AKI:

Relentless clangs from the crafting and molding of metal and stone filled the Aedificator district as though creation and destruction fought within, the air perpetually covered in a haze of collateral mist. In a roofless building on the western boundary, we had our first lecture on the Arts. My friends and I arrived early, hurried by my enthusiasm. I seated us in the three most front and center of the rows and columns of reinforced stone workbenches.

“We’ve covered all they’ll teach us this season.” Dako struggled awkwardly into the seat to my right. “I won't begrudge your diligence or zeal, but explain to me again why we are here half a turn before class begins?”

“To find the closest seats,” I answered.

“I gathered that much.”

“Much of my training to this point has been curtailed by my… limitations. I’m hoping I can remedy that here.”

“Limitations?” Sil asked. She slid into the seat to my left.

I shook my head. “A long tale I do not fully understand myself. Suffice it to say that most of my sensus was beyond my grasp for most of my life.”

“So you know what to do, just not how?” Dako asked.

I shrugged. “I won't make such a claim. Many a commoner knows how to recite prayers. It doesn’t make them priests, does it?”

Dako chuckled. “No, no, no. I’ll not have you trap me in another never-ending debate.”

Sil gave me one of her knowing smiles. “That’s because the prayers require the mark of a god to hold power.”

“True enough,” I said.

Dako’s laughter redoubled. “And why is it Sil’s opinions never warrant one of your semantic arguments?”

“Because correcting her is not nearly as fun.”

“Oh.” Sil’s lips and brows quirked in tandem. “You mean to suggest I am mistaken.”

“Ah!” Dako leaned forward in his seat, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“I mean to suggest not wanting to find out,” I said to Sil, to which Dako adopted an exaggerated look of disappointment.

We waited, idly conversing and watching students file in. Many, including a majority of the Leaves, elected to attend. Vignil and Linus were among them. The former eyeing us with conserved anger, the latter with open disdain. Our assessor—a long, thin man robed in the green of Aedificators—was the last to arrive. He carried with him a plain wooden box.

“Settle down,” he commanded, earning every student’s obedience; we all knew he was a Master, a Named at the very least, though his complexion said otherwise. He was a man worthy of respect, even from those who’d been born with it. He came to stand at the front of the room, the box he carried thudding against the stone of his worktable. “I am your educator for this class. You may refer to me as Master Ackhart. Today, we shall commence your instructions on the basics of Aedification.” He pointed at Dako. “Define the two Aedificator classifications, if you will.”

Dako stood sharply, rigid, almost as though by reflex. Without a preamble, he said, “Golems are masters of stone and earth, Telums of metal and gem.” He sat back down just as sharply, offering me a rueful smile when he noticed my quizzical stare.

“Accurate if a little terse,” Ackhart said. “In essence, Golems manipulate stone, rock, soil, and a few other less common telluric substances, allowing them to forge all manner of things. Generally, most of the more successful Golems, those who do not pursue a combat-oriented vocation, specialize in the construction of buildings, bridges, and roads. Those with less skill, commonly known as brownsmiths, tend to work in conjunction with lesser Alchemists and Surgeons in the production and maintenance of crops and livestock.

“Telums, on the other hand, manipulate metals and gems, forging items as complex as matrix-carved weapons to those as simple as horseshoes. Naturally, the more accomplished pursue the former and those less so, commonly designated or referred to as dullsmiths, the latter.”

Ackhart gestured at someone behind me. I looked back to see a sharp-faced boy I recognized as one of the Leaves, his posture slack, his spindly limbs languid—attributes uncommon to his House. He was the other Leaf Dako had identified during our confrontation in the dorm’s courtyard. What took my notice, however, was the boy who sat beside him, his usually despotic bearing subdued beyond recognition. I wondered why Froxil had not healed the two-inch scar running down from his left eye and around his cheekbone.

“Must we start with so basic an introduction, Master?” the rat-faced boy asked. “Can we not move on to the study of matrixes? I’d think even the lowliest of us”—he looked pointedly at me—“has memorized the fundamentals.”

A few students around him snickered.

“Sit,” Ackhart ordered. The ratlike Leaf made a show of complying, his movements slow and flaccid. “I do not need your advice on how to go about my duties, Samiel.”

A sharp snap rang out. Samiel’s arm hung from his shoulder, dislocated from its socket, the fabric of his uniform stretching along the length of his sleeve. The boy snapped the bone back in place with a lazy smile.

“No one may ask a question beyond the topic of Aedification,” Ackhart said, paying no mind to the injury he so enigmatically inflicted. “Especially in regards to my conduct or method. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” the room chimed, including the less than chagrined Samiel.

“Good.” Ackhart nodded, pleased with the unanimous accord. “Now, who can explain why Aedificator Arts are not categorized under the Vapor classification?” He ran his dark-blue eyes, bright against his gaunt face and low-hanging hair, across the room at a sea of raised hands, stopping and nodding at one I knew.

Froxil stood from his seat beside Samiel. “The intrinsic nature of Aedificator elements, which are heavily anchored to physical matter, differs from the more fugacious element of pressure. Consequently, since their natures are fundamentally different, so too are the matrixes that govern their use.”

