I am led through a greenhouse with plants in different stages of growth soaking up the sun. Following them works until they stop abruptly at the back of the room. Previously, uniform floor lifts under the power of a pulley. I stop in descent to examine the contraption. It uses a weighted counter to push the slab up—

“Quit ya lollyin,” the Weasel gruffs.

The tunnel runs underneath the floor and perpendicular to the road outside. My companion holds a dimly lit glow gem. Though a distinctively unkempt dustyness exists, no cobwebs or detritus clog the underground tunnel. The scent of decay and earth sinks me into the fields. I hear the scurrying of critters outside of my peripheries. Clicks clatter a telling enough image. Continuing down the subterranean passage takes us to a wooden door. Through the door is a small room with several wooden doors leading off. They gesture at one on the far right.

“Goin’ through there will bring ya to another staircase like the one we came in. Tell ‘em Weasel sent ya.” With that, they turn back.

“Thank you,” I call.

Through the door mentioned above is a stairway that leads me up from one dark room to another. Opening the door reveals The Regal's familiar grand foyer and the broom closet I am standing in. The front of the line faces me with the portly attendant I know as Weasel. They rake their eyes down my body with dismay, finding less humor in the scratchy garb I had chosen to accompany Shannai.

“May I help you?”

“You may.” I begin, deciding to mess with the fellow for not recognizing me without a mage robe.

“And how may I do that?”

“Hmm. Let’s see— I’m sure I remember— something to do with an animal?”

“An animal? On the premises? Are you with the groundskeeper? You aren’t permitted to be in the lobby.”

“Not permitted? Did you permit the skunk into the lobby?”

“A skunk?“ they splutter.

“Oh, yes. That’s it, I was sent by a Weasel, not for a skunk.” I relent, pitying their frozen expression. “Did you catch that?”

“Oh. Yes, well. Um. My apologies, Sr, please follow me.” They nervously stutter, tripping over their pride as they rush from behind the counter.

“No baggage, Sr?”

“Huh?”

“Yes. Right this way.”

Moving to the far right wall, they open a door leading to a stairway. My haven is up ten flights in a hallway lined with doors. The unassuming white door numbers one thousand thirty-four, in which a luxuriously furnished room with a kitchen and paintings satirizes a hole. I stick to the opulence, comparing it to my humble dorm, which was a luxury, pales the notion. Though the normalization is stark, enjoyment is still available in this situation.

“Do you need anything, Sr?”

“Uhh… Anything?”

“Uhh, well, most anything.”

“Food? Maybe a bath?”

“There is a menu on the coffee table, the relay is there as well, And you have a personal bath in the restroom.” They finish, pointing to a door that I had taken for a closet.

“Relay?”

“Yes. There is a guide in the table drawer. If Sr would prefer, I can demonstrate?”

“I’ll pick it up, thank you.”

“Good, relay if you need anything. Thank you, Sr.” They formally depart with a bow.

I find a slip of paper inside the drawer with a clear preservative coating. One side lists four dishes: two risottos, a roasted tomato basil bisque, and a white sauce over pasta. Located on the back is a diagram explaining how to use the relay. A list of letters and numbers correspond to taps, dashes, and pauses. The notion of sustenance is flung to the back of my mind as I rush the amalgamation. Shannai keeps me from messing with hers, but here is one unguarded.

The flat, thin piece of ornately decorated metal resembles Shannai's device. Pressing on the point of the lever furthest from the fulcrum, where a small wooden pad sits atop the arm, pushes it down, and connects it to the base.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Pulling out my portable toolbox, I remove the most accessible portion, a small arm connecting to a tiny knob on the base. The default position is disconnected, meaning there is some reaction from touching. The bottom takes a little longer to figure out, with coy screws set into the metal. The other half of the rune formation lies inside, which continues into a string out of the back of the device and into the Wall. The other end of the amalgamation representing this connection will have more complex rune formations. But people will get mad if I start tearing apart the walls. Reassembling the device and ordering a portion of soup wins, and maybe a bath.

Waiting for it to arrive, I start the faucet and allow my worry to emerge as I slink into the bubbles. The attack was unexpected, and the death, the blood— I have to recalculate. Who would want me dead? A coordinated offensive in a public space specifically spoke of solid ties to nobility and or government. Could it be Gallah or some other pleb-hating noble? Think. Okay, it's possible but unlikely; we need a more likely solution. Possibly someone I crossed paths with during my time here?Or suppression by an angry classmate?

Delving deeper, this could be a means of besmirching me, a drastic measure. That wouldn't explain it; however, why not try something on school grounds? There could be a piece I still need to include. So, if they can't get me on campus, wait until I am out and send their people in. Whoever saw me leave would have seen Shannai with me and known how outmatched they were.

