By the time the sun rose, Leansfield looked like a forest in the winter. All that remained of buildings were twisted frames, skeletal trees covered with pale ash. Or, thicker stone foundations with branches made of empty window frames.

Vayra wandered around the city’s empty port. A few ships waited offshore, untouched by the blaze, but most merchant vessels had fled from the city’s main Stream-facing harbour, and the remaining Elderworld warships had been chased off.

Vayra sat down on the wharf, smudging ash all over her brown trousers, then pulled her boots off. She dipped her feet into the water. Wisps of Stream water gathered around her legs. Mana flooded into her body, and she began to cycle it. Every second she spent cycling, she converted miniscule amounts of mana into usable Arcara. More Arcara…meant more power. But her breathing techniques didn't seem well-suited to the task.

‘I’m sure if you found a good teacher, you could learn a much better technique for cycling and purifying Arcara,’ Phasoné said.

Vayra nodded, feeling a swell of power as another wisp of iridescent Stream water brushed against her calf. “You don’t have to convince me.”

‘Just pointing it out.’

After a few minutes of absorbing mana and cycling, a Vayra became aware of a Redmarine standing behind her—only because his musket clattered a little. Taking a step back, he said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, miss.”

“No, no!” Vayra pulled her feet out of the water and pulled her boots back on. As she laced them up, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Commander Kochrann bade me to inform you that the gathering has begun.”

Vayra’s eyes widened. Instead of tying her second boot’s laces in a proper knot, she shoved them down the ankle and leapt to her feet. “Where?”

“Follow me, if you will.” He turned on his heels, then set off into the city at a brisk, marching pace. He was just slightly faster than her normal walking speed, and every so often, she had to jog a little to catch up.

Finally, they arrived at the city’s central, administrative hall. It had once been the hall of the planet’s local Lord and member of parliament, but now, all that remained was a stone outline. The roof was entirely gone, as well as the windows and wooden wall panels, leaving a simple stone fence around the structure. It was long enough to fit a galleon three times down its length.

They ran up the steps to the front terrace. There were no doors to push open, but a host of marines and horsemen stood guard. They parted for Vayra. The marine who had led her to this place halted and told her, “I dare not go any further, miss, or Commander Kochrann will have my head.”

She stepped into the interior of the wall, wary of the ashen remains of the rafters overhead. They creaked and groaned in the breeze, threatening to crumble at a moment’s notice.

In the center of the hall, where the rafters had already collapsed and there was no danger, a ring of officers and well-dressed Lords, Ladies, and members of parliament had gathered. Parchment had been laid out on the table, and a silver, three-dimensional map of the galaxy perched delicately in the center.

They were already talking softly amongst themselves. She spotted Commander Kochrann at the end of the table, but he wasn’t the most powerful person in attendance, not one bit. First, she recognized Elder Gheita of the Order of Balance’s Gray Council, then she picked out a man and a woman not in military attire—rather, a fancy coat and dress respectively. Maybe they were Ramesworld’s current rulers.

Vayra approached the table cautiously. She wasn’t exactly dressed for a formal meeting, and she still dragged harbour water behind her wherever she stepped.

One of the officers, a man in a red coat, was speaking. “...taken Leansfield, and we might push back their siege of the planet, but how long before they send more ships? The navy has proven its inability to prevent landing parties.” Vayra still didn’t know their uniforms well, but she knew red coats belonged to the marines and yellow to naval officers.

Commander Kochrann nodded solemnly. “There’s just too much of the Stream to patrol, and when ships come in, they come too fast. We don’t have the numbers to hold them off before they reach the shores.”

“Do not speak for the navy, Commander,” said an elf in a yellow coat. “If the Elderworlds knew they could land successfully on every planet, they’d already have done it. We can assume that they haven’t laid siege to any of the worlds deeper into our territory because they are incapable of it.”

“Or because they need to maintain supply chains,” another said. “What purpose is taking Thronehome if their bluecoats starve in a few months?”

‘How about because Karmion has an obsession with subjugating everyone. Why wouldn’t he work one world at a time?’ Phasoné interjected. ‘Tell them that, Vayra. Tell them for me.’

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Vayra leaned between a pair of the councillors and placed her hands on the table. She told them all what Phasoné had explained.

“Whatever the reason,” Commander Kochrann interrupted, “we cannot hold on forever. More waves will come. Karmion can build ships twice as fast as we can, and his bluecoats are amassing for another push. Even if they don’t concentrate their efforts, they might be able to break the Line of Battle through sheer attrition.”

The discussion continued for a few more minutes. Slowly, as they spoke, more and more gazes drifted towards Vayra.