Ackhart nodded. “A shame. I'd have enjoyed teaching someone as studious as you are. Alas, you shall likely fail before your first cycle at The Academy is done.”

Froxil frowned. “Mind your discretion, Master, no matter your thoughts on my aptitude?”

Ackhart narrowed his eyes at the boy. Two simultaneous pops and a shrill scream followed. Both of Froxil's arms hung loose. He stiffened in an attempt to avoid aggravating the pain.

“My prediction of your failure is not grounded in your aptitude,” Ackhart said. “Do not think I did not notice the disrespect you’d shown me in your pursuit to indulge your Fiora’s behavior, and all for the ignoble quest to curry favor, which he spotted by the by.” He turned to Samiel. “You did, did you not?”

“Yes,” Samiel answered, unconcerned. “I’ve made a habit of ignoring the toadying of my lessers. It is a common enough occurrence to have made me rather adept at it. Still, I am not so trained as to be oblivious to their fawnings.”

Ackhart’s gaze fell back on Froxil. “If you had accepted my observation without comment, you’d have concluded the matter. Unfortunately, you’ve clearly failed to understand my earlier assertions. I repeat, do not question my method or conduct.” He turned to Samiel. “If you will?”

Samiel sighed, stood, leaned over Froxil, and popped his shoulders back in, the sudden grinding of bone on bone accented by the boy’s shrill scream.

Ackhart ran a casual look over the class. “As to those who had made the same mistake as Froxil, I am not unjust—you will get yours in due time.”

Ackhart continued his lecture, asking questions and elaborating or correcting answers, all while fulfilling his promise. The first boy refused to withstand an insult for his incomplete answer. His unhinged jaw made a ghoul of him. Next was a Branch girl. The flick to her forehead and her indignant reaction left all the fingers on her left hand crooked. She spent the rest of class snapping them straight. A long-faced Branch earned the final and most grievous punishment. From his screams, a dislocated elbow must be as painful as it looks. No one fell for Ackhart’s traps after that.

The sky showed the first signs of dimming when Master Ackhart put his hands on the box he’d brought to class. “Before you all leave…” He opened the chest and took out a crystal orb streaked with lines of dull green. He tossed it to Sil. The next was mine. The weight slapped into my palm. Glass-like and the size of an eye, the sphere was deceptively heavy.

“Many of you know what a harmony stone is,” Ackhart said as he continued to distribute the orbs. “For those who do not, it is the measuring tool for detecting how efficiently your sensus can deal with particular brands of matrixes.”

A plain girl in the back of the classroom raised her hand. Ackhart nodded his permission.

“We’ve all been tested, Master,” she said. “Another would be redundant.”

Ackhart scoffed. “If those tests were accurate, I will verify them. If they were not, I will correct them for our records. Whatever the case, you will take the test with my stones and in my presence.” Ackhart returned his attention to the class. “Inject your sensus into the stone. There is no need to expend much. The result will remain the same.”

The orbs emitted a faint light as students followed Ackhart’s instruction and injected their sensus. I looked down at mine, both hesitant and excited. I turned to my friends to watch their results, conveniently delaying my own.

Sil angled the orb towards me, careful to keep it from any watchful eyes but my own. It lightened my heart to see how readily she revealed her results to me, and doubly so when I saw the single glowing line, the other nine dull and lifeless. She shrugged as though the test was of little concern. Her disinterest did nothing for my growing fears.

I turned to Dako. He was smiling at the eight lines he’d brought into being and doing nothing about hiding it.

“Impressive,” I said.

Dako turned to me, giddy. “They never tested our harmony with the other Arts. ‘Talent in lesser Arts is nothing to be proud of,’ they said. I have to say I disagree.”

He looked down at my orb, seeing it unlit and untested. His gaze rose, fixing on mine in a show of support. “It's best to know.”

I sighed, steeled my nerves, and wrapped my hands around the orb before calling on my sensus. As expected, it responded in a tidal wave. I opened my eyes and slowly parted my thumbs. Sil and Dako leaned in closer.

We gasped in unison.

Ten. All the lines had blazed to life. It was unheard of for anyone less than a Seculor to achieve pinnacle harmony. I did, and I was no descendant of House Grono. My only hope for pinnacle harmony lay with my Auger test. Still, even being a Fiora of House Lorail, I held no certainty my harmony would reach such heights in the Arts of the House that’d birthed me. Finding myself so sympathetic to the Aedificator classification was a daunting discovery.

“You’re a cast-off,” Sil whispered.

“Of House Grono,” Dako added.

I looked at them in turn, unsure of what they meant.

“Sometimes,” Sil explained, “rare as it may be, a Fiora is disowned. Rarer still, they survive their renouncement, disappearing into the expanse of the southern or eastern lands. Their children are known as cast-offs.”

I shook my head. “I can’t be.”

“Why?” Sil asked. “Cast-offs are often allowed back into the folds of nobility, dangerous as it may be.”

“Why would it be dangerous?” Dako asked.

“Without the support and protection of parents, they are often eliminated by cousins. You don’t need me to tell you—”

“Still,” Dako said, “amidst Branches and Leaves, it’s safer to be a cast-off than a Mud or a Heartwood.”