It may be separate from our plan, but that feels strange— Enough with speculation. What happened, and what can we learn from it, if anything— Wait, what had the last person said? They were nobility. Why would they say it so openly? They flaunted their noble ties. Bath water cools around me, relenting its mana to me and the world around it. This steam condenses on my face, combining with the sweat into beads. I need help. The foe is too big, with too many pieces assumed. I thought I could handle this. Opening my eyes, I spot the steam still in its struggles. The world deadens its racket.

“Hello, young one,” a familiar voice surprises me with the greeting.

“Dear waste! Huh? Erudite? Oh, you did this.” I realize and settle back in the tub.

“Who else could have?”

“Uhm.”

“Were you trying to? Just now. Or have you already?”

“Well.”

“I told you before that I will come after it happened, did I not?

“Why ask then? Please, come on in and add more shit to my plate.” I resign.

“What troubles you?” The time-transcending entity that appeared in my bathroom asks.

“Hmmm. Let's see: I am locked in a school where everyone hates me, and random people keep trying to murder me. On top of that, the very world I live in seems to be a lie to help everyone cope. I know it’s blasphemy, but this place isn’t perfect. Oh yeah, and I am currently speaking with an entity that flagrantly defies time. Not to mention, I have no power to change anything; everyone can do things and make things I can’t. I just wish this was easier.”

“So why not give up?”

“Huh?”

“Why not leave, return to wherever you’re from, and live a simpler life, or better yet, why did you come out here?

“Because I wanted to see the world...”

“Liar, you wanted something more.”

“What do you know?”

“I know you lost your mother.”

“I guess when I was young. My father says she was a guardian on the Panisuwall, two stars.”

“It’s more than that, isn’t it? There is more to the story, more to you.”

“I don’t know much about it or her.”

“You lie.”

“So what if I do?”

“If you wish to find something, you must look.”

“So philosophical, what about you?” I raise, heating.

“I found who I’m looking for.”

“What have you come here for?” I spit.

“To help you find the path.”

“Dear creation, can you speak plainly,” I shout.

“You are just wondering what to do, wishing you had someone you could trust to help you. Now I am here, and you push me away as you do to all others.”

“Yep. Cool. You know who tried to kill me?”

“I do not, nor do I know anything about your petty squabbles. My focus is on matters of importance.”

“So, how are you going to help me?”

“I can offer nothing. Plainly? These things are your own. I merely reassured you with inevitability. You will trust your friend Shannai and bring her into your plans. You will leave before this year's end. If you did not, you would have died. I'm telling you these things don’t affect what will happen. I can not change what you will do.”

“Next year is seven months away? I am not planning on leaving for another two and a half years?”

“Your plans change soon.”

“Why do I do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Thanks for the shit, but my plate is full.”

“I can only give you this: you chose to act.”

“Was there anything else?” I rumble.

“Would you like to talk about your experience with the Willow Panther?”

“I guess, so how do I resonate with this magic?” I begrudge, mollified by the magic talk.

“You have been learning. The key to time magic and controlling it is simple. You must be mindful, reject self, and understand the world around you.”

“Okay. So it is about detaching yourself from reality?”

“The physical reality, yes. All time exists simultaneously, which requires a lack of physical empathy. You could try a deprivation chamber?”

“Deprivation chamber?”

“A lightless room, usually with water, that limits the senses one can feel.”

“Then why did it happen in such an intense moment?”

“Ah, yes. But where were you?”

“Oh. I guess it's a non-physical sym-cosm.”

“Correct, that place is used because of the mages’ ease in practicing their magic there. That is why Grev built the Labyrinth.”

“Is that where I was?”

"Yes, the Labyrinth is endless and infinitely difficult, but the early stages are easier. Grev, or at least his regime, his court mage to be specific, built it to deter certain elements of society from gaining true power."

“I won’t make it anyway if I have to leave.”

“Well, not technically.”

“What do you mean?”

"It's an archaic rule; if you can find a way to enter the Labyrinth and make it to the fifth floor, you qualify as a mage. I do warn you, it is a dangerous place."

“Why do people keep secrets? Why are we banned from discovering more about the world.”

“As with countless things, it is justified for being the best of bad choices.”

With that, they disappear, and time returns with a crash of noise that calms into the background. I slip back into my tub to contemplate even more choices, courtesy of the entity that can read my mind. Before I completely dry off, a knock comes. I shoot up and look at the door.

“Who is it?” I call.

“Room service.”

“Who?”

“Uhh… The soup you ordered, Sr.”

“Oh, yes,” I remember, cracking the door to a dapper young person in a dark green uniform.

“I’ll take it.” I blurt, grabbing the end of the cart and pulling it in.

The soup looks delicious, and even with my misgivings, I scarf it down. Tomato bisque is the greatest of simple pleasures. Sweetness plays with savoriness on an earthy bed of basil. I delight as the flavors wrestle around my pallet, temporarily warming me.