Winter passed them by in a series of simple events. They were not even cloaks this winter, not allowed the warm company of fur that could’ve easily come from one reia beast or the other. What they were given were slightly wooly cassocks not even thick away to stave off the dying temperature.

So they continued their training at the hands of the Reverends in familiar shivers and sneezes. Justified as they thought it was, the seminary thought otherwise. As it always did.

Emriss had them hunting other reia beasts. She set them against beasts of varying strengths. She pitched them against beasts of varying speeds. She set them upon beasts that would choose flight over fight every single time so that it became more of a chase than a hunt. Often times she put them against multiple quarries. Sometimes these quarries numbered equal to them. In the few events where they outnumbered them, they were mixed with fighters and runners.

Their teamwork improved, not because they wanted it to but because it had to. They were forced to work better for it regardless of the strain of the season.

Igor did not spare punishments.

Now that they were Iron, he seemed to treat them like they were somehow men. He spared the use of his cane and employed the use of his hands. Slaps and knocks became the norm. There was no cuffing of the head or berating words. In fact, Igor had never been so silent since the first day they set their eyes on him. For every mistake, there existed a slap powerful enough to drop any of them in one blow. There were knocks that made vertigo seem like perfect focus. All these he kept for mistakes made due to shivers or sneezes; mistakes born of the season.

For mistakes born of the simple stupidity or forgetfulness or much else, he handled with a closed fist. The intricacies of the description of its capabilities could easily be left to the mind. In the glory of simplicity, it drew blood.

As cruel as it was, it proved an effective deterrent.

At the dawn of spring, as the flowers came to life in soft green and multiplying colors, Ivan taught them a lesson in the concealment of cores.

“Do any of you ever wonder why one minute you can be standing around my brothers and I without issues, and the next it’s too hard to stand, or even breathe?” Ivan asked them.

They sat on the stone ground at the top of a tower unnecessarily too tall, wishing for not the first time that they could be given back their free Sunday. They would voice it if they weren’t so very aware that despite his jovial nature, they had seen him, on more than one occasion, toss one of them out of his class in a single throw.

Instead, they kept their silence, nodded their heads, and allowed him continue. After all, while they’d always thought it a trick of Barony, they would be lying if they were not curious.

“Well, Ivan continued, steps carrying him around the class as was his way. “Barony is a realm of many truths and many secrets, most of which none below its authority is privy to. However, you are seminarians, some of its secrets are secrets you must know to face the world outside.”

Barnabas raised a hand, interrupting him. “Doesn’t that mean family members of the Barons out there should know it too?” he asked when permitted.

“It does,” Ivan agreed. “However, even the Barons have trust issues. When you stand at the pinnacle of power in an entire planet and believe yourself one of a handful, it is only natural that trust be an issue. That aside, the reason for this is in a technique most will only learn at Gold.”

“We’re learning a Gold authority technique?” Jason asked, a calm voice belying a confused mind.

“No. You are learning a magic technique most only realize they need to learn at Gold. Today, I will teach you how to conceal your core.”

Fin raised a hand.

“What is it, Fin?”

“Why exactly do we need to hide our cores, especially when we can’t even see them?”

Ivan raised a finger. “You see…. When…” the finger bent slightly, crooked. His countenance fell. “Well, lead me to the devil’s first brothel and call me cumsbottom. Faust is going to kill me.” As if by no more than force of will, he shook himself back to his usual nature and hid his hands behind him. “Well then, first, we will learn to envision our cores. I doubt there is any of you who hasn’t at least tried. Perhaps one of you might’ve found success. I had naturally assumed you would’ve by now, though.”

“Naturally?” Forlorn murmured, as if the assumption was a slight to his person.

“You’re a bitter child, Forlorn,” Ivan said without looking at him. “But today I will not hold you for it. The core of a soul mage is as much a spiritual thing as it is an embodiment of reia. Think of it as a fusion of both soul and reia.”

“So it can be attacked,” Seth said.

“But not by physical force,” Forlorn added, speculative.

“Correct and correct.” Ivan twirled slowly on one foot. “To attack the core, one needs a significant enough force. Something strong. If it is strong enough, precise enough, it can suffice to even dispel it for a time. Render the victim of the attack, powerless. To a degree.”

He pulled out a pebble from his cassock in an uncharacteristic action and tossed it from the class. “However, that is when the intent is to dispel the core. A stronger mage can achieve something more devastating on a weaker mage. He can cripple it. break it so that it is left weak and beyond repair. We are yet to see a core truly shatter into nonexistence. However, there are polymaths who theorize that it should be possible. And with the emergence of a new authority, perhaps we might see such a thing one day.”

“There’s a new authority?!” Jason blurted out.

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It spoke all their minds well enough for the rest of them to remain silent.

We think they found Jabari out? One of Seth’s mind asked.

Less found out and more like he told them, another replied. We don’t see that man being found out on anything by anyone.

Anyone else really curious about that pebble? Another asked. No? Just us? Okay, then. Just us.

Any ideas what the new authority could be called?

We think Lord since it’s a step above Baron.

But isn’t a Baron a type of Lord?

A Baron is n… the thought trailed off, empty. Well, apparently, we don’t know.

We don’t? the mind asked, flabbergasted. How do we not?

Well, if someone bothered to read more and listen more maybe we would. But someone does not, so we do not.

We think it’s a kind of trick?

What is?

The pebble. He’s never brought a pebble to class before. And not only did he bring one today, he also threw it out of the class.

He was practicing his aim. There. Seth’s mind sighed. Now shut up. More important conversations are going on.

Maybe it’s called duke.

“Maybe the four of you can be quiet,” Seth murmured.

