Lavastro felt her eyes begin to slip across the paper across her desk. Letters and numbers, cast so uniformly by print rather than hand, seemed to quiver and deform, as though the very ink of their bodies were losing cohesion. Melting and pooling. Oozing and diffusing.

She leaned back after catching herself studying the shapes her swirling vision wove, pinching the bridge of her nose and rocking her head across the back of her seat.

The office allotted to her by the administration of the Udrebam Sieve had seemed satisfactory at first glance. A dozen paces in both directions, well lit and equipped with shelves and cases enough for any number of documents.

Hours of work had changed her opinion. The place was empty and sterile to the point of inspiring indolence, and it seemed each one of Lavastro’s thoughts had wrestled her as she directed it.

So great was the mental refraction that she’d considered indulging and flooding herself with magic to counter it. The passionless logic of Manamis seemed impossibly alluring in its coldness. Like ice under the scorching Taikan sun.

She resisted, straightening up and leaning back to gaze once more upon the testingly monotonous rows of reports and requisition orders that demanded her attention.

It was a difficult and tedious thing, to fill the role of a Sieve’s organiser. Made doubly so by her filling it on behalf of the Taikan Empire, incurring all of the hostility such a role brought from Unix’s politicians.

Yet fill it Lavastro would, for duty transcended convenience.

Even without the artifice of Manamis to galvanise her mind, the thought of her true assignment redoubled Lavastro’s focus. Her signature made mark upon one sheet after another as abacus beads moved silently within her head, balancing figures and allocating hours.

She worked in a paradoxical reverie of focus, seeing nothing but the rows of forms and creased face of paper. Hearing nothing but the scratch of pen against sheet. Smelling nothing but the acetous scent of ink as it bled moisture into the air and dried tight where she left it.

Time lost shape, just as the documents had to her tired eyes. Becoming blurred and inexact as if seen only from the corner of a distantly focused stare. When a voice roused her from the laborious oblivion, Lavastro was shocked to find the clock opposite her speaking of half an hour’s passage.

“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, Koros Kaiosyni, but there has been a turn of events in the running of the Sieve that I thought urgent enough to warrant your immediate attention.”

Pen fell upon carved oak as she turned her gaze onto the speaker.

At twenty, Pyrhic was Lavastro’s senior by only a few years, yet the woman wore her youth like most might the title of queen. Her chin was high by habit, eyes the deep chocolate brown that was so common in the southern part of Dewlz. Hair let down to her shoulders, wavy and coloured like billowing flames. Tanned skin seemed to pale and diminish in the hostile cold of Unixian air, but the discomfort it surely caused was far from her face.

“Speak, Pyrhic.” She said, realising her dula awaited permission before continuing. Once granted, the woman wasted not even an instant.

“I was searching for Unity Eden, as you instructed, and found him ten minutes ago, however… Well, something else caught my sight. Something that demanded surety enough to warrant delaying my report.”

Lavastro said nothing. Pyrhic was a woman of steel with a mind of razor, demands to hurry would do nothing to hasten her. And anything which could give her pause was worth listening to very carefully indeed.

“He has entered the Sieve, as you suspected, and one of his teammates bears the Eye of Temporis.”

The words met Lavastro’s ears like hammer against gong. Shock turned to stupor, bleeding into disbelief, then anger that her time would be wasted on such mockery.

But she saw no hint of humour or impudence on Pyrhic’s face, and knew the woman better than to suspect its presence after even a moment of thought.

“What is your basis?” She asked, voice leaving her drying throat as a hoarse croak.

Pyrhic spoke quickly, describing the arcane runes she’d recognised in the eyes of a boy no older than fifteen. Recounting the careful reading of lips and study of magic.

When she was done, Lavastro found her stream of questions had swollen to a river.

“Are you so sure the boy doesn’t lie?” She asked. “That it isn’t mere deception, a bluff to exaggerate the threat he poses in the minds of potential enemies?”

That Pyrhic had failed to recognise the exact appearance of the strain was unworthy of consideration. As a spark, her magic was more limited than a mystic’s in both versatility and scale, taking a form beyond her choosing.

