A ghostly beam of force and fire erupted from Mirian’s outstretched hand, slamming into the stone door before her. Everad gaped at Mirian as her spell sent blossoming cracks through the door. When the runes above it glowed and she felt soft resistance to her spell. The arcane wind had emptied out most of her soul repository, but there was just enough left to work with. She veiled the spell as she had with the golem and used the soul energy to puncture it, letting the rest of the spell continue to smash into the door. The cracks spread, and chips of stone clattered to the ground. Mirian’s auric mana swirled around her like a storm. What few runes that hadn’t been destroyed by the earlier antimagic pulses smoldered, then went dark and coiled with smoke.

She sent one more pulse of force into the door and it crashed open. The thick stone slabs scattered as they smashed into the room beyond. The clatter echoed, and dust swirled about.

Everad still sat on his knees, watching her.

Beyond the door lay a huge sarcophagus, carved of black marble and etched with swirling fractal patterns of gold. The rim of the sarcophagus was ebony, which was carved with hundreds of small flickering runes. She examined them carefully. She recognized the runes for preservation, protection, and reinforcement, but more of them were unfamiliar. At least two of the runes had to do with death and binding, which made Mirian wary of a trap.

The corpse in the coffin was a well-preserved mummy, laying prone with a beautiful rapier clutched in his hands. The rapier itself was a needle, the metal so white it was opalescent. Along the edges of the blade and tip, the metal was black, though it glistened with a faint rainbow sheen like abalone. It had an elegant basket hilt, the curving wires of which reminded her of the tendrils of some of the creatures in the Mausoleum, or a banebriar vine. The basket hilt was made of the same silver-white metal as the blade, with a spiderweb-strand of the strange black metal that ran in swirls along each piece. The grip appeared to be some sort of black leather.

There was something else that was strange about it. The light seemed to catch it wrong, and the sword seemed too solid, like it was more real than everything else around it.

The corpse itself surprised her. Despite the ravages of time, the dark color of his skin was still clear, as were his features. The Fourth Prophet was Persaman, she realized.

She yearned to reach for the rapier, but she needed to understand what the runes in the room did first. The Luminates vowed never to use the blessings of the divine to harm, but she wasn’t sure that vow extended to the protections on holy relics of the Prophets themselves. If there was any risk of a trap that could harm her soul, the risk was too great. Unlike the runes outside the room that had been stripped by the antimagic pulses, these runes were completely intact, and still glowed fiercely.

Mirian looked at the body of the Fourth Prophet. What was it like for you, all those times no one else remembers?

Her eyes wandered around the rest of the room. Stone reliefs showed the various trials of the prophet. She recognized one of the famous battles he’d led, and his journey into the Labyrinth. But what did you stop? What did the Ominian foresee?

Some of the secrets were no doubt lost to the ravages of time. Perhaps the others were still known, kept secret by the pontiff and the archbishops.

“What now?” Everad said, his back still turned.

“I learn, and try again,” Mirian said. “I don’t suppose you know how these runes are constructed, or what purpose they serve?”

“We do not look, even when the vaults are open. It is forbidden.”

“This sword. If I’m right, I can take it back with me when the timeline resets. I just need to learn how.” She brought her attention back to the runes. If I can create a device that can measure the resonance… it can be done with glyphs, so it must be possible with runes. Already, I can capture the soul energy in a device. But how to measure it?

The Luminates passed down traditional knowledge. By not applying modern scientific studies to it, they kept it mysterious. And deliberately difficult to learn.

Except the Deeps have learned something. But how to discover what they’ve learned without the risk?

There was so much to do, and so much to learn. And she had to be efficient. The other time travelers still loomed in the shadows, and she had to beat them.

She studied the runes, memorizing not just their shape, but the feel of them. Soon enough, the world shook, and the apocalypse came to Enteria again.

***

Mirian started the cycle by accumulating her usual resources and surreptitiously fixing the train engine. But before she destroyed the student record building and left for Palendruio again, she set up two variables.

The first was she left a message for Archmage Luspire about the incoming treacherous Sulvorath, and how Adria Gavell was manipulating him to gain access to the Divine Monument for Vadriach University. Being manipulated and having his legacy stolen from under his nose was his worst fear, and he’d react harshly to it.

The second variable involved recruiting an old enemy.

“Valen,” she said, bursting into her room. Mirian had already changed enough that she had to use an illusion spell to look like her old self. “The Deeps have been infiltrated from the inside. I’m deputizing loyal citizens to help. After today, my true identity is compromised, and I have to leave. But if all goes well, we’ll meet again. Are you in?”

Valen was practically salivating at the opportunity. “You’re… really? I didn’t even suspect,” she said. “This is so cool. A secret mission? Of course!”