Sil shook her head in disagreement. “Untrue. Godlings will abuse those of lower stations, but they rarely seek to kill them.”

“I can't be,” I said. “It's not possible.”

“There’s no other way, Aki.” Sil pointed at the orb, its glowing lines hidden behind my clenched hand. “Only Fioras and Seculors have pinnacle harmony.”

“It’s just not possible.” An idea came to me. “Can a Fiora from one House achieve pinnacle harmony in the Art of another?”

Slow smiles grew on Sil and Dako’s faces, and they shared a look. I felt the urge to beat myself across the head. My question had answered far more than it had asked.

“Maybe,” Sil answered, choosing not to speak on my unintentional confession. “But I’ve never heard of it happening.”

Someone cleared their throat. I flinched and tightened my hold on the orb. Master Ackhart loomed over us, the box held up to his modest chest.

“Your stones,” he said.

Sil placed hers into the box without hesitation. Ackhart glanced down and nodded before his gaze shifted to my hands. My heart was pounding.

“I would advise against expending the effort to hide your talent,” the Master explained. “As time passes and the need to demonstrate your best increases, others will have all they need to estimate your harmony to a fair degree of accuracy.”

A hand came to lay on my shoulder. Dako’s. Firm and heavy and comforting. I kept my hand around the stone as I placed it into the box. My fellow students might figure it out in time, but I’d not help them on their way.

Ackhart glanced down at my orb, whose glowing lines began to dim. “Hmm. Interesting.”

Dako threw his stone into the box without care.

Ackhart looked up at the tall Fiora, his smile growing. “I look forward to instructing you both.”

The Master Aedificator continued about the room. Once he’d collected all the stones, he returned to the front. “For our following lecture, expect to be assigned a seat. We will divide the class into two. Those with a harmony of five and above shall be seated towards the front, where I will be teaching them personally. Those who’ve scored below five will sit in the back. One of my Fives will instruct you. Though they might not possess my expertise, they are more than capable of teaching you. Please note that the content of the first cycle’s examination will be the same for all, regardless of the group you are assigned to, though there will be a difference depending on whether or not you choose to take the test to specialize or to pass into the next cycle. This arrangement is to help advance those more suited for the Art to higher tiers and thus better acclimate them both to the test for specialization and to the elective classes that follow.

“That is all. You may leave.”

***

The Alchemy District was divided into nine regions delineated by proficiency and climate. From west to east came summer, spring, and winter, their weather controlled by some grand Vapor matrix that allowed for the fostering of various beasts and forms of plant life—a pivotal resource in the training of Alchemists. From the north to the south came novice, intermediate, and advanced, each holding progressively more valuable and dangerous life forms. At the base, spanning the entire western border of the district, was the central laboratory, a large building of purple-streaked white marble.

Sil, Dako, and I came half a turn early to a room in the eight-story building at the center of the summer novice region, one more taking front and center from among the stout worktables. Soon after our arrival, a frazzled man stumbled into the room, followed by a more sober woman carrying a small chest.

“Well, what do we have here?” the man asked, his plump face engorged by the type of silly grin reserved for young children and decadent Alchemists. “A ten? In my class? Other than Malorey?”

The woman behind him, a diamond-faced godling with short-cropped hair the colors of autumn, regarded me coolly. “A ten, Master? Are you certain?”

“Of course, my young apprentice,” Master Royce said, rubbing at the tangled mess of thinning hair atop his head. “Set between the measly one and six, he is all but blinding.”

The apprentice walked to the assessor’s worktable, setting down the box she carried. “A cast-off?”

Royce ambled towards me, placed his elbows on the worktable, leaned forward, and gazed into my eyes as if his sight could bore into my soul. “Maybe. Or a bastard. What says you… Aki, is it? Are you a cast-off or a bastard?”

I felt the urge to look away but resisted. “Neither, Master Royce.”

“Know both your parents, do you?” he asked. Drunk as he appeared, his mind and tongue were clear of impediment, a keen intellect piercing through his bloodshot eyes.

“Yes,” I said.

“And neither is god or Fiora?”

“Neither is of House Silas.”

He smiled at my evasive answer. “Well then, welcome to my class. I look forward to having another pinnacle student this year.” He turned to his apprentice and nearly fell when his elbow slipped. A quick palm to the table brought back his balance. “You may leave, Melin. There’s much to prepare for tonight's experiments.”

The buxom woman bowed and left the room, throwing furtive glances at me from over her shoulder.

Master Royce staggered to the front and opened the box his apprentice had left behind. He took out a blank scroll, a fine quill with slick, purple-dyed feathers, and a crystal inkwell. Scribbling down a few lines, he turned to the door, half-closed eyes glued to the entrance.

Students began to filter into the room. Each prompted Royce to make a note. When the last students entered, Royce reached back into the small chest and took out a small glass flask filled with a purple liquid. He removed the cork and downed the content in one. His sluggish sway vanished, and he turned his piercing eyes to the class, seeming a different man.

“Welcome,” he said. “I am Master Royce. Without further ado, let us begin this introductory class into Alchemy.” He slipped out of his purple robe and draped it across his seat, revealing a slim build discordant with his rotund face. “So, who would like to summarize the two Alchemist classifications for us?”

