Without subjecting Cira to the emulsifier once her raw essence came out of the incipient vessel, the thresher would not be able to do its job as cleanly. Aethereal residue from one place might make its way to another. This could disorient her mana induction between elements, place memories out of chronological order, or any number of things really.

To the Archaean’s credit, their ‘forge of rebirth’ seems like it would have done an excellent job of threshing away at Cira’s refined essence before putting it all back together. That said, I don’t blame her for following Gazen’s design. It was more thorough, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think the old bastard wrote that book with this day in mind—well, these few weeks since she turned herself into an island.

I still can’t believe she almost did it again… Her gaze still lingers somehow, although absently. As far as I can tell, it doesn’t seem to be causing issues for the soul thresher.

As the grand spatial array pertains to Cira’s soul, it was represented by a type of sigil. These kind were often temporary and acted as a conduit between caster and conjuration. Now, if Cira were any ordinary curse-caster, there would have been pieces of her soul flying in from throughout the skies, but primordial curses worked in a similar way to this monstrosity of an artifact she turned Lost Cloud into. Rather, their connection with her own soul was represented in the same way.

An undine’s aethereal form is tantamount to their essence. When they bestow a blessing upon someone, they are essentially sacrificing a small piece of themselves as a gift. That’s why it was given such a lofty name as ‘blessing’.

As Cira surmised, that bit could propagate into an entirely new, smaller instance of Undina. Like the fresh polyp off a great jellyfish. In actuality, Undina reproduced in basically the same way normal sea slugs did, but perhaps more willfully.

Curella was but one, and the piece in Cira’s soul could become another. That was another reason they gave them out so seldom. People unlike Cira would have a difficult time noticing or doing anything about that process, and their body would be overtaken.

However, she didn’t have to do anything about it at all this time. The emulsifier did it for her. A small fraction of Cira was now an undine—it was not inaccurate to say she was part undine.

Incidentally, Ella stopped by a few times to see how Cira was doing. It was difficult to tell if she was curious what she would do with the blessing or just in general, but her concern seemed genuine enough. It may have been a humanlike trait this instance picked up.

She gave me updates on the weather and whatever snacks she found, but nobody came around to fill me in on Lost Cloud’s current events. They didn’t matter much anyhow, but it was something that could easily trouble this monster when she awakens.

Naturally, her undine bits weren’t the only thing inhuman about the young girl.

I almost pity her, but she would only laugh at me for it, even with all the facts in front of her face—many of which not even I could determine.

The primordial lord of the Cursed Skies could never hope to touch fate with his own two hands. Impressive as he is, even I am better at twisting threads together. No, his authority granted at the dawn of time allowed causal interference at best, else he never would have gone through all the trouble. I’m half tempted to point that void-slinging necromancer in the right direction, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s long gone anyway.

That’s not to say I’m more capable in a general sense. Not even I can decipher the abomination that bastard created—later known as Cira’s soul. Even the methods he used to craft something so perverse are a mystery to me. I hate to say it, but her humanity is scarce more than a shred. Were it not for Gazen’s interference, I suspect she would not behave anything like a human at this point in her life.

The beautiful thing about the reforging process, was that the terrible patchwork would finally become one entity—Cira’s reforged soul. In fact, it was all refined essence in the process of threshing a uniform soul out of at this very moment.

I couldn’t ask for a better seat to bear witness to such a grand experiment—one far beyond my means and ripened with time, effort, and a little chance. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but feel bad for Gazen that this rebirth of a sorcerer would mark the primordeal demon of causality’s final brushstroke.

It’s up to Cira now. Will she even remember her past? And will she have grown enough by the time he returns—

“Oh…?”

The thresher gradually flushed particles of Cira’s soul into the essence loom, and just now, the stream ceased. I took a glance at the remainder of her soupy corporea and there wasn’t a single trace of soul left. Those students of hers really came together on this one, but the hardest part of high-tier artificing was always sourcing materials anyway.

I thought three weeks was a long time to properly separate one’s essence with such an efficient device, but it only made sense given Cira’s state and origin. It’s only a matter of time now until her being is reconstructed in full.