Yet the near perfect memory it had manifested as was something that could be trusted unerringly, a single glance at Rora Kasta’s eyes would have been enough for her to recognise them anywhere else.

But that didn’t rule out the use of magic to merely mimic the strain’s appearance.

“I am certain my katoch. The boy moved to avoid blows before they even began, and I find myself doubtful that any artifice could mirror Rora Kasta’s eye so perfectly.”

Katoch. You wish to remind me our bond is closer than merely a ruler and her subject?

Lavastro was touched by the effort, but found her dula’s attempt to comfort her all the more concerning. Surely she didn’t seem so weak as that.

“Very well then.” She said, wrapping her voice in wired steel as she stood. “It appears time for my true purpose here to begin. Have this boy monitored as he progresses through the Sieve, investigate his origins. I wish to know anything that may be of relevance about him.”

Pyrhic nodded, and Lavastro dismissed the woman.

Uncertainty scratched at the sides of her thoughts, born from the sudden iminence of her true assignment in accepting the role as one of Udrebam’s organisers. Her hands threatened to shake at the thought, and it was only by seizing the pen once more and burying doubt with work that Lavastro stilled them.

Another hour passed before her door shook with knocking once more. Lavastro pried eye from paper unhesitatingly, glancing first to the clock.

The time told her it was not Pyrhic.

“Come in.” Lavastro called, setting her pen aside for the last time of the day.

She rose in time with the turning of the handle, moving around the desk as Gemini Menza stepped from the hall.

The girl was shorter than Lavastro by over a foot, though taller than most in their fourteenth year. Her cyan eyes seemed to glow pale, unblemished skin paler still. Hair palest of all, glinting metallically in the light like fine threads of silver.

No matter how many times Lavastro saw it, she found herself awed by the glamor of the Menza family. It was esoteric, almost ephemeral. To be found nowhere, yet seen everywhere.

On close study her features were pretty, moreso than most if not all others. Round, soft and delicate. Striking in the present, and sure to become tongue-deadeningly beautiful as she matured. But it was only a holistic view that gave a Menza their otherworldly appearance. Impossible to identify, only perceivable through feeling.

“Good afternoon K-Lavastro.” Gem said, tripping over her words even as she smiled.

Lavastro couldn’t begrudge her the slip, she imagined the girl knew few others whose name changed with situation.

“Good afternoon.” She answered.

A few seconds passed between them without a word, yet Lavastro had no intention of disrupting the quietitude. Gem had an unasked question, by her fidgeting, and that was something Lavastro wouldn’t abide.

“I received your message,” The girl said at last, “Though I’m not sure what it’s for. Has the meeting been rescheduled?”

Mention of that appointment fouled Lavastro’s temper.

“It has not.” She answered. “In fact, Unity Eden has been located. Already inside the Sieve, as I suspected.”

Amusement glittered in cyan eyes, like crystal-pure lakes catching moonlight.

“You really don’t like him, do you?”

Lavastro didn’t answer. Her opinion on Eden was something she’d share at her own will alone, and she was in no mood to recount her first encounter with the little reptile.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“So, if this isn’t about Eden then why am I here?” Gem continued, apparently realising her first question would find no answer.

Lavastro opened the door, starting out through it and gesturing for the girl to follow as she entered the marble-carved hallway.

“I’m aware that you have lots of free time on your hands this afternoon.” She said, slowing slightly as she noticed the hurried steps Gem took to keep pace with her.

“I do.” The girl answered. Lavastro saw the sudden hesitancy behind her tone, finding herself unable to keep the smile from crooking her mouth.

“And there lies our problem. Free time is anathema to the pursuit of one’s true potential, and no ward of mine will be shackled by it.”

Gem’s face tightened into a pinched mask of irritation; lips pursed, chin scrunched and brow furrowed. The very image of a pouting child, and the exact expression she pulled each time Lavastro reminded her where they stood.

It was, after all, Gem herself who had asked to enter into it. Then turned her request to a demand once rejected, mustering all the irresistible charm that came to a Menza on those rare occasions they were denied something.

Lavastro dared say her desperation had fully masked the fact that she’d intended to accept the girl already.

