Every morning, Vayra rolled out of her hammock and began her routine. She spent three hours practicing the Burnished Flame Loop, trying to hold the pattern for longer and longer. Phasoné told her that, eventually, she’d be able to hold the more complex cycling techniques for days at a time, even months.

Vayra used one of the silver pills that the Order had given her. She let it sit on her tongue and dissolve, then absorbed it into her body and her Arcara channels. Nothing felt different immediately.

She wasn’t able to hold the Loop for more than a few hours at a time, but every day, it felt like she pushed herself a minute or two longer. She didn’t really know; she didn’t have a clock or a way to tell time.

About halfway through the day, she always stopped and delved into Nathariel’s cellar, where he kept a supply of food and other assorted equipment that she didn’t understand. The food was barely edible—hardtack, dry bread, or jars of pickled vegetables. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to eat, or allowed to.

‘Keeping a balanced diet is important to advancing,’ Phasoné told her. ‘And for your health. Don’t need you getting scurvy, now, do we?’

In the afternoons, Vayra explored a little. She didn’t stray too far from the hovel, but she tried to get a feel for the surrounding land. Eventually, the horses warmed up to her enough that she could mount one and ride it around.

When she returned, she settled into a round of exercises. To improve her endurance, she ran laps around the edge of the hovel’s cleared land—where the skeletal black trees had all been chopped, and only black vines slithering along the ground.

As soon as stars appeared on the horizon, she started to practice her techniques. She wanted to get better at imbuing her limbs with the strength of starlight Arcara.

Right now, she couldn’t find a way to pull it directly from the sky. The best she could do was give Phasoné control of a limb, but that wasn’t the same as strengthening it. When she pulled the distant astral energies into her body, there just wasn’t enough at once to put into a Bracing technique.

So, instead, she relied on forming her seer-core, letting the light-Arcara mixture get strong and bright, then dispelling it and immediately sucking the accumulation into her body.

‘The best Bracing techniques are ones that envelop the full body, but this is a decent start,’ Phasoné told her.

Vayra only managed to maintain the Bracing for a few minutes at a time. It bled Arcara out into the environment, and once it was gone, it was gone. She found that she could run out of loose Arcara just as easily as she could run out of mana.

The first time it had happened, and she realized that she was losing Arcara, she caught her breath and dispelled the technique immediately.

To be safe, she pulled herself into Phasoné’s void. It was a realm of blank white light, supposedly at the center of her core, where the Goddess resided.

A veil of blank white light fell over Vayra’s eyes, and her stomach rose. She felt like she was falling, but she’d been to the void many times before. All she had to do was tighten her arms and stop flailing. The falling sensation stopped.

Vayra spun around. The ground beneath her feet didn’t feel very firm, and the only reason she knew she was turning was because Phasoné came into view.

The Goddess stood a few feet away, wearing her usual black dress—so dark it looked like the void of space. A few magenta starry pinpricks clung to the long skirt, which didn’t move with the dress when Phasoné stepped forward.

“Haven’t seen you here for a while,” Phasoné said. Her voice, inside the void, didn’t seem as confident, nor did it rattle around Vayra’s head. “What’s wrong?”

“When I’m in here, time outside moves super slow, right?” Vayra said. “That should go for the leaking Arcara, too, right?”

“Oh, that?” Phasoné shrugged. “Not a massive concern. Lots of techniques leak Arcara, even just a little bit. Your Starlight Palm does, too.”

“Yeah, but not this much. How much longer will it take to advance if I’m leaking so much of it?”

“Oh…” Phasoné groaned. “You don’t know—right. Discarded. No education, all that. Advancement isn’t truly determined by how much Arcara you have, but how much you’ve expanded your core and prepared it for the next stage. As well as other factors, such as the preparedness of your body or your channels, all that.” She walked closer to Vayra, then nudged her. “Don’t freak out; that’s my job. Your core’s purpose is to store Arcara, but sometimes you will need to use it. And that’s alright.”

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Vayra tilted her head. “But…I will need lots of Arcara while trying to advance, right?”

“Of course. It’ll make the process smoother. For every stage of advancement.”

For a few more minutes, Vayra stood with Phasoné, before finally asking, “So…how powerful are you? Or, would have been, if you weren’t trapped inside me?”

“I don’t want to demotivate you…”

Vayra snorted. “I can handle it.”

