Morale is high, our supplies are plentiful and casualties negligible; yet I am lost in despair. Our bombardment has had no effect on the city's impressive warding; those walls of force are yet to crack. The troops can’t see it, they can’t feel the way magic pours from the city; more than even the least efficient wards should produce. Me and the other officers have a theory; I can only hope that we’re wrong. Because if they have a mana spring in there, then those wards will never run out of power. If they have a mana spring then the grandchildren of my grandchildren will be maintaining this siege, because if we ever relent, then all of that power will stop going to their defences; and I hate to imagine what kind of offence they have at the ready.

Signed, Armand IV.

-From the journals of Armand IV, displayed in a museum of ancient history.

Kira POV

Mark is unfairly fast; I’ve barely gotten into a proper sprint when he breaks through one last hedge wall and changes direction. Looking past him, I have barely a moment to see what’s happening- despite that, I’ve been trained to quickly analyse situations. Some child in ragged, homemade looking armour is on top of a draconoid I recognise as Kaelan, legs wrapped around Kaelan’s torso with a death grip on that armoured neck, the steel deformed like clay around their hands. Kaelan’s snout is absolutely mangled, I doubt they’ll be speaking for a while- but I’m not sure his opponent will ever speak again.

The child’s head has been split open from nape to forehead, spraying blood and chunks of brain matter everywhere; expression frozen into an empty stare. I don’t have time to process any of this before Mark is upon them; shoulder-checking the child and sending him tumbling limply away from Kaelan as compartments on their forearm pop open and reveal first aid supplies- time slow scrolls, blood potions, the typical kit. Kaelan feels like he's chewing broken glass, so I know he’s alive at least. In contrast, I feel absolutely nothing from the child as they stop tumbling, lying face down in the grass.

Despite the efforts of my parents to ensure I was unphased by blood and gore, I can’t help but freeze when I see the back of the child’s head. The flesh and bone around the wound seems to melt like wax, sealing itself together like wet clay as I reach them. They jump to their feet as if they just slipped and fell over, and I still feel nothing from them- no thought, no emotion. Deepvein is an inclusive institution, but still… Where do you even find someone like that? They stand up to their full height of… barely four feet tall, head and shoulders shorter than me. They stare intently at Mark as he pries open Kaelan’s snout so the draconoid can breathe, and I’m sure that the thoughtless child is about to try and finish Kaelan off when suddenly they shudder, and a wave of panic rolls off of them. I still don’t detect any thought though, and it’s throwing me off.

“Will they survive?” The child’s voice is calm and collected, entirely at odds with the panic I know they’re feeling. In fact, it’s almost as monotone as Mark’s reply, which he gives without once looking away from his patient.

“As long as you don’t try to finish them they should be fine. I foresee no issues with stabilising them, so we have plenty of time. However, I suspect a spinal injury so moving the patient is out of the question- Kira, would you kindly take the self-repairing one with you and go fetch a proper medical chronomancer?”

The child hesitates for a moment, seemingly considering what to say.

“I might be able to help. I am an experienced biomancer.”

I am sceptical to say the least. What kind of biomancer can shrug off an axe to the skull? Still, it seems that Mark shares my suspicions.

“No? The patient is still alive, so their soul would mangle any precision spellforms inside them. You’d be more likely to give them cancer. Please just walk with Kira to get help- no offence intended, but I don’t trust you around the patient.”

Weirdly, I don’t sense anything new from the short biomancer- did they genuinely take no offence?

They nod, and I confidently pick a random direction (not past Mark and Kaelan) and start walking. They start following me, and I can’t help but be a little nervous at the prospect of wandering a maze alone with this child. What did Kaelan do wrong to incur their wrath? Hell, how did Kaelan lose to some random child in crappy leather armour, wielding improvised weapons that might just have come from a garbage can? It doesn’t add up. Grinning internally, I resolve to entertain one of my favourite hobbies while we walk- prying.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Vreem POV- Several minutes later

I am walking beside the telepath, or rather getting lost in this hedge maze beside the telepath, and my thoughts are anxiously spiralling. Despite what the automaton said, I’m terrified that the dragonkin will succumb to the wounds my body inflicted. On that note… By Eternity’s Beak, how could I have forgotten to rewrite my reflexes for nonlethal combat? Worst of all, a person and an automaton saw me regenerate from catastrophic brain damage! That isn’t something that can be explained by an accelerated metabolism, but maybe they’ll believe it’s biomancy? As the automaton said, interference from the soul of the target makes precise biomancy, including healing, extremely difficult to cast on others. I could claim to be an undead, but a deception like that would be uncomfortably close to violating the Way of Things; undeath would attract too much attention anyway.