“Must we place all our hopes in her, then?” asked a woman in an ornate dress, who Vayra gleaned was the Member of Parliament for Ramesworld. Her eyes clung to Vayra, latching onto her like grappling hooks. “Raise her high enough, and she can level armies with a sweep of her arm.”

“If it wasn’t for Mediator Vayra, you would have had to contend with a God-heir last night,” Elder Gheita said, raising her hands. “It will take years for her to reach the point you want.”

“So why aren’t we starting now?”

Vayra gulped. Elder Gheita thought she was progressing, but as far as Vayra was concerned, she had reached a roadblock.

‘Well, if you’re going to admit that you need a teacher, now would be the time,’ Phasoné muttered.

“Working on it,” Vayra whispered back, drawing a startled glance from a nearby officer. She looked around, then louder, said, “I really need the advice of a teacher. The Gray Council gave me time to choose, but I need to find whoever it is now. I’ve…I’ve gotten stuck. I’m gathering and refining Arcara, sure, but the closer I get to the Quartermaster stage, the further away it feels. And if my core fills up too soon, if I have to advance before I’m ready, I won’t have a proper foundation for the next stages. Let alone higher realms.”

Elder Gheita gazed onward with understanding, and Commander Kochrann nodded respectfully. But everyone else began to mumble and grumble to each other.

The member of parliament cleared her throat. “If, if, Vayra fell, and a new Mediator came to replace her, would the next Mediator have a more powerful inhabitor-god? Or, simply, a Mediator who doesn’t get a block in her cultivation?”

“There is no guarantee that we’d be able to find the next Mediator,” Elder Gheita said. “We’re lucky Vayra wasn’t caught by Karmion’s thugs, and we’re lucky she didn’t happen to be in Elderworld space when she was created.” She shook her head. “If Vayra dies, the next Mediator may be snapped up in an instant. Imprisoned, or worse, what if Karmion manages to turn a Mediator to his cause?”

The member of parliament scoffed, then turned her head down.

“I would be open to this council’s suggestions,” Vayra said.

“Since you’ve dealt with Nalla,” Commander Kochrann said, “We can handle matters here. I wouldn’t protest if you returned to Thronehome and truly took to your progression in the hands of the Order.”

She had hoped they might provide another suggestion. Not that she didn’t want to travel to Thronehome, but the elders of the Order weren’t God-heirs, nor were they a Mediator. They didn’t have everything she needed.

Besides, Thronehome was one planet. It might have been the capital of the Velaydian Kingdom, but…being tied up there for years, cycling, meditating, and tirelessly training? Was that really what she wanted?

“How about Phasoné? Can Phasoné guide her?” asked another officer. For a moment, Vayra tilted her head, entertaining the proposition.

‘It’s been a long, long time since I was ever at the low stages,’ Phasoné said inside Vayra’s mind. ‘If I wanted to guide you through the precise steps, I would have already. But the Arcara you have is a only fraction of my old power. My advice is free, but I can’t give you the direct guidance you need.’

That was, sadly, the response Vayra expected. For a moment, she wanted to be upset—if there was anyone who could teach her, it would be Phasoné—but she also didn’t want her instructor constantly inside her mind.

“It would be wise to bring her back to Thronehome,” Elder Gheita said. “The Gray Council has been preparing elixirs and pills for her, and she is welcome to choose any of the Elders for her teacher.”

There was no other option, then. She shut her eyes, then sighed. “I’ll return. The Harmony should be waiting south along the shore, by the bayou. We can be back to Thronehome in a…a little while.” She didn’t know how long the journey would take, and she felt her cheeks heating up at the thought.

“Then it’s settled,” Commander Kochrann said. He pointed at the galactic map at the center of the table with a thin baton, and gingerly tapped a spiral arm on the far eastern side. “It will be a few weeks.”

Vayra nodded, then stepped back from the table. “Thank you.”

The council returned to their discussions—where to move soldiers, where the next effort from the Elderworlds would likely be, and other administrative tasks that Vayra knew she had no business interfering with.

She walked back out of the hall. As she headed towards the entrance, she heard footfalls behind her, and she turned to look. It was Elder Gheita.

“One day, you will not have to turn to know who is coming behind you,” Gheita said. “You will be able to sense their spirit.”

“Seems a little unlikely, sometimes.”

Gheita chuckled. “All Mediators encounter troubles. You are no different. But if you gave up, you would be.”

Vayra didn’t know what to say, so she kept silent as she walked.

“I will accompany you to Thronehome, if you would like,” said Gheita. “All the other Elders will be awaiting your arrival.”

“I wouldn’t complain.” Vayra turned sideways to slip between the guards at the hall’s front terrace, then jogged down the stairs. “We should get going as soon as possible, though.”