Hands rose. Royce ignored them, coming to stand before my worktable for the second time. “Care to try at an answer?”

I looked up at him. “Alchemy classifications are a little different from the other four. While they are—in truth, if not in practice—equal, the classifications are considered tiered, with Herbalists often deemed the lesser of the two.

“Herbalists are masters of extracting and distilling floral or bestial abilities from materials into alchemical solutions, temporarily granting these abilities to whatever or whoever consumes them.

“As for Arcanists, they are weavers of insentient souls, which is to say they mine the abilities of lesser souls of rudimentary existence or those whose consciousnesses have been detached. It is said they obtain far more potent and lasting extractions, some of which are rumored to bestow permanent effects.”

Stolen story; please report.

Royce nodded, pleased. “A more than satisfactory answer. It is, however, missing a few pertinent details and one significant clarification.” He stepped onto his toes, craning his head upwards to see over the flock of students. “Malorey, if you are done hiding, would you be so kind as to complete the answer?”

I turned to see a slight girl at the back of the class stand, irritation written across her face with thick, bold lines. “I hope you’ll not use me to correct your students at every turn, Nephew.”

Royce smiled, unconcerned by the lack of respect. During tutelage, the relationship between teacher and student superseded that of familial ties. Her decision to refer to him as ‘nephew,’ particularly in the presence of his other students, was a clear disregard for his position as the arbiter of the class.

Malorey turned to me, suddenly aloof and indifferent. She raised three fingers, index to ring. “You made three omissions. One, Herbalists can combine abilities from different sources. Arcanists cannot.” The ring finger folded. “Two, insentient souls include unbodied souls who remain aware but cannot manifest, process, or action their awareness due to a lack of a medium by which to do so—though I should also mention that such souls are considerably more challenging to extract from.” The middle finger folded. “Three, even the best concoctions the Arcanists can proffer are not permanent. All such creations tend to degrade over time. It is only that some have lasted longer than the lifespan of their recipients that the misconception of their permanency has spread.” Her hand dropped. “Regarding the important clarification my nephew mentioned, I believe it to be your general disregard for Herbalist. Nothing you said was overtly inaccurate, yet you clearly hold a lower estimation of the class.”

I raised a hand. “More so misinformed than—”

“I did not venture to guess as to why,” Malorey said.

I nodded. “Yes, which is why I said it was more so, meaning to clarify that it is more accurately described as misinformed than low.”

Dako snickered beside me. “So it’s not just me,” he whispered.

Malorey frowned. “Both can be true. They are not mutually exclusive.”

“Yes, but one can be truer than the other.”

Malorey looked away in thought, some of her arrogance muted. “Perhaps. But if you are misinformed, as you say, how can you know how far you’ve misjudged the matter?”

“I don’t. What I do know is that my estimation has always been higher than what I was taught to believe. And though my answer comprised all of what I’ve been taught, it did not contain all that I’ve estimated.”

Malorey shrugged. “Maybe so, but still irrelevant to my more germane point. Your summarisation understated the true value of the Herbalist classification.”

“My thanks,” I said, “for conceding to my clarification and enlightening me on the subject.”

“I made no such admission.”

“Stop your bickering, children,” Royce said, grinning at Malorey and letting her know our wrangling amused him. “You’ll both have time enough to continue your verbose sparring in future years. For now—”

“I think not,” Malorey said.

“I suspect he’ll be your peer throughout your stay at The Academy,” Royce said, surprising many.

Malorey’s eyes narrowed. “Unlikely.”

Royce shrugged. “He’s no less gifted—of soul, at least, though by the sharpness of his thoughts and tongue, I suspect of mind too.”

Her eyes widened, and she had the look of someone unused to the expression. “Impos—”

“Enough!” Royce lost the good-humored smile he’d been wearing. “I shall not indulge you further, Student. As I was saying, I think you have summarised the basic definitions well enough. Let us delve a little further into their particulars…”

Though their methods differed vastly, like Ackhart, Master of Aedificators, Master Royce was a capable teacher. While Ackhart deconstructed concepts into fundamental principles, erecting his explanations in a way that grew in complexity by introducing baser elements and combining them into theories, Royce entertained, grasping at whatever took his fancy, the utter passion with which he taught infecting his audience as he chewed and blended topics into mouthfuls we could swallow.

“We were told there would be a test of harmony?” someone asked at the end of the lecture.

Royce placed his writing tools back into their box, tucked the scroll under his arm, and said, “Yes.”

The boy who’d asked the question was nonplused, unsure of whether to reformulate his question or take the answer he was given.

“The tests have been carried out,” Royce said. “Where you're seated in my next class will tell you all you need to know about your results.” Before any more questions could be asked, he closed his box and strode from the room.

“Care to tell us how?” Sil asked.

“Yes,” Dako said. “One is impressive. Two is… well, I’m not entirely sure what it is.”

“We’ll discuss it in private,” I said.

“Discuss?” Sil asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, discuss.”

“As in, you’ll be contributing to this conversation?”

“Some.”

“Including parts of your past that might be relevant.”

