericho was pulling a similar-looking bullet out of a pouch, slightly blackened around the edges, but otherwise identical.

“Now, this is one of my own. Similar, but one difference—” they tipped it up to show no explosive at the base— “no igniter. But of course, you and I both know the perfect way to spark right in there, eh? If you just take a tiny bit of magic—”

Jericho’s demonstration was curtailed with Karsus’ arrival back at the workshop. Both bullets went swiftly away as if they’d never been out at all. Alix quickly hid a scowl. Why did Karsus have to come back so soon?

“Sorry for the delay,” He said, brushing off a coat that already had no dirt, “I was unprepared. Anyway, how goes it here?”

“All fine,” Jericho shrugged, “I need to know what enchantments you’ve planned for the clothes. ‘Cause some of the materials won’t be compatible.”

“But you have his measurements, yes?” Jericho nodded. “Then Alix, if you have no additional contributions to the design I need you for something else.”

Sending me away so soon? “And what if I do have additional requests for the clothes?”

“Let’s hear ‘em, then.” Jericho squawked.

Quick Alix, think. What would be a pragmatic enchantment to put on mage attire? One idea sprang to mind easily.

“Can they be fire retardant? At least somewhat.” Jericho scrunched their nose and gave him a wry look. “If you don’t think it’s possible then it could always—”

“No, no. It’s appropriate. I’ll see what I can do.”

After that, Jericho was left to their own devices, promising the set of outfits within the week. Karsus ushered Alix away and began to speak while they walked.

“The forgery is done, and all traces have been properly buried. I would call it a job well done. But I fear this will just be the beginning of your troubles. Tell me, what do you know about the Praetorians?”

Frustratingly little, Alix thought. He said as much while they twisted through Wormwood. But not to the main exit. “Nobody seems to want to clue me in on the specifics.”

Karsus grimaced. “Hmm. It’s unfortunate, but to be expected. You see, they originate from the Halicynth Program; education for a society of elite mages, the upper crust of Crownside who are elevated above Crown propaganda. It’s supremely difficult to get even anyone considered. And you’re lying if you think it’s possible having grown up in the Burns. You’re only one of two we’ve infiltrated into the Halicynth, which is why you absolutely cannot be associated with a gang from the Burns.”

Karsus gave him a pointed look. Alix ignored it. He wasn’t stupid. I would pretend not to know them even if it wasn’t for the crazy rogue mages and organised crime.

“I am not stupid. It’s not like I’ll talk about it. Who is the other person, anyway? You mentioned one other from the White Hand.”

“Oh, her? You’ve met, actually. The girl Fallon. But no, just talking about it isn’t quite what I meant. What I am saying is that you will be under scrutiny. Maybe not heavily if you play your part right. But it will always be there.”

Karsus pushed open some doors, the squeal of protest betraying their age. Alix stood on a balcony above the complex, street splayed out beneath him. The outer Lacurna wall could be seen towering vaguely to his right. Karsus paused as his watchful eyes roved over the wood-and-stone sprawl.

“Thankfully your grades are adequate, so you shouldn’t have any trouble with the theoretical portions of the course.” He turned to Alix. “The only place you’ll see difficulty is the spellcasting. Which is rather the point. But Reyla believes that the Praetorians can teach you better than we can.” He shrugged. “She may well be right. We don’t normally deal with cases like you.”

Cases like me, Alix thought, what’s that supposed to mean? But Karsus begun again before he could ask.

“All this means that you’ll need better methods of getting in contact with me and the White Hand. Ways that don’t involve passing through the outer gates and submitting yourself to identity checks. Wormwood isn’t our main base, you know. It’s the largest, true, and also at the centre of White Hand territory. But operating Cityside is so much easier with a local safehouse.”

Alix understood the gist of the conversation. “So you’re saying that I should get out of the Burns, preferably sooner rather than later, and stay Cityside before the beginning of classes?”

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“Exactly. Which is slightly difficult, as you’ve been fast-tracked into the program. Not by much, as University students are hand-picked around the same time, but you won’t have long to get ready. It puts a damper on our timeline. You need to be staying Cityside, while also studying sorcery. But I think I have some semblance of a solution, if you’re amicable to it.”

“What is it then?” Alix asked. What would a study regimen for magic even look like without someone to supervise?

“Books!” Karsus said cheerfully. Alix’s eye twitched.

That seems thoroughly inadequate, Alix thought, to undo twelve years of misinformation.

“You think—” He began. But Karsus cut him off with a sigh.

“No. Not really. It’s barely a stopgap measure, intended to keep you busy more than anything. The beginning of the Halicynth program is in four days. That’s not enough time even if you had a proper tutor. Which you don’t, because you need to be Cityside, having no connection to us. Understand?”