“And what is your great plan to free me from such a terrible fate?” Asked Gem.

“You’ll see.” Lavastro answered.

They came to her quarters soon after. Uncarpeted stone tiles that turned to ice in the cold, gaudy wooden beams mingling with sandstone in walls and haughty furniture that seemed so indulgently soft it was impossible to truly sit on with any stability.

Unixian decor, obvious at a glance. Somehow Lavastro found less comfort in the luxurious living space than her office.

“Take a seat.” She said, waving a hand aimlessly across the room. Gem obeyed, and Lavastro looked to her scrying slate.

It seemed an unremarkable thing. Five feet wide, three high and deep grey. A surface unmarred by the scratches and scrapes common to natural stone, polished and smoothed by the careful magics used to cut it so cleanly rectangular.

The runes and sigils carved into the edges were its true miracle, however. Source of both the slate’s usefulness and expensiveness.

“Will you tell me what we’re doing, now?”

“Just hush and watch.”

Lavastro focused on the slate, feeling the familiar pressure as it touched her thoughts. Manamis didn’t rush forth to cool and detach her, for the link was by the device’s magic alone, yet she could keenly feel it all the same.

With a thought, she brought life to the slab of rock. Another gave it focus.

The markless surface began to display images taken and projected through Udrebam by hundreds of diligent scrying mystics, showing the clash of magic and minds.

She joined Gem on a sofa, glancing at the girl to see her staring toward the screen with an intensity clearly born from confusion rather than interest.

“Are you going to explain now?” The girl asked. “Because I see no reason to have me watch the other contestants.”

Lavastro felt a familiar irritation rising to haunt her again.

“You see no reason to give yourself the chance to study potential competition before entering the Sieve?”

“I see every reason to do that.” Countered Gem. “Do you know where I might find some?”

Gem had been allowed entry to the contest without precedent. A year younger than the minimum age of fifteen, and after bypassing the first stage entirely. The special treatment came at the behest of her father, Gilasev Menza, and was justified by her talent for magic.

Lavastro could certainly attest to that much. In all the world’s recorded history, perhaps five mystics had ever come close to the girl’s raw potential. Only one had actually matched it, and it was from his prodigious loins she’d sprung.

A lifetime of living with that very talent had blunted the girl’s senses. Left her unwitting of how impossible each concession made for her would be for any other, and more disastrously how many other phenoms of the arcane had been born into Mirandis. Lavastro supposed she was lucky to possess talent enough that she listened to her at all, if only on occasion.

“Just watch, Gemini.” The girl tensed up as she always did upon hearing her full name, but Lavastro was past caring.

“No. Why should I waste my time watching when I’ll gain nothing from it? I’d sooner spend the afternoon practicing my magic, at least that will be of some actual benefit to me.”

“Are you so confident that you stand atop a hundred-thousand other mystics? Does your power give you confidence enough to overlook even those older than you by years?”

A pause followed. Pale skin grew pink as blood hastened beneath it, sending incandescent eyes to drop from Lavastro’s gaze and locking fingers meekly.

“I didn’t mean that.” She muttered. “What I was saying is, well… My magic is…”

“You may have been right.” Lavastro interrupted, allowing herself a smirk at the girl’s surprise. “Magic is something few can compete with you at, even with your youth it’s reasonable to believe you may possess power above much older mystics.”

“So why are you making me watch anyway?” The girl demanded.

“Because you can’t be sure. If there’s even a one in a hundred chance that mystics who can threaten you are present in this Sieve, it’s something you ought to prepare for. Don’t fail to acknowledge your own abilities in false humility, Gem, but don’t overlook the chance you might find them challenged.”

“Is that another nugget of wisdom from Taikan philosophy?” Asked the girl, a smile betraying the childish, light-hearted impudence behind her question.

“The part about false humility is,” She answered, “Not assuming you’re indestructible is just common sense.”

Gem laughed and Lavastro met it with a smile. It hid her guilt perfectly well.

To gain Gemini Menza’s friendship had been simple, to draw her loyalty from Unix and into the Taikan Empire would be another matter entirely. Somehow the sight of her happiness was spoiled by the knowledge of how carefully she’d fed her that insight into Taikan ideology.