“However much eludes my discretion.”

Sil sighed and looked towards the last of the students leaving. “I thought as much. Pity, the tale of an unheard-of Fiora with pinnacle harmony sounds deliciously interesting.”

Dako laughed, standing and laying an arm around my shoulders.

“And what exactly is funny about his frustratingly enigmatic past?” Sil asked.

Dako placed a palm on my chest. His hand nearly spanned the entire width of my torso. “The alternative would’ve been disappointing. If all it took to solve that mystery was this mystery, well, I’d have felt cheated.”

“Ah,” I said. “So the only reason you walk the path is to—”

“Ha,” he barked. “Don’t waste your breath. I’ll not be tricked off the path and onto a road of guilt.”

“Rather poetic of you… I think,” Sil said. “But for Merkusian sake, could one of you explain to me what this godling’s shite of a path you two keep talking about is?”

“If you are done blabbering,” said a voice.

Our laughter ceased. Malorey stood by the exit, waiting. She was impressive. I’d never known another who could infuse so much conceit in the simple act of standing.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“About?” I asked, though I already had a fair idea.

“About whose bastard you are.”

“Does it matter?”

“If my nephew is right and you possess a level of harmony that rivals my own, yes, it most certainly does.”

“Why?”

“I think I’m due for a question of my own,” she said. “Who are your parents?”

“I see no reason to indulge your curiosity. Please move aside.”

Malorey crossed her arms and set her jaw as if the very act might convince me to capitulate. I just waited.

“You know who I am?” Malorey asked.

“No, I can't say I do.”

“Of me then?”

“A little, I suppose.”

“Then what is it you want?”

“From you? To move aside.”

Dako snorted a laugh. He and Sil stood behind me. They’d only intervene if this came to blows of the physical sort, though, with their figures looming behind me like an unspoken warning, I think their presence alone did some intervening in that regard. Good thing, too, since Dako’s laughter was acting to the contrary.

“I’m a three-weave Alchemist in all but name,” Malorey proclaimed.

“And?”

“And you want something.”

“I do?”

“From an Alchemist of my caliber, yes. Tell me what it is?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, a thought creeping in to pull back the cordial barb at the tip of my tongue. “Three questions to one.”

Malorey considered for a moment, then nodded.

“And I’ll not give you names,” I said.

A frown of warning crinkled the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Have—”

“And a favor?”

A grumble escaped the back of her throat, muted by her sealed lips. “Only if it will bring me no inconvenience.”

“Sure.”

“Very well. Have—”

“And we begin anew, my questions coming first.”

Malorey glanced over my shoulders as if weighing whether or not attacking me was worth the risk. “No lies.”

“No deliberate lies,” I amended.

She sighed. “Proceed.”

“Good. Walk with us.”

We headed out, Malorey beside me, Sil and Dako trailing close behind. Floral scents welcomed us as we stepped out onto the dirt paths of the summer-novice field, the gardens of vibrant vegetation organized about us almost enough to smother the faint scent of dung drifting over from the far-off pens.

“How come today is the first I’ve seen of you?” I asked.

Malorey shrugged. “I took my assessments early.”

“And you passed?”

“Yes.”

“Did you do well?”

“Well enough.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it's my turn for a question,” she said. “Are either of your parents Fioras of House Silas?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I get three questions to every one of yours,” I said.

Malorey kissed her teeth.

“When you say you passed well enough, is that to say you’re eligible for all the classifications?”

“I am a pure Alchemist, meaning my dual classifications are in herbalism and the arcane. For the others, I did enough to pass but not enough to qualify for specialisation—not that I’d want to.”

“I see. If you’ve already passed the assessments, why were you in class today?”

“Boredom. Until I’ve officially been enrolled into the second cycle, I do not have the right to use intermediate facilities, nor am I conferred the privilege of leaving the Academy grounds.

“And you found no more worthwhile use for all your free time?”

“Ultimately, I deemed novice pursuits less entertaining than watching primates learn basic tasks. Which House are you most related to?”

“Lorail, if I had to guess.”

Malorey stopped in her tracks. Dako almost ran into her.

“House Lorail does share cross-harmony with House Silas, but a pinnacle…” Malorey muttered, the rest of her words too soft to hear.

“Why were you not part of the caravan from the capital?” I asked, continuing to walk the beaten path. She broke from her thoughts and hastened to catch up.

“Neither were Silani and Dakomir,” she said, falling back into step.

“Fair point. I’d not considered them.”

“Ahh, you wound me,” said Dako, hands theatrically pressed to his chest as though my words had formed an arrow and pierced his heart. “What a mighty blow.”

I guffawed. “I’d not considered asking, I should say. I’m not so shameless as to rummage for their secrets when I carry so many of my own.”

“Ah,” Dako said. “It’s a miracle. I’m healed.”

Sil shook her head, but Dako’s antics did earn him a smile. “You could ask,” she said to me. “Should even. Not that we’ll answer, but asking is all well and good. I do.”

“So you’re a modest Branch, are you?” Malorey said. “A rarity.”

“I'm not,” I said.

“Modest or a rarity?”

“No, a Branch.”