___

I cannot believe they woke me up for this. If they were going to hold an emergency meeting, it would have been nice to know after I finished my report three hours ago…

“Lady Eliza, you look tired.” Fitzgeralt smirked with his usual playful condescension.

“Because I am tired. And a little offended at this point.” I had no energy to mince words, “Why are we here?”

“Relax, arbiter.” Fitz’s voice brought the entire room under attention. “If you care for your presumed student, you will want to stay.”

Obviously, I know what it’s about. That’s not what I meant…

I could not stifle a deep sigh, “My student will be coming to see me once she’s done turning into an undine or whatever. Does no one but you or I have an ounce of patience?”

It’s obvious to me that she pulled that explanation out of her ass. Whatever she plans to do was surely held secretly in Gazen’s own forbidden archive. I have no right to pry or mettle. He’s already done far too much for me.

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“She almost killed Roman’s son!” Gudilare interjected, that ragged old bat.

“No, no…” Roman finally spoke up, “That boy will be spending two months in Kyrnbad’s Sorcerous Gaol. He received such punishment for making the Third Order look like a bunch of worthless bandits. If anyone would like to try to tell me that’s not what he did, I am ready to receive your complaints.”

There were many idiots like Kristof, but none among the arbiters would dare defend that stupid child’s arrogant behavior. When the words came from his own father, the room fell silent.

“Good.” Fitzgeralt cut in, “I’m glad you took the initiative to punish your son. We will go over this, but I would like to make sure this fact is known to all before we continue.” He paused for a moment until he could tell everyone was looking at him, “High Arbiter of the Second Order, Far Lord Gazen, is confirmed deceased.”

I felt bad using truth-seeking magic on the girl, but there was no mistaking it. My Gazen was dead.

I couldn’t help but wonder how—how in the world could that man possibly die? He was the most brilliant and talented person I had ever met, and his goals were polar opposite to anyone I came to know in my pursuit of power and wisdom. While fleeting, the sage was a breath of fresh air in my very long, very arduous life.

“W-what?!” Sherrin cried, caught off guard as her expression fell. “That can’t be!”

Some in the room already knew from my report, but this was apparently the time to shed tears. I don’t think I had ever seen poor Max that distraught. Gazen was like a father to that wayward boy.

High Arbiter let this moment happen. I had already shed my tears roughly two hours ago, and he didn’t let any grievances show either. Of course, there were those who seemed glad or indifferent to hear of Gazen’s death, but it only lasted a minute or two before everyone looked back towards Fitzgeralt for his next words.

“The subject of tonight’s meeting is obviously his daughter. You all must know of the sorcerer Cira who transformed Fount Salt and enchanted the Lost Cloud by now, yes?”

Everyone nodded or rolled their eyes. “What about her?” Gudilare groaned.

“I understand my arbiters are still divided, to a degree. Count Uriel, have you changed your stance?” his eyes narrowed upon the Count whose twisted horns bobbed as he tilted his head back.

“No.” The grin on his face was same as ever—uncaring of consequence and seeking amusement. “I believe her blood is a material which cannot be passed up—”

“You bastard!” My mana flared up. “You court death—”

“Calm down, hag.” He brushed me off with harsh words. “The way you talk about her, I bet she’s up for a trade. I owe Gazen at least a little more than to skin his daughter for a couple trinkets.”

“Coward.” From clear across room, Lady Orelia spat, “Your methods would be a clear waste of such a valuable bloodline anyway. I thought it was lost forever… But now—”

“Enough.” Fitzgeralt cut her off before I had the chance to speak up again, “I trust that she will arrive one day. That’s why I have called this meeting. She will be inducted as a pureblood legacy and have all the rights of such a position. If any of you wish to take something from her or use her for your own gain, it may only be by her authority and will. Challenge her to duels with whatever conditions you think she’ll accept or barter as you please, but to slight her shall henceforth be akin to defying our pursuit of the Lost Archive.”

Gasps and startled voices resounded across the room. Even I was surprised that old Fitz would make this decision. A pureblood legacy had the same authority as the high arbiter’s son. Cira could order any of us around after today. She could go anywhere she wanted and inquire about anything. She was exempt from even the meager three books per year quota the arbiters were held to.

