I woke up the next day several hours later than usual. Opening my eyes to reality was a relief after the chaotic dreams plaguing me throughout the night. The details slipped from my mind after waking but they left behind a sense of unease. Best to forget them anyways. No surprise that my imagination had run away after witnessing the spectacle at the Amphitheater and the sleepwalking afterward.

I sat on the side of my cot, blinking sleep out of my eyes. Mara was awake before me, which was a first. She stood at an unused cot off in one of the corners, arms crossed. The blanket and pillow looked ruffled. Strange, for an unused bed. Several pairs of expensive leather boots and a locked storage chest stood at the foot of the cot. I recognized a pair of the boots as a top-quality style favored by duelists.

"Did someone move in?" I said.

She jerked, startled by my voice. An embarrassed smile spread across her face. "This wasn't here last night, was it?"

I scratched my neck. "I don't think so. Maybe Irele knows something? Where is she?"

"Not sure. She left before I woke up. How would someone move here in the middle of the night without us noticing?"

"One of the acolytes decided to come back? Soren or Parish, maybe?"

"Only one of them?" Mara raised an eyebrow.

"Brotherly spat. Maybe not, though. I don't recognize the belongings."

"We'll find out soon enough, I suppose."

I dressed myself and looked into the full-length mirror near the front door. The figure blinking back at me looked like it could use a good meal and a hot bath. The sword suited me, especially since my frame had grown to the point my clothing squeezed uncomfortably at the arms and shoulders. Ignoring a comment from Mara about me preening in the mirror, I strolled outside to begin my morning routine.

Hopefully the new acolyte turned out to be friendly. Between Mara's sarcasm and Irele's taciturn nature I thought the barracks could use another masculine touch. Caedius visited sometimes and was pleasant enough, but we had never become more than casual acquaintances. After Mara and I spent the night of the solstice at Heaven's Gate, we gathered there once a week for a few drinks and some conversation. Outside of that I rarely associated with anyone my age. The Karystans were the exception to the rule, but they would return home soon.

After arriving at my favorite clearing I began my warmup stretches.

I could reach out to one of Lyra's friends. Given the looks and whispers about me at her funeral I doubted it was worth my time. Just thinking about her hurt. Everything about our relationship had been strange, ever since the first time I met her at that art gallery of hers.

Something about that thought made me pause. We hadn't met at her art gallery, had we? Why would I have attended an exhibition for a local painter I had not heard of, held in the manor of some random member of the gentry? The more I thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. I could still vividly recall the details of my fourth birthday but I couldn't remember my first time meeting Lyra?

Unconsciously I finished my warmup and unsheathed my sword. The beginning of the first legato came easily enough, but the discord in my mind held me back from progressing much further. My thoughts felt scattered, dampened, as if I were in the dream. But the cool breeze and the pleasant burn in my muscles felt real. I pricked my fingertip on the tip of my sword. Real pain. Real blood.

Many things could explain my bizarre mental state, none of which I liked. The conflicting memories from reversing time. The stress of Lyra's death and my deep loneliness. Perhaps the Goetia had even cast a spell over the city. Mara was the only person I had spoken to since my sleepwalking and she had been confused as well. If Prince Sitri could make an entire Great City dance until their hearts gave out, what were higher ranking demons capable of?

Focus. Empty your mind of thoughts. Remember only the steps of the first legato. I flowed through them, following the notes etched onto my soul, step by step leaving my mark in the snow. When its time come my sword added its accompaniment to the song, flickering through the air, no heavier than a current of wind. For two minutes I moved perfectly, but no longer. I stumbled thirty seconds from the end of the first form.

Cursing, I ran my hand through my hair. Better, but not good enough. Not fast enough. With unwavering focus and judicious use of my magic I could maybe reach the fourth legato in the next five years. Fast enough to be considered a rare talent, but at that age there were hundreds of better swordsmen who had held a blade since the time they could walk. None of them could kill an Archon.

To progress I needed to calm my mind. I sheathed my sword and settled down into the lotus position like Augur taught me. Breathe in, breathe out; feel the wintry air circulating through your body. Invigorating. Nourishing. Nothing exists but the clearing, and the young man in that clearing. Ignore the uncertainties. Ignore even that you are ignoring them.

For thirty minutes I struggled to fall into a trance, repeating the advice I had received. Then, finally, I stopped trying to force myself to relax and just...relaxed.

Emptiness. I felt as if I drifted in a void.

Then I stood infront of my memory palace, the ghost of my family manor. I had not exactly planned on coming here but I was not entirely surprised.

The front door opened at the touch of my fingertips. Into the familiar entranceway. Beyond that, past the welcoming hall, into the skylit atrium, where the shallow pool of rainwater in the middle glowed with the moon's luminescence. I resisted the temptation to dip my hands into it.

I continued along, towards the back of the house, taking the the way that avoided my father's office. A presence lurked there. That presence alarmed Brother Augur enough that I had not seen him since. Now seemed like the worst time to investigate that mystery.

