The vast basement was made from black obsidian manipulated after some ideal Kirs didn’t fully understand. The glassy rock had lost much of what made it so in the first place. It was reinforced well beyond the regular material’s ability. The builders have given flat, slightly raised texture that cut down on its usual gloss.

The floor was tiled with similar treated obsidian and traditional stone, which really helped the otherwise very dark room. The basement wasn’t entirely finished, but she knew there would be some wood paneling and shelves installed, made of a lighter material as well.

Dozens of glyph lights were installed all over, banishing the shadows, yet highlighting how heavy the room felt surrounded by black and gray. All of those lights only cut most of the purple tint from the room.

“I’m just saying,” Es said, walking around the perimeter of the ritual-stage. “I think it’s kind of nice.”

“‘Kind of nice,’” Kirs mocked. “You’re telling me you would actually live like this? It’s way too dark.”

He shrugged. “There’s a cave-like quality to it. And I didn’t say I would live like this. But having a room that’s a safe little cavern. Could be kind of nice.”

“Men,” she said, smiling and rolling her eyes.

“Women,” he replied in the same tone.

“So, do we know what that actually is?”

She followed Esmund’s gaze to the ball of purple, sparking and glowing with energy. It was supposed to stop glowing and sort of fade into the spatial fabric at some point. But it had been a week since he’d created it and she didn’t see any dimming or diminishing of its form.

“I don’t know, actually,” Kirs admitted. “It’s supposed to be tied into all the rest of this.” She gestured to their surroundings, and Es nodded.

“It must be one amazing effect, though.”

“Why?”

“Have you seen him? He’s still limping around.”

“I figured that was from some sort of training he’d been doing.”

“I don’t think it is. When you’re as strong as I am, it’s difficult to challenge it regularly. Let alone him.”

“Is he stronger than you, then?”

“Yes,” Es looked into her eyes, those mesmerizing rainbows traveling through his gaze once more. “Spiritually, he’s stronger than any of the triplet master I’ve felt, but I don’t know that he has that kind of strength. It’s tough to say if his ener- mana-typings are as effective in combat as warp. Eliminating that, he’s about as strong as any I’ve seen.”

“Even Saleema?”

Es winced and shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s been a long time and what remembered of her is… unreliable.”

Kirs itched to pull out a notebook, but it was rare that Es talked about Saleema. He’d only had a few encounters with her, and she’d scared the living light out of him every time. So, she just listened.

“Her strength fluctuates. The first time I saw her, I thought she was a second-stage. But when she looked to find Ranvir in student detention… her outburst it was beyond any master, I think.”

That fit with records Kirs had read and heard of the fight at the Queen’s old summer estate. Saleema had burst into a display outmatching and binding every single master on location. Ayvir claimed she’d reached a fourth stage, which many experts seemed to agree with. It explained how she regularly fought off multiple triplet masters without dying.

Though that could be chucked up to an unusually resistant Concept and the incredible flexibility of space when it came to escape and isolation.

“So she’s strong, but not unstable,” Kirs said. “When she’s at her best, she’s stronger than Ranvir?”

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Esmund nodded. “I’m pretty sure.”

Kirs pursed her lips. “Let’s hope we don’t meet her at her best, then.”

“And that still doesn’t explain what Ranvir did to that light.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Like we’ve got to get you some senses of your own.”

“I’m serious, Esmund.”

“So am I, sweetie.”

“…”

“Like a knot? Kind of pulling? I can’t sense what it’s actually doing, mind you. Though… it is more solid than usual techniques.”

“What does that mean?”

“There’s a lot of power in it?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me?”

“Asking.”

“Oh…” Kirs peered up at the orb—knot?—of purple light. “I’ve got to get myself some of those senses.”

“That’s what I—“

Kirs rolled her eyes and turned her back on him, focusing on the ritual. “See any flaws?”

Esmund scoffed, adding weight to the impossibility of the complexity before them. “No.”

Kirs didn’t either. That didn’t mean there weren’t any. It just meant that the circle was so ridiculously complex they couldn’t tell. Ten meters by ten meters, the square was utterly filled with chalk lines, ready to be inscribed into the single flat slate of obsidian stone underneath.