Karsus’ tone didn’t brook any argument. And it’s not like I could come up with a better solution, anyway. At least I’m good at absorbing academic readings.

“Yes sir. I understand.”

“Alix, please just call me Karsus. But good, I’m glad we’re on the same page. To be clear: you will be contacted by others in five days time, same as the university results get released. I don’t know the exact details—Fallon refuses to tell us, and maybe she’s justified. I’ll send around both study material and your attire in a day or so. Can I trust you to find your way out yourself?”

Alix scoffed. “Of course you can. My memory’s better than that.” Mysterious Crown agents coming knocking to his door gave him pause. But it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. Maybe he could seek out Fallon and ask, though he had no idea where to begin looking. “How will I get in contact with you in future?”

Karsus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We’ll figure something out. But don’t give them any cause for suspicion, alright? You’re a firm investment of the White Hand now. We’d hate to lose you so easily.”

At that, Alix took his dubious leave and navigated to the exit of Wormwood. Taking his cloak from a cabinet in the antechamber, he slipped out its door and into the Burns. It felt somehow wrong to leave the quarters behind—like he was losing his chances—but he knew, rationally, that it would equalise in the near future. Magic and science.

He lifted his hood for the Civil Guard at the outer gate and had no trouble being promptly let through with another flash of his identification. He had a pang of worry that it was exactly what Karsus had warned not to do. But there wasn’t any way to avoid it. Trying to enter Lacurna proper without consent of the Redjackets was a good way to become full of holes.

I can make an excuse about my parents, anyway. It’s not even really a lie, he thought, weaving through more built-up streets in Cityside. Here, though not exactly rich, nobody eyed each other warily when they passed on the street. Nobody scooped up oil from gutters to cook with. At least, not that Alix saw.

It came as an immense relief—as well as a small surprise, considering the recent series of events—that his small, upstairs apartment in Gartmans district was entirely as he’d left it a day prior. With scarcely a wave to Ellis, he calmly entered the house. The layout hadn’t been touched.

It all feels so… cramped now. Closed-off, small-minded. He’d worked toward a goal with single-minded determination, but hadn’t stopped to consider what was happening all around him in the city he thought he knew. How much normalcy would he ever have in the future? I guess it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t choose to go back anyway.

Alix’s four allocated days passed in what felt like little more than a blur. As promised, a bulky package was thrust into his hands by some unassuming courier the next morning, containing six books and the clothes Jericho had promised. He’d put the books aside to check the outfits, because something seemed… off.

Is Jericho just playing a trick on me, or am I actually supposed to wear this? Alix had expected more formal dress that he’d seen professors at Camherst wear, or the trimmed suits of courtgoers. Certainly not the strange, double-breasted mantle that seemed to wrap around his body and then some. The buttons lined his left side, stopping at his elbow where a short sleeve covered his left arm to the elbow. But a longer one trailed down his right arm to obscure even the knuckles. Alix felt incredibly foolish, standing there next to his bed. He hadn’t even tried on the strange poncho or pants that went with it.

Whatever, he thought, packing the whole array into a small suitcase, I assume it’s the norm. I can wait until I arrive to worry about it. The books were next. He laid them out neatly across his bed. Three of them were fine—complex texts on higher-order sciences, to be sure, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He was glad to know that Karsus was taking the promised academic part of his education just as seriously as they had agreed. Then there were the ones on magic.

They were absolute garbage.

“None of this makes any sense. It’s nonsense,” Alix complained out loud, flipping through the third unreadable manual. It was all neatly in the form of a book: chapters, paragraphs and so on. But all the characters were distorted and skewed. And it’s not just a normal cipher, too. Alix had learned about the mathematical art of changing a language to encode messages, but that would require at least some words to be the same. Alix never saw any repeating patterns. Nothing at all to help make sense of the texts. The only silver lining was that all three books seemed encoded the same way.

“And I can’t even go back to the Burns to ask, because of the whole stupid political gang nonsense!” He slammed the book shut and paced around his room. I hate how many hoops there are to just learning. I hate being held back like this. But instead of doing something drastic—even though he longed to—Alix took a deep breath and sat down. He had three days until his inaugeration into the Halicynth course Karsus had told him of. He would use it wisely. At least, as wisely as he could.

So Alix began reviewing everything he knew about magic, now with the knowledge that some or all of it was wrong. He needed to be completely aware of all the lies he might have been fed.

Energy cannot be created nor destroyed. That was the core tenet of magic—of the universe, really. It was why every spell required an energy source. And why that source needed to be drawn on simultaneously while casting the spell. Alix’s mind lingered for a moment on the prospect of Beacons. But he decided to continue with his school-taught understanding.