“Great. Here’s the gold you need to buy a zephyr falcon to send a message to me, as well as written instructions. The message must go out on the 20th. Stay hidden. Don’t take any risks. But I need to know if anyone named ‘Sulvorath’ appears in Torrviol, and what his fate is. Report on Archmage Luspire’s actions, and if any of the Akanan spy cells are caught. I doubt you’ll see the double-agent code named ‘Specter,’ but if you do learn anything, let me know. Can you do that?”

Valen blinked, still not sure if she was dreaming. “Your voice… what’s happening?”

“Tell you what, you get one secret because I like you. The Deeps have true transformation spells that can’t be detected by glyph magic. I’ve had to apply one to myself so that I lose the Akanan spies who are after me. That’s top secret, you understand?”

“Got it,” she said, smirking.

“Good,” Mirian said, and gave her a parting kiss. While Valen was still standing there, stunned, she left, torching the records department on her way out. At least she’ll be having fun, Mirian thought.

She stopped by Cairnmouth next, and met with Lecne again.

Now I have two messages coming in to see how the other time traveler is affected, she thought. By now, she’d come up with quite a long list of ways to make his time in Torrviol difficult, and it was time to start seeing which ones were the most effective. She’d continue to vary them each cycle so he couldn’t adapt.

***

With the Cult of Zomalator drawing Sulvorath’s attention to Cairnmouth, and the southern time traveler continuing his stubborn war campaign in the south, the variables in Palendurio were minimally affected.

This time, when she snuck into the Grand Sanctum after her pilgrimage, she followed Bishop Lancel after his conversation with Hamel, relieved that the timeline hadn’t changed enough to disrupt something so late into the cycle. Secluded as they are, perhaps the Grand Sanctum is even less subject to variations, she thought. The events repeating so exactly even after two weeks also told Mirian there was unlikely to be a time traveler starting in Palendurio.

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As before, Lancel kept glancing through the papers in his hand, seemingly not sure who to give them to. At last, he made his way to one of the upper chambers where the bishops had more luxurious rooms than the dorms of the acolytes and walked into one.

Mirian risked an enhanced hearing spell and listened in the hall outside.

“…Their memory.”

“And to you, Lancel. What do you want?” the other man said. He had a strained voice.

“How do you know I want something? Perhaps I’m just here to visit a faithful and old friend.”

The other bishop snorted. “Please. We’re both busy men.”

“Well, since you insist. One of the acolytes noticed the strangest thing. There’s entries for budget allocations but… well, I’m afraid they go to temples that don’t exist.”

There was a pause, then a loud sigh. “I bet I know who did it. One of the acolytes probably mixed up the names of the eastern temples. I’ll talk to him and get it all straightened out.”

“Ah, good. Knew you’d know what to do. Never was much of one for accounting.” Bishop Lancel’s footsteps echoed and Mirian made to retreat.

“Wait—who was it who noticed? I could use more competent accountants.”

“Acolyte Hamel. One of the folks from out east, suppose that’s how he knew all the temple names out there. He’s an older acolyte. Nervous looking, and a bit portly.”

“Good, good. Thank you.”

“Ah, no, thank you! One less thing to worry about.” With his footsteps continuing, Mirian ducked back down a passage, then took a random turn and waited for him to pass. Then she headed back up to the bishop’s room.

She knocked at the door. “Hmm? Did you forget something?”

“Ah, no. Carry Their Memory. I’m… so sorry to interrupt. I seem to have gotten lost again…”

Lancel had called Hamel portly, but this bishop was downright obese. He gave a loud, exasperated sigh. “Where do you need to go?”

“The Hall of Bonding, holy one,” she said.

“Down the stairs, take the left spiral, then swing a right and follow the passage as it doubles back. Down the short flight of stairs, then go right again and you’ll be in the main hall. Simple, yes?”

“Thank you so much, Bishop… ah…?”

“Valentar,” he said.

“Bishop Valentar. And my apologies for the interruption.”

She ducked away. I wonder if he calls in the hit, or there’s a long chain of people who talk. Either way, now I know at least two people to be careful around.

***

On the 17th, Mirian showed up at the journalist Celine’s house, having located it via the Couriers. She wasn’t home, so Mirian waited, idly practicing some of Jei’s exercises as she did. After a while, she settled down to read, picking out Mathematical Underpinnings of Waves and the Arcane Forces, which was written by someone very good at math and very poor at writing.

At last, Celine showed up—or at least, she assumed that was who had a key to the apartment.

“Hi,” she said as she approached the woman from behind.

“Gods, you startled me. Look, I’ve had a long day so—”

“Someone’s put a hit out on you. And the Magrio Broadsheet.”

There was a moment of hesitation, then Celine’s already pale face went completely white. “W-what?”

“I’d like to protect you tonight, if that’s okay. Micael Nezzar, Department of Public Security,” she said, and held out her hand.

“Are you… you look really young. Do you have, ah, the signet…?”