The telepath pokes my mind again, looking for something, and I continue to grit my teeth and resist the temptation to let them in. See how their fragile mortal mind handles the Way of Things, the sunless truths and thought breakers floating through my memory… Instead, I breach the awkward silence that permeates the air as we walk through the hedge maze in search of an exit.

“For your own safety, leave my mind alone. If you have questions, simply ask them.”

Kira seems taken aback, as if surprised that I noticed the blatant psychic intrusions. Nevertheless, she recovers her composure almost instantly.

“I assure you, I was not trying to intrude; I’m merely curious as to what kind of warding charm you’re using. You see I can sense emotion but not thought from you, whereas most warding charms simply block everything.”

Her reply is almost as frustrating as the probing, a kind of roundabout word tangle that conceals questions in statements and statements in questions. It is the same babble that the clerks at the admissions test used. What she really means is ‘why can’t I read your mind?’.

“I am not using a warding charm. I simply think in a different manner than you.”

“…”

There is silence for a minute or so. I find it very comfortable, so it is sad when I must break it.

“That’s the wrong way. We’ve passed this hedge three times already; follow me.”

Fortunately, she seems happy to follow me. Unfortunately, she seems to take this as an invitation to restart our ‘conversation’.

“So why were you fighting Kaelan anyway? He’s normally as cool-headed as he is cold-blooded.”

Once again, her words hide their meaning; she is accusing me of picking a fight with the dragonkin- Kaelan, apparently. I can’t help but feel slighted- as if I would pick a fight in an area with potential witnesses! although, I suppose I am partly to blame…

“The dragonkin, Kaelan, challenged me to an honour duel. apparently I besmirched him by taking his rightful spot in the triad of Kira Arken and Mark Nine, and he wished for me to prove myself worthy of the position through violence.”

Once again she is silent for a few blessed seconds, brows furrowed and lips pursed as she adopts a concerned expression.

“You… wouldn’t happen to be Vreem, would you?” she asks hesitantly, seemingly hoping for me to deny it. I will not, because I cannot.

“Correct. I am Vreem, biomancer. Who are you?”

“My name is Kira Arken, heir to the Arken family and psionic prodigy. A pleasure to meet you.”

“I believe the first half of that statement, Kira, but it is never a pleasure to meet me. Unless you judge first impressions based on how much brain matter you see?”

I need to recenter myself- I just used the same word tangle I was deriding earlier. Subconscious mimicry is a bad habit, and one I thought I’d broken. Ignoring Kira’s attempts at continuing the conversation, I consider my situation: from what I gather, Triads are expected to trust each other, work together and grow as a team. If I am in a Triad with a telepath, sooner or later I will make a mistake and allow them to see my true mind. Triads are typically for life. How do I leave a Triad? Can I leave a Triad?

I am so lost in thought that I barely notice as we exit the hedge maze and catch sight of the ancient stone castle, the old fortress which now serves as the main campus for the Deepvein Academy of Delving. We emerge into the western courtyard, crawling with students partaking in carefree picnics and relaxed study. Lessons don’t start until next week. I am caught off guard when Kira addresses me.

“Vreem, go to the main office so you can report your side of the story. I’ll talk to the staff and arrange for a medic to go and relieve Mark. After you have given your report, me and Mark will meet you at the dorm so we can properly introduce ourselves.”

Her prior nervousness and anxiety has vanished, replaced by a self-assured authority that reminds me of… a certain trauma-inducing individual. She doesn’t even wait for me to acknowledge her commands, striding forward confidently toward the medical pavilion. The transformation is so sudden and dramatic that I cannot think to do anything but go along with her plan. Later, I would pick apart my brain (literally) searching for evidence that she influenced me psychically. I wouldn’t find any.