“Absurd!” Magus Phillard was quite upset, and the fringes around his balding head swayed weightlessly while his jowls undulated. “Who says she’s even his kid! Probably some mutt he picked up along the sky.”

That was the impression I got, but this haughty kid didn’t seem to realize how stupid and immature he made himself sound.

“Fool.” I took the liberty of speaking for the room, taking a moment to chuckle, “If he sired a single heir to inherit everything, how is that any better than gambling? Suppose this girl is his daughter because she is worthy to bear his legacy. She doesn’t even have an aura and the only way I could have moved in her presence would have been to cede my body and enter the spatial plane. At that point, she may still have overpowered me in a straight duel with such an elaborate array. Escape would have been difficult.”

“You had Roman with you!” Uriel’s blonde mustache crimped, “Why didn’t you two take her out—”

“Idiot!” The caring father in question spoke out, saving me the breath, “Have you forgotten where you are? Lady Cira is a fraction of Lord Gazen’s age and in such youth, her knowledge and talent have long outgrown her ability. She needs only time to surpass her father.”

“Master Fitz is right!” Sherrin shouted out of turn, though I liked her spunk, “To make her an enemy of the Lost Archive is a bad idea. Think of how much stuff she probably knows? Didn’t Gramps have a hidden library somewhere? I bet she knows where it is—”

“Careful,” I warned.

“I know, I know.” She rolled her eyes at me with a cheeky grin, “But offending her—if we were to ward her away… Our Order can only suffer from it.”

“Well said.” I shared a tired smile with my colleagues, ultimately landing on Fitz.

“I agree.” His words held weight enough to silence our bickering. “She undoubtedly possesses knowledge unknown to us. Beyond that, I believe we should welcome her without trouble. The Sorceress Cira will surely cast herself adrift one day, so I would like to offer her a haven in these skies if she needs one while she is yet within my reach. It’s the least I could do.”

There was a brief silence as everyone present considered the implications of Gazen’s death and the fact that he had a daughter who displayed enough promise to even fear. It looked like this meeting was about to be adjourned with the doors behind Fitz’s upper balcony burst open.

There was a hushed clamor too distant to hear, and I saw a smirk broach our High Arbiter’s face before the masked messenger disappeared again. Once the doors closed, a thin eminence of mana shined from them and Fitzgeralt continued.

“Arbiters…” His grave tone drew everyone’s curiosity, even my own after witnessing such a strange interaction. “The Adjutant of Earth Vein’s witches is passing through our current territory in an attempt to circumvent the Boreal. The task to obtain our lost property before she reaches Porta Bora will be rewarded in one to three tablespoons of dragon’s blood depending on contribution.”

“Tch.” Uriel cast a smug look upward, “And what do I get out of it?”

“Just sit this one out.” High Arbiter Fitz brushed invisible dust away, “If the Gandeux learn you are with us, it would be a great hassle. I’ll give you that pan flute you always wanted in return.”

“Deal.” The Count replied, rubbing his hands together.

I was never fond of so-called sorcerous instruments. If there was something the flute could do, it would usually be harder to enchant such an effect than to produce it naturally. The pan flute in question, however, was actually named “Syrinx of the False Piper”. I never saw him working on it, but it was found among Gazen’s things after he left. It was only natural I should put in my stake.

“And if I retrieve the tablet first, the Syrinx will be mine.” I declared to mixed reaction across the room. Those younger and poorly educated held only personal gain in mind with this hunt. Uriel’s brow furrowed in disgust and he was postulating his tirade as I noticed Fitz offer me a faint frown. He meant to cut off the Count when I decided the best course of action was to not let the High Arbiter overrule my condition.

Light surely filled the chamber of congregation but I wouldn’t know personally. I brushed the hair out of my face as the wind battered it. Before me was an endless scape of clouds and there wasn’t any trace of land no matter which direction I looked. The sun’s yet rising sun pinched against the distant world below and cast rich colors into the clouds which formed the sea beneath my feet.

Fitz only knew where the Silver Witch and ultimately the tablet was because we could discern the direction in which its presence lay. It was a material trace spell I taught him some decades ago and filed in the archive. The resonance hailed North by Northwest, and light bent around my path. No matter how deep that witch hid our lost treasures, it could not escape me at this range.