“Well, you’re in the lowest realm,” Phasoné said. “Named after the lowest naval ranks. Then there’s the Realm of the Flag Officers, with the higher ranks. Beyond that…past the peak of Grand Admiral, you technically ascend to the Realm of the Gods. Which has its own stages of advancement.”

“There aren’t any ranks after the Admirals, though, right?”

“We are called Emissaries, at the lowest stage of a God’s power.”

Vayra nodded, then gulped. She had started to feel like her task was manageable, but thinking of all the ranks and steps ahead of her, she wasn’t so sure anymore. If she was staring up at the peak of a mountain, the mountain had just doubled in height. She didn’t even have a rope to help her climb.

“But you do have Nathariel, now,” Phasoné said. “And, though my teaching ability may be limited for the moment, I’ll always be here.”

“You have to be. Or we’ll die.”

Phasoné opened her mouth, then closed it again. She raised a finger, then shook her head and finally said, “But I do mean it. I’d stick with you even if I didn’t have to.”

“...Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome.” Phasoné nudged Vayra again. “It is good to see you back in here. In person. Having someone to talk to, rather than trying to watch through your eyes and thoughts.”

“I’m glad I could help.” Vayra looked down, then sat down. “I do have time to stay, though. Especially since time slows here.”

Vayra added a new step to her routine after that first visit—at the end of the day, she dropped into the white void and took a moment to think about something other than advancement and magic and her duty as Mediator.

And, most importantly, she just spent time talking with Phasoné. It was good to get to know the immortal being in your head, Vayra figured. Even though Phasoné could read Vayra’s thoughts, Vayra couldn’t return the favour. She had to ask questions.

“Homeworld?”

“Perrenia. ”

“What’s it like?”

“It’s a tropical world with a white sun, near the core.”

And on and on.

After two and a half weeks of the routine, Vayra began to advance from Master’s Mate to Master. The transformation from the intermediary stage began slowly, at first, until she felt an abnormally strong tug at her core.

The process barely took any guidance from her. She shut her eyes and clenched her gut, then guided her mana around her body. It was a simple act of compression—guiding the mana to tighten in her core and compress the swirling ball of white light down until it was the size of a marble.

Within a few minutes, it was done.

She sat on the shore of the river, panting, but feeling refreshed. Everything itched and she wanted to keep moving. Since her legs had been resting in the river, a few stray wisps of Stream water had brushed past, replenishing her mana. She breathed in, cycling her Arcara with an easier, less efficient pattern.

As soon as little bits of Arcara began to pulse around her veins, she looked down. The little blades of gray grass around her feet all shivered, then pulsed away from her as if blown by a slight breeze.

Vayra raised her eyebrows. Already, she could feel the boost in pushing strength this new core seemed to have.

“Any idea what we’re working on at Master?” she asked aloud.

‘That’s a question better saved for Nathariel,’ Phasoné replied inside her mind. ‘Those few years are still a bit of a blur for me.’

Vayra nodded, then shut her eyes and whispered Phasoné’s name, dragging herself back into the white void. The light passed over her vision, shining between her eyelids and eyes, and she began to fall again.

She caught herself and walked back to Phasoné. The Goddess sat on the void’s invisible floor, staring off into the blankness.

“Were you meditating? Or…cycling?” Vayra asked. “What happens to your advancement while you’re with me?”

“Nothing. It stalls, for now.” Phasoné turned her head and looked back at Vayra. “You’ll be able to start feeding me your mana reserves at some point. I believe…when you reach Lieutenant, and start dealing with proper magnitudes of power.”

“Until then?”

“My power is frozen.”

Vayra winced, recalling what it had felt like when her power had been frozen by the Shadowthorn. Trapped in a desert, no source of mana anywhere nearby, and no way to use her magic.

She walked closer to Phasoné and sat down beside the Goddess. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I wanted this, more than anything.”

“Why?”

“The Mediator is the galaxy’s way of keeping balance. Karmion might be stronger than anyone else, but nature will raise a Mediator to match him.” Phasoné leaned back on her hands, her eyes glistening. “He killed my brother.”

Vayra rolled her lips inward and breathed out, then leaned her head against the Goddess’ shoulder. It was warm, smooth, and soft. Something about it felt comforting, but Vayra wanted to radiate that comfort outward and give it back to Phasoné. “The mountain might have gotten taller, but I’m not giving up. We’re climbing, so long as I have anything to say about it.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but—”

“Just let me encourage you for once, Phas.”

“I really don’t mean to be a bother, but Nathariel is coming back. He’s walking up the path, and he’s got a friend.”