“But you said—” Again, Malorey stilled. This time, Dako griped a warning. She waved him away and promptly resumed her stride, a thoughtful look on her face.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said.

When Malorey returned to herself, it was with anger, hot and barely contained. “You’re lying! Or you’ve lied. The only truth I can take away from this farce is knowing you are likely of House Lorail.”

Malorey turned to leave. Nonplussed, I reached for her. The contact broke whatever barrier restrained her violence. She lunged for me. I felt a breeze over my shoulder—Dako’s arm. It was a close thing. The sharp tip of her foremost finger was a mere hairsbreadth from my throat. Despite the locks on our sensus, wisps of dark hair like that of a woodland creature covered her hand, her claw-shaped fingertips sharp and jagged.

Dako stepped past me and shoved Malorey back. She rolled with the force, spinning back into a crouch, her movements too agile to be purely human.

“Try that again, and I’ll end you,” Dako said. From how he’d said it, I’d barely thought it a threat, so calm and casual was his delivery.

Malorey rolled her shoulders. Dako planted his feet, waiting. Sil came to stand by his side, quiet and assured.

“Wait!” I said. “There’s no need to come to blows. Besides, have you three forgotten where we are?”

The district’s plaza—the open space in front of the main alchemy building—stretched out around us, bustling with the traffic of students who’d just finished class. A few had slowed to watch our brief skirmish.

“Malorey,” I said, “I’ll not say I’m above lying. I’m not. But as far as I’m aware, I’ve not uttered a single falsehood. Tell me why you think I have.”

Malorey hissed at me. It sounded far more human. The hair on the back of her hand retreated into her pores, and her eyes were blue once more. “You expect me to believe you’re a Root.”

“A Mud turned Heartwood,” I corrected.

Malorey turned and walked away without another word. This time, I was not so foolish as to try and stop her.

***

“Being both a pinnacle Alchemist and Aedificator can only mean you are a pinnacle Auger,” Sil explained.

“So you’re of House Lorail then,” Dako said, sitting on my bed beside Sil. “And a Fiora to boot. I can see why you’d prefer to keep that to yourself.”

“True or not, that doesn’t answer my question,” I said.

“Well, maybe, but it does ask mine,” Sil said, her smile somewhere between playful and serious.

“Fiora’s holding pinnacles in three Arts are more than rare,” Dako said. “High scores in adjacent Arts are common enough, but…”

“It could mean you are a god,” Sil said. “They say The Five have pinnacle harmonies in each other's Arts.”

“Imagine,” Dako said. His laughter made clear his thoughts. “That hasn’t happened since Prince Knite was born. And other than the Kolokasians and their rights of ascension, which doesn’t count since it's more a replacement than an addition, only Merkusian has ever managed to bring about new Gods.”

“Let’s stop the jests and be serious.” I waved away their comments, trying to hide my nervousness. The conversation was veering into dangerous territory. “Is it possible the tests were wrong?”

“Unlikely,” Sil said. “The Academy is meticulous by nature. They would not let carelessness sully their prestige.”

Dako nodded. “Agreed.”

“Are you going to keep denying you’re an Auger?” Sil asked.

“If abstaining from a response is the same as a denial, then yes.”

***

“My name is Asherian,” he said. “I will be your Duros assessor for this year.”

Asherian looked the part of a Duros: a burly man with an incongruous intellect behind his stern gaze. A stern gaze that called for order without the need for spoken threats. He stood in the middle of a room much like the one Kurash used in the preparatory academy. At his feet lay an opened chest full of harmony stones. With uncanny accuracy, he began to throw one to each of the many students sitting around him in a circle.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Dako asked, leaning forward. Being of House Bainan, forbye a direct descendent, he needn't have come. The assessment was nothing but a formality for him.

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Sil added, seemingly more interested in my results than her own.

My sensus rushed in like a raging river.

“Interesting,” Sil said.

“Indeed,” said Asherian. How a man so large moved so silently was a miracle. Thankfully, he made no further comment, walking on to inspect and collect more orbs.

“Surgeons and Reapers,” Asherian said, now back at the front of the room. “Who among you is willing to summarize these two classifications for us?”

Hands rose. The boy Asherian chose, an unassuming godling with his hair parted in the middle and combed flat, had both his hands in his lap and was one of the few not vying for the privilege. He sprang to his feet with a nervousness unlike his stout frame. “Both are artificers of flesh. Surgeons concentrate on external reconstruction. Reapers concentrate on internal modification.” Then he sat back down just as brusquely as he had stood.

“What is the one rule that limits Duros Arts?” Asherian did not look away from the boy.

The godling stood once more. “Conservation of matter: Duros Arts cannot create, only influence the functions that do so or redistribute what is already there.”

“Good,” Asherian said, and the class continued.

***

“If we weren't friends,” Dako said, “I might be jealous. I think I still might be.”

“Whatever happens, do not let this be known,” Sil said, expression grim. With her sitting on Dako’s desk and her legs swinging back and forth a little too spiritedly, I wondered if she was being facetious.

“Master Asherian knows,” I said. “As do the other Assessors who’ve measured my harmony.”