Beacons were what allowed this energy-transfer to be facilitated instantly, as well as remotely. The energy flowed through the rare material and into your target. There was something more about a Nexus, where your magic originated from, but any explanation he found in his memory seemed flimsy. And obviously the books were no help.

Wow, that was brief. It was humbling to realise how little he knew. And that was before he considered the reality that was Crown misinformation. Sighing, he stood and stretched. How long had he been just doing nothing? A pang in his stomach served as a clock. It was time to get some food.

“Do you have any hot meals, Ellis?” he asked. Alix was getting bored of the usual ingredients—he hadn’t planned food for the short home stay. “I feel like a change from the normal purchases.”

The man gave him a searching look over the counter. “Why, certainly!” he said jovially spreading his hands and turning around, “I’ll get you one from the back.”

“Thanks!” Alix called, slipping into a chair. Pedestrians moved slowly along the street, the hooves of an occasional horse clattering against the cobblestones. Alix sat there for a while, taking it all in. When he noticed a pair of Redjackets lingering by a corner.

It wasn’t unusual in the slightest for the Civil Guard to patrol throughout Cityside—it was their job, after all—but the two were simply posted at the corner, analysing the street around them. One even had a newspaper. It doesn’t mean anything, Alix concluded, at least, not anything specific I can put my finger on. They’re not exactly auspicious, though.

“Here you are, good sir,” Ellis mocked, “Fresh from the oven.”

“Thanks, Ellis. Here.” Alix paid. “You always made great pastry.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Ellis moved away to clean something behind the shopfront. I wonder if I’ll miss calm days like this in the future. But a calm life wasn’t exactly in the cards for Alix, not anymore. The thought lingered with him throughout the day, as well as the next three. He was always slightly busy with mundane tasks, but it was always easy enough to make him wonder when the other shoe would drop.

He’d almost convinced himself that nothing had happened. The events shortly after the science Medallion were a headache-induced blur, anyway. Maybe tomorrow I’ll simply see my Medallion results on a posting over Crownside, he thought, slipping into bed. His bags were packed beneath the desk across the room, but he didn’t expect to need them in a hurry. He certainly did not expect that Crown agents would come knocking at midnight to claim one of their own.

Alix was awake before any words were spoken. Maybe it was a frosty draft, or the sound of footsteps on a floor nobody other than him had trod in years. Either way, when his eyes shot open near the peak of midnight, Alix was not alone.

“Alix Lanyura,” a shadowed figure read out, leaning over his bed. “You are now irrevocably a student of the Halicynth Program, subject to the Crown. We are escorting you away. Do not be startled and do not resist, this is standard procedure. Please bring anything from your residence that you wish to keep with you.” It might’ve been a man, based on the voice. But the sounds had come out strange.

So this is how it is, Alix thought numbly, standing up and making for his bag. The two others in the room seemed to bend out of the way as he moved, leaning unnaturally as if slithering around an invisible trellis. Alix shivered, and was glad his underclothes almost passed as normal attire. Shouldering the bag and satchel, he turned back to the obfuscated mages—because mages they definitely were.

The two were almost identical, but Alix could still identify the one who’d spoken to him. Like the colour had been sucked out of them, they were using a strange magic to make their forms less distinct, more just a vague suggestions in the surrounding environment. They both wore trenchcoats, or long, tapering skirts to hide their body position and orientation. Alix found it was much like watching a shadow itself—almost entirely amorphous.

“Where to, gentlemen?” Alix said sardonically, somehow managing to keep the terror out of his voice. Why did I do that why did I do that why—. One of them seemed seemed disgruntled. but the other smirked. Alix saw the white of his teeth.

“Stick with us and don’t act out.” It wasn’t the first speaker, a female voice coming from the matching shadow. “Get to the door. You’re leaving this place behind.”

What does that mean? Alix walked with the first mage down the tight staircase, watching them effortly glide down the rung-like slats. What’s she doing to my apartment? The question was shortly answered, when Alix caught a whiff of smoke in the air. His eyes widened, not that he could see more in the darkness. No, surely not. But his fears were confirmed when the second mage descended as well, brushing soot off her palms.

Alix felt a small rush of hot air, then he saw the origin. At the top of the stairs, starkly visible: a deep crimson flame, obviously magic in origin. It spread across the door at the top of the stairwell, but never across the threshold. It got dimmer but hotter while Alix watched, undoubtedly eating everything inside. He might never see the aftermath himself. But he still knew that his home of the past three years had become all but ash.

He spared a few thoughts of sympathy for Ellis as the Crown agents ushered him out the door into the Lacurnan midnight. Streetlights were on maximum brightness, bathing the street in a ethereal glow as Alix was paraded through. They, however, were protected from illumination by the strange weaving of magic that Alix’s escorts threw around them. He couldn’t gauge its effectiveness, and he could still see everything outside perfectly fine. None noticed them, not that there was anyone out to begin with.

