Mirian returned to her work in Torrviol.

By now, she had a foundation in the celestial runes, and Respected Jei had moved her focus from raw magic exercises to channeling exercises, while continuing to bring her up to speed on her knowledge of the latest magical research. The more Jei taught her, the more she began to agree with Xipuatl; current arcane theory had a lot of math that accurately described energy transformations, but had no explanation for where missing energy was going. The problem was not conceptual; it was pretty easy to understand that if the soul and celestial magic were both in play, that explained the missing energy. The problem was measuring celestial magic. Xipuatl had no way of doing it, and as far as Mirian could tell, none of the fancy equipment in Torrian Tower could either. It was like they were trying to measure the height of a cliff face, but no one had invented rulers yet, never mind trigonometry.

If it had been arcane glyphs, Mirian could have used what she knew to simply build a yard stick herself. However, Xipuatl knew only a handful of celestial runes, and creating them was no simple task. Runes could only be crafted by drawing power from a living soul. Xipuatl’s myrvite plant collection was a good start, but several of the runes he knew required dangerous myrvites only found in Tlaxhuaco. Both of them were sure the myrvites around Torrviol could be used to make runes, but he didn’t know those runes.

While it was clear that Mirian had a natural affinity for learning soul magic, Xipuatl was running out of things he could teach her. To expand her repertoire of celestial runes, she would need to learn the new rune, learn the special materials needed, and learn what kind of souls she could draw from. All of this knowledge was simultaneously highly illegal and a closely guarded secret by anyone who knew. Priest Krier continued to be kind to Mirian as she studied the words of the Prophets, but politely rebuffed any attempts she made to learn anything about the secret knowledge the Luminate Temple possessed. Her divination spells of the Temple had turned up nothing, which made sense given they couldn’t detect the type of magic she was looking for.

Mirian thought she was reaching a dead-end. Instead, she stumbled upon the solution to a totally different problem.

It was several cycles after her break. Mirian had taken to wandering around town with Xipuatl’s Elder reliquary hidden in her coat so that when she came across one of the common myrvites in town—like moon flickers or prism moths—she could practice feeling and connecting to their souls. Xipuatl hadn’t actually given her permission to do this, but he had given her a key to his apartment, and while he was attending class, he wouldn’t miss it. Unexpectedly, the moon flickers seemed to figure out that she was reaching out to their souls. When she did, the orange spots under their wings fluoresced and they made this rising, rattling call that clearly communicated their displeasure with her.

As interesting as that was, though, it was when she was passing by the burnt out husk of the spy’s headquarters that she made the breakthrough. She was trying to find bone-rats, which had eluded her despite being a common pest in Torrviol. Instead, as she extended her soul sense, she felt something else, and realized it was coming from the inside of the building.

Mirian looked around. She was being followed by the usual crowd at this point in the cycle—a man from the mayor’s office, another from the Academy, and someone else who she suspected was linked to one of the myrvite organ smuggling operations. They were used to her prodding about in the ruined building looking for clues, so she went straight in.

The walls were blackened, and walking through the rooms kicked up ash and the smell of smoke. She found what she was sensing right where she might expect—beneath the floor just in front of the door to the room where all the important papers were stored. There wasn’t much left, but as soon as she was close, she recognized it. It wasn’t a glyph. It was a celestial rune. She’d never found it because it was embedded on the inside of the stone floor tiles, and she’d been looking for arcane glyphs.

One of the Akanan spies knows celestial magic, she realized. Did that mean a priest was part of the operation? Is that why Krier was stonewalling her? Or did Priest Krier not even know? Another possibility struck her, assuming Xipuatl was right: one of the spies was a necromancer.

She stared at the rune for a long time, memorizing the shape of it. Then she broke her connection with the reliquary and established it with her catalyst. She used one of Jei’s spells to carefully detach the section of the stone from the floor, and brought it with her to study in Xipuatl’s apartment.

“Tell me what you know about this,” she told Xipuatl when he returned from class.

“It’s a chunk of rock,” he said.

She handed Xipuatl the Elder reliquary.

His brow furrowed in concentration as he examined it. “Well shit,” he said finally. “It’s a celestial rune.”

“I know that,” Mirian said. “What’s the rune do?”

“No clue. Haven’t seen it before.”

She made an exasperated noise. “Can the runes and soul magic be used enough like arcane magic to trigger a trap? Perhaps some sort of fire trap that catches a whole apartment on fire?”

Xipuatl looked at her, then looked down and noticed the soot on the chunk of tile. “This is from that building that burned? The one with the spies? Wait. How would they…?” He trailed off, lost in thought. Then he started pacing, back and forth, back and forth, which was how she knew he was really cooking up some special ideas. Mirian let him.

“Celestial magic isn’t quite the same as arcane magic,” Xipuatl said, which meant he was thinking out loud now. “It can’t do energy transformations the same way. And it nullifies arcane energy on contact, which is why souls are spell resistant. Sort of. Sometimes. But the myrvites… Viridian’s royal cordyline created the burning crown as it sensed its own soul damage, so there must be a mechanism. Yes,” he said, finally looking up at Mirian. “It wouldn’t work the same way as arcane glyph phrases, it would have to be set up totally differently, but yes. Then that’s it.”