“Yes, but assessors from different Houses seldom mingle,” Sil explained. “You must use that to your advantage. If the breadth of your potential were discovered, they and the houses they represent would demand your allegiance. Whether with honey or blood, you’d be forced to align with one house or another, and once you do, whichever house you choose will not be able to protect you from the others, for no house can afford to allow such a powerful piece to fall into their competitor’s hands.”

“But what happens when our fellow students notice?” I asked.

“There are ways to appear less skillful,” Dako said, adjusting himself. Try as he might, the chair he sat on was too small for him to sit comfortably. “And if done right, appearing less skillful might do well in making you appear less talented.”

Sil leaned in closer. “Choose two non-apposing Arts to pursue. You will have to forgo the others. Trust me, it’s for the best.”

“Then it’ll be Duros and Auger,” I said.

“No,” my friends said in unison.

“Why?”

“Two reasons,” Sil said. “Firstly, Duros and Auger Arts might not be complete opposites, but they’re far enough apart that having pinnacle in both has never occurred.”

“And secondly,” Dako added, “your talent in Alchemy is already known. That will have to be one of the two.”

“But Duros Arts are the best for combat,” I said. My goals never left the forefront of my mind, and there was no better medium for power than violence.

Sil shook her head. “Maybe for the larger masses, but not for the upper echelons. Take the Named, for example. Are their numbers overwhelmed by Duroses? No. In fact, other than Augers, who have little in the ways of physical combat, and Ponduses, who have little in the ways of a legacy or house, the other Arts are represented equally among their ranks.”

Dako waved away her rationale, unwilling to concede to anything that might lessen my compliment. “In any case,” he said, “if you wish to study the Art, I can help.”

“What about the resources I will need to practice?” I asked.

“Excepting Aedificators, none of the Arts require external resources to practice their basics.”

“Still, I cannot ask you to do that,” I said.

“You didn’t.”

I smiled, not because of what he offered, but because he’d offered it. “I appreciate the gesture, but—”

Dako's demeanor shifted from warm to cold, from affable to aloof, the change so abrupt and significant as to be aggressive.

Sil slapped his arm. “Come off, you brute. Don’t use the norms of godling etiquette to judge poor Aki. He knows nothing of our customs. You forget our friend is a Mud.” And just like that, the Dako I knew was back, smiling sheepishly at me.

“Sorry, Aki,” he said. “To us, a gift refused is an insult made.”

“I meant nothing of the sort. It is because you are my friend that I refused your gift. Sharing your time would mean slowing your training.”

Dako stared, uncomprehending.

“Aki,” Sil laughed, “Dako is Fiora. More importantly, he is a Leaf candidate. Duros matrixes taught in the foundation cycle are of little use to someone like him.”

***

“Ignis and Zephyr are the classifications you’ll study under my tutelage.” Mistress Rizal was a wisp of a woman, short and slim and almost too easy to miss. “There are many similarities between the two.” She pointed at a Branch. “Sichon. Elaborate.”

Sichon stood, her bashful demeanor likely a consequence of the darker hair and eyes that all but confirmed her as a low Branch. “Erm, I be-believe an Ignis is a wielder of flames, a-and… erm… a Zephyr is a wielder of air.”

A frowning Rizal bade the girl to sit. “Though the manifestation of their Arts may appear so, you are incorrect. To understand the two classifications, you must first understand what a Vapor is.

“Vapors possess the capacity to generate pressure. Zephyrs use this ability to create force, while Ignises use it to create friction. Though the latter can use their sensus as fuel to create flames, their power primarily lies in the production of heat, not fire.” Rizal expounded on the subject, asking less and less from the class as the lecture continued. Many of the answers she got were not to her liking, and I think she’d chosen to avoid wasting time.

Near the end of class, she handed out the Vapor orbs. Dako got two. I got ten. Sil, having taken and passed her assessment, had not attended.

***

What I expected to be Mistress Fuller was actually Master Fuller. Still, our Auger assessor had a way about him that made it hard to remember he was a man. It wasn’t in his physical appearance, but in his mannerisms, his quirks, the way he bent his wrist and flourished his arms, in the way he stood and let his arms wrap too far around him, in all the little ways you can't quite explain but can easily see.

“Let me first define an Auger,” he started. “Simply put, Augers manipulate souls. Tunnellers use their sensus to infiltrate, observe, and tinker. Painters, on the other hand, use theirs to manifest and alter the perception of reality. Those of you who have the luck or pedigree to infuse meaning into your creations will be able to do far more. As a Tunneller, you’ll be more than a tinkerer—you’ll be able to mold souls to your heart's content. As a Painter, you’ll not be altering the perception of reality but reality itself.

“Augers are the strongest of the six Arts. Given the right moment, the right target, no other class can neutralize a target as quickly or as thoroughly as Tunnellers. And when given the wrong moment, the wrong target, no one has a better chance to avoid death or capture than a Painter…”

And so it went that he droned on and on, too in love with his House, his Art, and the sound of his own voice to allow anyone else to speak, so much so that he’d forgotten the harmony tests until the bell had already chimed to end the day. We had to stay longer to get our results. No one liked the man enough to forgive his hindrance.