Hand-picked to earn her approval, pique her interest and validate her nature.

“Very well.” Gem sighed, turning to the slate. “I’ll humour you.”

“Telling someone they’re being humoured defeats the purpose of humouring them.” Lavastro answered, following the girl’s eyes.

“You tell me you’re humouring me constantly.”

“That’s because I’m trying to irritate you, not actually humour you.”

Gem demonstrated she had done just that by falling quiet as they watched the proceedings. Though her boredom was evident from the slumping of shoulders and fidgeting of hands, Lavastro found no trouble from the girl.

Mystics fought and bled before them, textures blurred and images monochromatic after filtration through the countless imperfections of light-capturing magic. No sound came from the slate, and their struggles being rendered in wordless silence added an almost ethereal, macabre touch.

Lavastro changed the display with a gesture every other minute, recalling those mystics Pyrhic and her observational network had singled out as worthy of attention.

She was unsurprised to see the mediocrity on display.

Strikes were thrown with the strength of many men, streaks of projected energy burning stone blood red. Enemies were grappled and thrown as if they weighed no more than children.

A pathetic sight.

Lavastro knew her judgement was unfair. Scorn for men and women three miles below, born only from her own position at the top of a mountain and uncaring of how high they stood above those at its base.

The truth was that many of the mystics she saw, young as they were, would make powerful servants for Taiklos. It was the purpose of scouting them to begin with.

And yet the more she watched, the more she understood Gem’s dismissal.

“I don’t suppose you’re saving all the high-potency polymages for last?” Gem asked, making her boredom clearer still.

“Pretending you’d find people more threatening just because you can use less than five more spheres? What did I tell you about false humility?”

The girl cracked a smile, though didn't correct her.

Gem had yet to master all her spheres regardless. Three made her more formidable than most mystics already, even disregarding power and skill, yet she would have no real advantage over a tri or tetramage. Though her more unique advantage might tip things in her favour.

“My point still stands.” Gem continued. “We’ve looked at the competition, and they’re lacking. May I go now?”

After seeing her sit quietly for the better part of an hour, Lavastro decided not to begrudge the girl.

“Very well.”

The delight on Gem’s face burned like a sun, then fizzled like a candle as she continued.

“But don’t take this as validation of your complacency. If you live life on the assumption you’re untouchable, you’ll be proven wrong. Sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, of course. So can I go?”

Lavastro swallowed the urge to hit the girl, instead waving her away. When she was half to the door, however, she found herself calling after her.

“Just to warn you, I’ve received word that this year’s Sieve counts an Eye of Temporis user among its contestants.”

The shock on Gem’s face was almost worth revealing the information by itself.

“How?” She asked.

“The same way you came into existence, I suppose. As with me, and the thousands of other magical prodigies born around the Awakening.”

Ridiculous improbability and infuriating mystery. She finished silently.

Realisation lit Gem’s face, but didn’t seem to diminish her worry a fraction.

“How powerful is she?” She asked. “A strain doesn’t mean anything in the hands of a middling mystic. You told me that yourself”

“Firstly, from what I’ve been told, our Temporis user is male. Secondly… His strain can hardly be compared to most.”

Lavastro spoke the truth. Strains were fearsome without fail even among the general effects of mysticism, yet no singular power could be measured against the Eye of Temporis. To compare them would be like equating a wild dog to a tiger.

“My question still stands.” Gem pressed. Lavastro found a grim satisfaction in seeing the girl’s confidence shaken.

“I’m not sure, reports are still… inconclusive.”

“Then why bother telling me?” She snapped. Before Lavastro could answer, her voice rang out again. “You just want to make me nervous, don’t you?”

Lavastro smiled, and Gem met it with a glare for all of three heartbeats. Face burning red, she turned on her heel and stormed out.

It wasn’t the first time the girl had grown frustrated with Lavastro’s mentoring methods.

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[https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1150390957318099024/1150460447368155256/4.png?width=885&height=498]

Sample of Survey Carried out by the Udrebam institute of Relations, Taikan Men, Circa 1,195 I.E.

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