“As much as I do admire your consistency in your eccentricities, Seth,” Ivan said, breaking away from whatever he had been saying. “I do believe your conversations with yourself be left out of my class. Do exercise control and hold your tongue long enough. My class will soon be over. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Most soul magi develop different ways of envisioning it. But of all the methods and techniques found out there, the seminary has learnt the fastest way is by thinking of the soul as your most favored object. Slowly, the core will present itself. Which is what I will have you all do for the next thirty minutes. That should be long enough to envision it. Then we can go into learning its concealment.”

“Doesn’t that mean our cores could end up taking the form of the object?” Fin asked with a raised hand.

Ivan shook his head. “It does not. Your core will always have one shape as is the case with all cores, a ball of reia the size of,” he held up a closed hand, “my fist. And it will always be located just below your navel.” He offered them a cheerful smile now. “Now go hunting… Or envisioning. Whatever you kids call it these days.”

With his silence, the class became dead. The only sound that showed signs of life was in the sound of the simple evening breeze. Their seriousness spilled out, evident in their stillness. They were, in all ramifications of the word, motionless. It was a testament to their control. A testament to the control the seminary had beaten into them over the years.

Eyes closed, each one of them dived in search of their core.

What’s he doing? One of Seth’s minds pierced his silence.

Thinking about something, we hope, another answered.

Please tell us he’s not looking for his core by thinking about… is that a branch?

Oh, yes. We know this branch.

We do?

Of course. It’s on his favorite tree back in Lord Darnesh’s compound. It’s his favorite branch.

We have a favorite branch? And why?

It’s the highest branch on one of the tallest trees.

First, how did we see it? And second, why?

Seth’s mind sighed and he restrained a frown and a harsh word. Their constant bickering did not necessarily disturb his focus. In fact, he continued to hold the picture of the branch in his mind as if he stared at it in reality, unwavering, fixed. However, their noise tempted him to caution them. Thus, it tempted him to speech. There in laid the essence of the disturbance they put him through.

For our first question, his mind continued, oblivious or ignorant of his annoyance. It used to be a short tree. One of the shortest. If his memory serves us right, he could climb to its top quite easily. Then over time it grew to surpass most of the trees taller than it. Now he can’t even see the branch if he tried. The second question—

Let me guess. It’s his favorite because, somehow, seeing something short—like he is—grow to become tall gave him some twisted hope that we might grow tall one day.

An ever dwindling dream. But yes.

Hopefully, he’ll get over it and we can focus on other things. We’re already Iron. We’ve attained the perfect physical form and structure for our soul magic. We’re still short. We’re not growing past this. He needs to know this already.

He does.

Seth grit his teeth, anger mingling in his annoyance and frustration. Self-derogation was not something he was a fan of. He found it more annoying when he did it without even having to do it. A perk of a broken mind.

You know what? His mind asked, as if it had not thought enough. Let’s help him out. He’s looking for his core, why he didn’t ask is anyone’s guess. But he doesn’t have to ask for us to tell him.

“And where is it?” Seth asked, his voice calm, quiet, an aberration to his anger.

Your eyes are already closed… you can ignore the branch now. It won’t help anyone. Pay attention to us. Good. Just like that. Now look down.

Every part of the action was akin to standing in a room of pitch black. Being able to feel the ground beneath him but seeing nothing of it. Seeing nothing of anything. When he looked down, there was no ground. Only an endless nothingness, and a quiet bleep of grey, almost iron light.

He peered closer at it and the void was gone. All he saw was the small orb of light. An orb was a generous description of it. In truth, it looked like it wanted to be an orb. It was wobbly, its circumference uneven and shaky. It was also wispy at its edges despite how much it resembled a syrup. He noted how quickly it turned, a spinning spiral at its heart, like a tornado, forcing the very core to spin. Each rotation seemed to suck in a part of the wisp, smoothing it out at the edges. The development was nigh imperceptible. Around it, sprouting out from various angles were vein-like structures. He counted eight of them and knew they spread, splitting into more veins until they reached all corners of his body.

His reia channels.

As nice as it was to envision his core, Seth frowned at the sight of it. Ivan had said all cores were the size of his fist, and while he was not a particularly large man, he was no small man. But what Seth saw was almost the size of his own fist. In comparison, it was small.

“That’s it?” he asked, unable to keep his disappointment and hope for better from his voice.

We didn’t make the damned thing, if that’s what you’re asking for? One of his minds answered.

And it doesn’t get bigger, another added. We’ve tried. Sorry.

Seth’s anger grew, but he held it to him, like a mother would a babe. He would not let it out. He would not let it consume him. He could only accept it. Not the anger, that one he intended to suffocate. Anger helped no one in the seminary. Forlorn was living proof of it. His acceptance was of the state of his core, and only for now.

When he opened his eyes, he met Ivan staring at him, a look of something that was almost pity, but was not, on his face.

“Would it help,” the priest began, “if I told you there are some magi whose cores have been known to expand on their evolution to Barony?”

Seth thought about it for only the briefest moment. It would take years to reach Barony. And that was if he could reach Barony. With this core, and the seminary sending him to tasks on his ordination, would he even be able to survive that long?

His face slipped into passivity as he gave his answer.

“No.”

Ivan nodded, then returned to watching his brothers.

Beside Seth, Timi’s eyes were open but he was silent. Seth deigned not to bother him. After all, he was not good company at the moment.

It was less than thirty minutes when all his brothers opened their eyes with smiles on their faces. Ivan took their questions in strides and they soon moved into the lesson of concealment. As they learned, Seth’s mind pulled back to his core, each time he found it unchanged and his thought wondered to possible solutions. It wasn’t long when one of his minds gave voice to his consideration.

Wonder what Jabari can do about it?