As expected, I had pinnacle harmony. Master Fuller, seeing this, stroked my arm before he took my orb, then winked at me like he knew who and what I was.

He did.

***

“I do not want to be here.” Those were her first words. Tall and fair and pleasing to the eye, the mistress for Pondus glided over to her table, the trunk of orbs she carried seemingly weightless in her hands. “If I could go back and tell my younger self to ignore my talent for this Art just to avoid being here, I would. Alas, here I am, forced to teach what little I know of to those who will soon abandon it. So, since I have to be here, I urge you not to add to the reasons I don’t want to be here. Now, you there.” She pointed at a rustic girl sitting in the front row. “You’ll come first, take the test, and return to your seat.” Her gaze took in the rest of the students. “The person beside her will do the same until all of you have taken the test. I expect you all to do so in an orderly fashion. Understood?”

Silence.

“Understood!”

A chorus of yeses rang out.

Both my friends went ahead of me. I didn’t get a chance to peak at their results, but I knew neither would get anything less than five. If there was one thing I learned about this classification, and I think it might just as well have been the only thing I did, it was that it lay between Zephyr and Duros in the wheel of Arts.

I got another ten. Mistress Brittle—a Title bestowed by Bainan himself—paid my result no mind. Once the last of us were seated, our assessor began her lecture.

“Pondus Arts are, in large part, a mystery. No one whose memory runs long enough will speak on what a truly accomplished Pondus is capable of. No Gods or godlings can infuse Meaning, so there is no way to expand on the current matrixes we have on record. Here is what I know:

“Ponduses control weight. There’s much speculation about what separates Riores and Eriuses. Some say Riores control their own weight while Eriuses control the weight of inanimate objects. Others say the difference lies in how the weight changes—Riores decreasing and Eriuses increasing…” Regardless of how ardently Mistress Brittle proclaimed her dislike for the subject, nothing of it was seen in how she taught it. There was respect in how she described Pondus matrixes, an appreciation for the possibilities hidden behind the Art’s curtain of mystery.

At the end of class, the mistress approached me. “Stay a while,” she said. “I’d like to have a word.”

I retook my seat. As did Sil and Dako.

“A private word,” Brittle clarified.

My friends got up, both flashing me a look before they left. Dako’s was easy to understand. Try as he might to break the habit, he still wore his emotions openly. Sil’s was more difficult. She gave me a blank look and didn’t look away until I nodded. I think she meant to warn me. Of what? I had only an inkling.

The room emptied until only Brittle and I remained.

“Which of House Manar’s branches are you from?” she asked.

“Erm… sorry?”

“You are not of House Bainan and so must be of House Manar. Which branch?”

“I’m not of House Manar, Mistress.”

Her brow furrowed. “You’re one of us?”

“House Bainan? No, Mistress.”

“You understand that you must be, right? Of Bainan or Manar.”

“If I am, I do not know which.”

“Vapor or Duros? Which did you achieve pinnacle harmony in?”

“Vapor,” I said, more than half lying.

“I see. Whatever the case, it is of little importance,” she said. I almost breathed a sigh of relief. “Do you plan to take a secondary classification?”

“If I am capable.”

“And if you are, might it be the Pondus classifications?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Why not?”

“You want me to be your student?” I asked, surprised. “As much as you seemed interested in the Art itself, you didn’t look all too happy to be teaching it.”

She smiled, teeth perfect; I suspected her Reaper Art had a hand in that. “I’d rather not waste my time teaching something that’ll never be used. But you’re a pinnacle, boy. The first I’ve seen since I took the test.”

“So you don't mind teaching someone so long as they can use your teachings.”

“Not exactly. Researching the Art alone is an arduous chore. As unlikely as it may be, I’m hoping you might have a modicum of will in your Pondus manifestations. Even if you do not, which is in all honesty likelier, a capable apprentice would greatly lessen the tedium of my efforts.”

“If I may ask, Mistress, why is it unlikely?”

“As you know, pinnacle harmony does not always denote the ability to insert Meaning into one’s Art, nor does the ability to insert Meaning signify pinnacle harmony. It is commonly said that the purity of one’s bloodline determines the degree to which your will inspires your Art. I disagree. Or I should say, I don’t fully agree. Few as they might be, there are too many Branches far removed from the bloodline who’ve exhibited an aptitude for inserting Meanings into their matrixes to mark that assertion a rule. This leads me to my next point.” Brittle stood and looked about the room. “During my research, I’ve found several passages suggesting there was once a sixth progenitor, a god whose death unraveled the House of descendants who carried the Pondus Arts. My attempts to investigate further had garnered me much trouble. I persisted until my father forbade me from delving deeper into the mystery. Since I dare not go against him, finding a lost descendant of this fallen House with the ability to conjure matrixes by will alone could spell the rapid acceleration of my research.”

“Why?” I asked. “There was no need for you to tell me of things not even you should know about.”

Brittle shrugged. “Trust breeds trust.”

“It also cultivates the perfect field for betrayal.”

She stood too abruptly for me to avoid flinching. “I’ll not force you into it. All I ask is that you consider the option. When time runs out, or you arrive at a decision, whichever comes first, let me know.”

“I see no reason to refuse you that, Mistress.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”