From time to time as they twisted through Cityside streets, Alix glanced at his companions. They stoicly disregarded him, hands obscured meneath their mantles. Their steps were just vague peturbations of the lower half of their bodies. He studied them closer. The darkness around them resolved itself somewhat. Alix wasn’t sure if it was an effect of the bright light-crystals, but their was a distinctly red sheen underpinning their aura. Like black crude oil mixed in with blood. Alix winced, his headache spiking. Quickly, the colouration disappeared.

“Keep walking,” the woman murmured for Alix’s benefit, “We’re being watched. Someone pried at our disguises. They disappeared before we got their signature.” The man nodded as if he already knew.

They can probably communicate without speaking, Alix realised. But who was watching us? Someone who’d briefly looked beneath the disguises of the Crown agents…

Oh. It was him. Probably, at least. It could always have been some other mage at the same time. But that seems much less likely. Though how did I see it? Alix figured they might not appreciate him saying as much, though, so he kept quiet, simply increasing pace to keep up. He was becoming increasingly confused about the roundabout path they were taking through Lacurna’s roads.

Was it correlated to my headache returning? he wondered, am I… allergic to magic? That’s idiotic. And it wouldn’t explain how I broke the disguise in the first place. Maybe it’s just because I focused too hard while inside the bubble, and my headache flared in response to some weird sensory feedback. The cloaks were a strange red, but not strange enough to cause head pain, surely. He had to shelve the thought to watch his feet.

Alix was almost surprised when they came out at the Kell waterfront. He’d been keeping track of their path, to be sure, but in no world had he imagined being taken anywhere near the river that decapitated the grand city. He was upriver of the bridge now, though he forgot the district name. It was a high-class one, with water’s-edge buildings that attempted to mimic the natural rise of Crownside. This far North it felt like the Kell still ran through a valley; cliffed in on both sides by ornate, towering manors.

His escorts passed around a brick wall in a dense cluster of alleyways just removed from the waterfront. There they gestured towards an iron-banded wood door set into a thick stone arch. The building seemed old. Alix glanced up. He could barely tell in the dim light, especially with all the surrounding architecture obscuring his view, but it seemed to him like one of the old river fortifications, put in place to stop vagabonds assaulting the city in earlier times. He thought he saw the crenellations.

“The building’s abandoned,” the man said, showing exactly just how ‘abandoned’ it really was. “There are fifteen others with sleeping quarters here. Take your pick of free beds.”

“This is the key,” the other said, “Absolutely do not share it.”

She stepped forward to the door, then with a knuckle drew a complex pattern on the bare metal where a keyhole should have been set. There was a subtle click and the door pushed open. Alix memorised the shape. Fascinating. He wouldn’t have to share the exact pattern to ask—maybe Jericho—about how it worked, right?

Alix sensed a sort of grim smile as the man said next, “Welcome to the Rookery, Alix. You’re one of us now. Tread cautiously in your new life. Goodbye.”

How funny, Alix mused, I heard almost the exact same thing from Karsus just a few days ago. Then, without Alix so much as blinking, the pair vanished entirely from view. Such potent magic. That’ll be me soon, I hope. Though that was a lot to ask for. The reality of his situation was more grim. ‘Tread cautiously’ seems prudent, it seems.

Alix entered the tower through its still-swinging door.

I think for once in a while I would appreciate knowing what’s going to happen before it actually does, he thought, drifting up the tower and checking the small, boxy rooms along the way. It would do wonders for both my peace-of-mind and general mental ability. Maybe I could’ve harassed those two escorts for some information about what’s Mother-damned going on.

Secrecy is the name of the game, I suppose. He sighed, finally arriving at a room without its heavy wooden curtain slid shut over the entrance. He’d climbed almost to the top of the tower. Grumbling, he slid inside. I was hoping to get a room near the exit. It would save me so much meaningless effort every day. Though that’s probably what everyone thought. I’ll have to learn to cast that stair-levitation spell, he mused, because that was something that he could just do.

Well, soon, hopefully.

Alix was pleasantly surprised to find a small glass window facing out over the Kell. Cityside was lit up, even at this hour, with light crystals and even fires burning inside some of the manor houses. Moonlight glinted off the harsh, rocky edges of the Palace watching over Lacurna—where Crownside got its name—as well as the reflective Kell below. Alix dumped his satchel, rucksack and sat down on the cot.

A small laugh escaped his lips when he realised he hadn’t ever changed out of his sleeping clothes. How long ago did I go to sleep last night? Days? It feels like it. The shifting, reflected moonlight played against the inside of his room, glittering, creating harsher lights and starker shadows than even the magecraft that Alix had witnessed just minutes ago.