Finally I came to my old bedroom and found the inside exactly as I remembered it. The bed, the lounging chair, the small library I was building as a pathetic rival to my father's.

An irresistible curiosity pulled me towards my books. Were the entire contents replicated perfectly within, proof that the unconscious mind stores everything? I selected one from the shelf. The title read Staccato.

Frowning, I flipped to the first page. An introduction to the staccato, explained in simple terms that encompassed my general knowledge of the art. The author continued on to detail memory palaces, though referred to another book known as Mental for a better primer on the topic. Descriptions of the facial muscles, how they interacted to form some basic expressions, followed by a shoddy analysis of body language. After around twenty pages of that came several hundred blank ones.

Of course I recognized the handwriting. It was my own.

I selected each book from the shelf and read their titles. Legato. Magic. Demons. Divine. Velassa. Odena. Around thirty in total, most of them pitifully destitute. I would have to review each in time. Whenever I was not meditating in the middle of a clearing during snowfall.

My curiosity demanded time to read one more book. I selected the Legato and settled into my lounging chair.

This book consisted primarily of images of myself performing the first form. They were perfect---a product of my visualization, not my ability to draw. Footnotes accompanied the images, reminders to breathe at certain points or other details impossible to illustrate.

Everything looked right until the one-hundred-and-twentieth second. The moment I failed while practicing earlier. After that the drawing the drawings became increasingly vague since my knowledge of the succeeding forms was derived only from books and watching others.

I examined the sequence leading up to my failure for several minutes before discovering the problem. My damned footwork. The movement I thought I was supposed to make would be impossible from that position. Everything collapsed from that point.

I leaned back and considered the motions involved. What would feel natural?

With a nod, I came to my feet. Slowly I went through the motions, experimenting to determine what felt like the right note. On the third try it felt perfect, and in this imaginary mental landscape I moved just as gracefully as I wished, unhampering by my physical form.

I finished the first legato.

When I returned to the book, the entire form was captured flawlessly. The next pages held the outlines of the second legato.

The absurdity of the whole situation occurred to me: mentally training myself physically.

* * *

My eyes opened back in the real world. The trickle of snow melting into a rivulet down my back wiped the smile from my face.

I had meditated for a half an hour, plenty of time for my body to recover. I leapt to my feet and drew my sword. The first form of the legato felt natural even if my body could not do it justice. Continuing into the second legato felt tempting but I was beginning to feel an all-too-familiar throbbing between my temples.

I returned to the barracks, wondering about what I had discovered. Augur taught me to create a memory palace but no mention of the technique existed anywhere I could find. Such a useful skill, acquirable within an afternoon, would be a boon throughout the Civilized Lands. If everyone had the same ability to read and improve their own memories the Civilized Lands would experience an unparalleled enlightenment. And yet it hadn't.

Next time I saw Brother Augur, I would have to get some answers.

Irele was inside the barracks along with Mara. Both looked exasperated. When she saw me, Mara hurried over and dragged me to the mystery cot.

Her voice was frantic, elated. "Irele says these things have been here for the past few months but she doesn't know who they belong to. Tell her what we talked about earlier. You said the same as me. This wasn't here before. We were arguing about it until you came in."

Irele glared as if daring me to choose a side.

"I have to agree with Mara," I said. "I'm absolutely certain I've never seen those things before."

"Of course you agree with her," said Irele. "I'll be back later."

Mara waved at her back as the tall girl flung the front door open and trudged into the snow. It seemed a bit childish but she would not have appreciate me voicing my criticism. Best not to antagonize both of my roommates. Or two out of three, apparently.

Mara strolled over to the chest and tapped it with her foot. "Let's go to Heaven's Gate tonight. We'll invite the new guy if he shows up. You look like you need a strong drink either way. If I recall correctly you have pretty eyes hidden somewhere in that withered skull."

"Sure," I said.

I wished I had someone to confide in about my new discovery. Hard to focus on our conversation when a million possibilities were coursing through my head. I longed to experiment with my memory palace but given recent events I did not want to exhaust too much power. To be safe I needed to be able to at least travel back an entire hour, preferably without being crippled by a migraine afterwards.

Best to take it easy the next few days. At most, maybe a little bit of wandering around to see how much power that drained. Even that was a dangerous temptation. My father's office was a short walk away from my bedroom, and something was in there, waiting. After last night, I had an idea what it was.

Scholars tracked the passage of the world’s shadow across the moon during lunar eclipses to determine the distance between us. Two hundred thousand miles proved insufficient to deter the Goetia. Some claimed the moon used to be an unfathomable distance away before the demon lords locked it into orbit around our world. Either way, the Goetia descended amongst us, claiming to be our gods. Millennia of servitude followed before the Archons emerged, driving the demon lords back to Desolada.

At least, so the priests claimed.