“The rune-phrase would have to be simple, though. How can it differentiate between souls?”

“Necromancy. Not just what the Luminates say is necromancy, either, I mean real necromancy, where you modify a person’s soul. Tlaxhuacans don’t do that, so I can’t help you there, but that’s what it must be detecting.

A curse spell, but a harmless one. This detects it. Which means I would be able to detect it.

Mirian perked up. “I’m borrowing this. I’ll be right back,” she said, grabbing the reliquary again.

“That’s….” Xipuatl held up his hand, then grimaced dramatically, then said, “I really hate this time loop shit. The reliquary really can’t be… it’s one thing to logically know it’ll be back with me no matter what happens, but it really doesn’t feel right.”

“Promise,” Mirian said, hiding it back under her coat.

Xipuatl took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Mirian didn’t quite run to the Magistrate’s Office, but only just. She burst in and before the desk attendant could even say ‘hello,’ she said “I need to see Mandez. The false captain. Nathanial.”

The desk attendant opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, then looked towards the door.

“Let her in,” came Magistrate Ada’s voice from the other room.

The attendant nodded toward the door.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Mirian went in.

“He’s not talking to anyone,” Ada said.

“I don’t need him to talk,” Mirian said. “I just need him restrained.” Realizing that sounded weird, she added, “I mean, I’m doing a… divination thing. I just need him to not move or attack me.”

Ada raised an eyebrow. “All the hard work of your professors, and you’re calling it a ‘divination thing’?”

Mirian laughed. “Only the best.”

It took a few minutes to set up. Mandez—or Nathanial, rather—liked to resist anything anyone did. They had to send in two guards to get the manacles on him, and Nathanial fought the whole time. It wasn’t the first time, either; he was covered in bruises and marks. When he was restrained, arms spread wide and the chains latched to the walls, he stopped, forehead bleeding slightly from a cut. One of the guards gave him a nasty kick in the shin with his steel-tipped boot, as a parting gift to his former superior and traitor.

Mirian waited, composed if not actually feeling patient, and then stepped into the room.

“I won’t tell you anything,” the former captain said, and then spit in her face.

“You are a real nasty piece of work,” she said, and made a little force barrier between his face and hers so that his second glob of spit hit it. Then she focused in.

Nathanial’s soul was a wild thing. She’d come to start thinking of souls as having different colors and textures. His was like a sea at storm, though the waters of his soul felt more crimson than gray. The rune that was carved into it stood out like a beacon to her.

There it was, she knew. The Akanans did have a necromancer, and the reason they’d never successfully disabled the trap in the spy’s headquarters was because the soul-magic was completely undetectable by standard arcane magic. Because of that, whoever this necromancer was hadn’t even been particularly subtle. She backed up, keeping her focus on Nathanial’s soul, and found she could sense the rune even ten feet away.

She thanked Ada, then left the special cells and made her way down to the jail where Idras and the other spies were being held. She didn’t even need to have the guards let her in. From the other side of the cell walls, she could stand and sense their souls. One by one, she let her soul-sense brush by them. Sure enough, each one had the exact same rune embedded in them.

Not only had she just found the answer, she’d found a way to identify other spies they hadn’t caught.

***

The second breakthrough had been a long time coming.

“Archmage Luspire,” said Mirian, curtsying as he greeted her in his office with the usual crowd. Jei sat at her side, with High Wizard Ferrandus and Luspire’s aides across from them. To Ferrandus she said, “And yes, I do know what you’re going to say,” which made Ferrandus recoil visibly. To Luspire, she said, “But not you. Through the cycles, I’ve found certain people who aren’t predictable. Professor Viridian is one. You’re another.”

The archmage tilted his head slightly and his lip twitched with the hint of a suppressed smile. That meant he was interested.

“Something happened with the Divine Monument. My memories of the first cycle are… fragmented. The Akanans attacked Torrviol, as I said, but the battle went differently than it has all the other times. All I remember was that you were there, and the machine… activated.” The part about Viridian was true enough. Luspire, however, was predictable. When she started like this, he liked it, and went from trying to shut her down to listening.

“So the Monument can move people through time? I must admit, none of our calculations imply such a thing is possible.”

“You’re right again, which is why I think—well, I don’t think the Monument is doing it. I think it contacts something else.” She let that statement linger. Archmage Luspire didn’t like things being explained to him. But if she gave him just enough information, and he came to the conclusion she wanted….

“Interesting,” Luspire said, and glanced at Ferrandus.

Ferrandus frowned and shrugged, which meant plausible, maybe. Mapping out their non-verbal communication had taken some doing. Mirian didn’t think she would have even thought of paying such close attention to such details without Nicolus’s book and his own coaching.