Mirian looked around. It was a narrow street, and the dinner hour, so the only people around were a bit distant. “Currently undercover, so no. But I can do this,” she said, and levitated a foot off the ground. “That’s restricted magic, obviously. Non-agents aren’t going to have that. I’d also like to interview you and try to figure out why someone put the hit out. Any sensitive stories you’re publishing?”

Looking at Celine’s face, Mirian knew she’d just said the exact wrong thing. Probably several exact wrong things in a row. She amended her question with, “Look, this isn’t my usual gig. But what I lack in tact I make up for in spellpower.”

“I’ll… I’m… do I need to contact the guar…” Celine trailed off. Her hand started trembling.

She was about to call for help from the guards, but realized that was a bad idea. So she knows something. Are they corrupt here too?

“Tell you what. I’m going to be across from you, and I’ll ambush the assassin when they approach. We’ll talk afterward, yeah? Keep your doors locked to slow them down. Please don’t worry.”

She’s going to be worrying like crazy, you dolt, Mirian told herself. Well, there’s always next time. But maybe I can still salvage this.

Mirian camped out on a nearby roof. She caught Celine peering through the window several times and waved at her. She’s not getting any sleep, Mirian thought with a sigh. Next time, try to be normal.

It was hard to be normal, though. Death didn’t scare her. The month’s end was written in the cosmos. She knew things, but even explaining a fraction of what those things were and how she knew them made her sound like a lunatic—or a terrifying Prophet. Knowledge of the future came so easily to her that she sometimes had to remind herself that normal people didn’t have that.

Other people did things like talk with friends and family, or go to work to make enough money, or wonder what the future might hold.

She started to grow bored waiting, and then at last, she caught sight of a secretive pair of figures. They were strolling too fast to be a couple on a night walk, and the subtle way they checked their surroundings told her they had espionage training.

They did nothing that was subtle; they headed straight for Celine’s door, only checking that the streets were clear. Each of them had a wand in hand. There was something else. A pouch at each of their sides, with something squirming in it. She used detect life and saw that each of them had a mouse. Celine was up in her bed, lying down.

Those are curse wands, then. Mirian wanted to capture them, but it was too risky to give anyone who knew curse magic a chance to use it on her.

The first man picked the lock while the second looked around.

Are they Deeps agents? Do they have orichalcum defenses?

Mirian tapped into her soul repository. She could break spell resistance now.

Celine may have been lying in her bed, but she hadn’t been sleeping. She bolted upright as the door opened. Both assassins heard the clunk of feet hitting the thin wood floor and looked up. The narrow door had forced the men to line up.

Mirian flew down from her building and used disintegrating beam, coated with a layer of soul energy. The beam went through both of their torsos, the wall behind them, and the wall behind that.

Mirian closed the door and cast a light spell.

“Now do you believe me?” she asked Celine.

Celine had grabbed a knife from her kitchen and was staring at her from the stairs, glancing back and forth between her and the corpses.

“A live mouse each in their bags. They were planning on cursing you with one of these,” she said, picking up the wands and showing her. She then sheathed one at her belt while she looked over the second.

Celine swallowed. “What… do you want?”

Mirian started looking over the corpses. “I want to know why these two men were going to kill you. Then I’ll clean up the bodies and leave you in peace. Oh, that’s interesting,” she said, pulling a medallion out from under one of the assassin’s shirts. They hadn’t been equipped with orichalcum, but they had been carrying a medallion that marked them as part of the Palendurio Guard.

“You’re not a Deeps agent,” Celine said.

“No, I’m not. They’re also riddled with corruption. I’m trying to get to the bottom of it all.”

Mirian pointed one of the curse wands at the first mouse, channeling energy from her soul repository. The mouse keeled over dead, immediately.

“They actually… Gods above, they really were going to kill me, weren’t they?”

“Yes. Is anyone else a possible target?” She continued studying the corpses, going through their pockets. Each had a daggers and a lockpicking set, but they carried nothing that might identify them, and no orders. Interesting their assassins don’t use repositories themselves, she noted. Specter hadn’t used a repository either. Even though there was a group of people authorized to use necromancy, communicating with the Luminate Order, all of the soul magic she’d seen so far had been primitive. Strange.

“Philus,” she said, which wasn’t the name she’d been expecting. Not Hamel. Interesting.

“Can you lead me to his house?”

Celine put the knife back in her kitchen, then quickly threw on a coat and laced her boots.

Philus’s house was quite a ways away, west of the royal gardens, but still inside the old walls. Mirian cast her detect life spell again. Only the faint glow of insects and vermin lit up for her. The door was locked, but she used a force spell to break it open.

Philus was lying on his bed, looking quite peaceful.

“Dead,” Mirian said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Gods…” Celine whispered. “He was just… I just talked to him.” She shivered. “Is it safe to go back to…?”

“Probably not,” Mirian said. “I know a place. The kitchen is open early.” Also I’m staying there, so I have the key, she thought.