“It’s time,” Kirs said with a sigh. Two months she’d been working on the design, including the last two weeks of writing it in chalk. Two weeks of frankly back-breaking labor, kneeling above the stone, staining her clothes with chalk.

She started the ritual and looked at Esmund. She couldn’t sense the power it drew into itself, but he should. He nodded to her. For five minutes, they waited in silence as mana was sucked into the ritual. Both of them scrutinized the details diligently.

She wouldn’t be able to see if the ritual had a minor failure, but those would only make it more inefficient. Any failure big enough to break the ritual should be physically visible. Hopefully. It was sometimes tough to tell when working with different mana-types, especially the strange foreign ones.

With her heart in her throat, Kirs fought to keep her breathing even. She could feel herself getting out of breath, despite doing nothing straining.

“Kirs,” Es called.

“What?” she asked, looking up at him. He was glaring at a random circle.

“It’s breaking.”

She followed his gaze and saw nothing. “Are you…” she trailed off. Two lines met where they shouldn’t. If he hadn’t called it out, she wouldn’t have even thought to look for it. She quickly knelt, drawing out a cloth-wrapped stick, cleaned the lines up. “How did you—“

“Here, as well.”

She hurried to follow him. Another flaw, one that would’ve broken the ritual. Yet they’d lost it in the vast mess before them. She turned to look at him with wide-eyes. “Esmund,” she breathed. He’d never been much help with rituals. Especially not the evaluation of them. Telling if they were working or doing something, sure, but this kind of work…

He drove her tirelessly for the next two hours. At one point, a strange waving haze rose from a circle. The esoteric mana was so dense that Kirs nearly fell over when she reached it. Her mind flooding with odd information and she nearly fell onto the circle. If not for Esmund’s quickly grabbing her.

Finally, she slumped into her seat, rubbing her sore, trembling hands. Keeping them steady while erasing or refining lines had them cramping and sore. Es sat on the floor next to her, resting against her leg. His eyes were closed, yet she could see the cornucopia of lights emanating from beyond the lids. That he was still using his power.

“How did you do that?” She asked, letting one chalk stained hand fall into his hair. “Also, thank you.”

Esmund smiled, slumping even harder into her. For a moment, the hidden lights dimmed as she strokes his head. They returned, and he forced tired eyelids open. “Dovar’s not the only one who has been training with Ranvir over the last couple of months.”

“You’ve been training to help me?” she asked, feeling unexpectedly choked up.

He sniffed and shrugged indifferently. Es was pretty good at acting when he wanted to be. However, it had been years since he could’ve fooled her. “Thank you, love.” She whispered, still stroking his hair.

They rested like that for a while, before eventually forcing themselves to stand up and get moving. They had to figure out if it worked.

“Frija’s outside. We should be able to ask her,” Es said, taking her hand.

Kirs smiled and rested her head against his shoulder as they walked. It was awkward and made walking more difficult, but she didn’t care. Nor did she think he did. They walked through dark halls of treated obsidian, though once they got on the ground floor, there was some basic wood paneling on the walls that lightened up the place.

They passed by a few of the remaining construction workers, still installing the wood. The three men were talking to each other as they worked. Muttering about the ‘strange’ job.

Outside, they saw Frija play-wrestling with her cat. The thing was the size and weight of a bear. Yet, Menace was surprisingly gentle with the little girl. Like it knew she couldn’t rough-house like it would other animals its own age.

“Frija!” Es called.

The two of them stopped playing. Frija, in particular, looked up in confusion. Kirs could see the frown on her face from the doorway.

“Could you come over for a minute?” Es continued.

She looked down and muttered something to her ‘kitty’ and ran over to them. She gave them both a strange look as she got close enough to speak. “Yes?”

“Could you speak to us in Fiyan?” Esmund requested.

She looked at them both in confusion and licked her lips. “Am I in trouble?”

“No.”

“But, we already are.”

“Speaking Fiyan?” Kirs asked, noticing the confusion on Es’ face.

Frija nodded and Es broke into a massive belly laugh. “It worked!”

Kirs followed a moment later, cheering and jumping. Frija looked confused before the mood infected her and she joined them. Soon, only the kitten, lazing in the Korfiyan sun, was idle looking on in amusement.