Mirian deployed the final lie she’d been working on. “I’ve been studying the Prophets. They’re all… so different from me. It doesn’t make sense that I was incorporated into the time loop. I think someone else was intended, because as much as I’ve tried, I think this task is beyond me. I want to set things right, but I don’t know enough.”

There. Now it was up to Luspire to reach the conclusion that he so badly wanted to be true. He hated that some random student had been chosen by the Gods, and yet she was irrefutable proof of that. But what if he had always been intended to be the chosen one, and her only purpose was to right that mistake?

“Well, you probably haven’t had sufficient instruction,” Luspire said, not even trying to sound condescending, but it bled into his voice anyways. More, he knew Jei was right there, and that Mirian was acting as her apprentice. It was a nasty thing to say, but it was also exactly what Mirian was hoping for.

“I’m learning about the Monument as best I can,” she said, false dejection hiding her exaltation.

“And yet, we can do better. Put her on my schedule,” Luspire said, then stood while one of his assistants pulled out a ledger.

“Shall I clear—?” the assistant started, but Luspire just waved his hand. The specifics were beneath him.

High Wizard Ferrandus gave a brief glare at Luspire’s back, then quickly masked it. “I suppose we should bring her up to speed. Professor Jei, this might lead to a reallocation of your duties, you understand?”

“I do,” Jei said, affect flat as usual.

“Mirian, someone will be in contact with you concerning your new schedule.”

“Understood. Thank you, High Wizard,” she said, and gave another curtsy. Best to keep Ferrandus on her side as best she could.

When they departed, Mirian said to Jei, “Sorry. You deserve more respect than that.”

Jei shrugged. “What we deserve is rarely what we get. I still understand. This is for a greater purpose. You will do what you must.”

Mirian nodded. “And yet… I hate it. My parents always told me to respect the truth. And it’s not like I haven’t told white lies before, but… this feels different. I’ve never gone into a conversation trying to outright manipulate a person, with my lies all preplanned. It makes me feel dirty.”

“You will do what you must. Just hold on to the purpose behind it. The place in your heart,” she said, touching her chest. “And celebrate your victories. You must. They help move you.”

That was true enough. She felt bad for blatantly lying to the Archmage, but at the same time—she’d done it. She’d gotten Luspire to work with her. The very gates of the Academy lay completely open to her.

***

That High Wizard Ferrandus opened up his personal notes to Mirian was nice. That she suddenly had her own secretary appointed to her was convenient. The real prize, though, was that Archmage Luspire himself started teaching her for an hour each day.

His instruction was held in Torrian Tower, in a dedicated practice room one floor above his personal quarters. There, two dedicated spell engines created complex shielding around a target area, while another could call up useful diagrams. It also had several luxurious chairs and a small desk that Luspire casually levitated to wherever he needed it. Luspire liked to sit while he taught.

For all that his condescending attitude was abrasive, Mirian had to admit it was also earned. Medius Luspire had not tripped and stumbled into power. He had encyclopedic knowledge of spells, and had extensively read the research on how to both build auric mana and bolster spell intensity, then put that knowledge into practice.

For their first meeting, he studied Mirian’s current training regimen and then made several adjustments. Jei’s channeling exercises, he disapproved of. “But I’m sure it can’t hurt,” he added. “There is no simple solution to power, in case anyone tries to delude you. You must master every aspect. Focusing on a small subset of spells is a false path that is quick, easy, and ultimately leads to a dead end where that small handful of spells is your end-all be-all.” And with that, he handed her a curriculum that involved studying and casting hundreds of different spells across every subschool she’d heard of, and several that she hadn’t heard of.

“Several of the scribes will help copy the spells you need.” Then he leaned back in his chair, staring out the window at Torrviol. “What do you remember?” he asked.

He meant about the fictional first cycle she’d concocted. “Not much. It’s these fragments—but they’re so incomplete. If only I could piece them together.”

“Hmm,” Luspire said. “It’s a pity our understanding of the mind is so incomplete. Of course, short-sighted fools banned the most promising magic that might study it.”

That made Mirian’s heart race. Luspire was obviously talking about necromancy. Did he know any? Or did he know anyone that did? Mirian stayed silent.

“I have some ideas on how it might activate. But they’re risky. And we don’t know what kind of capacity the Monument can handle. But I must have solved it before. But how to recreate the circumstances of the discovery…?” He pensively stroked his chin. The very model of the contemplative gentleman. Then he turned and smiled at Mirian. “I’m glad you seek to set things right.”

She could see him thinking about what he would do with foreknowledge, already planning all the things he would do. That smile was, frankly, terrifying.

But Mirian smiled back. “It’s my duty. Not just to Torrviol, but to Baracuel.”

“That it is,” he muttered.

The next day, his lessons pushed her to the brink of exhaustion. The day after that, nearly to collapse.

“Yes,” Archmage Luspire said after their fourth lesson together. “You have potential. It will take some time, I suppose. I wonder how much?”

As long as it takes, Mirian thought. And even though her aura felt like it had been blown about in a storm and even her body ached, she still had a sense of elation walking down the steps of Torrian Tower. Things were falling into place.