The knuckles on my temples were hard and unpleasant, just as unpleasant as the Mystic’s thousand mile stare. Though no matter how uncomfortable I was, I didn’t avoid my teacher’s stare. This was a vital part of my training. Ever since the fiasco in the pool, the old man had started every one of our training sessions like this. After a few seconds, information filled my head, though it wasn't words I received. Instead, a mass of mana shapes flooded my consciousness, the crystallization of the old man's years of self-training.

Rather than understand them on an intellectual level, my grasp of the runes was instinctual, as if something inside me was responding, something I had never been aware existed.

Unlike in the previous training, the old man's fingers felt strangely cool, and soon the pressure increased. Without warning, his fingers pushed me back into the pool of water behind me. Although I was surprised, I was prepared this time. Where I had failed before, I managed to build my magic shell just before I hit the surface. Somehow, I had managed to bring enough air underwater with me to survive the training.

However, the old lunatic would never let me feel self-satisfied. As soon as I solved one problem, I would be presented with the next. All around me, the water began to slosh around, as invisible currents pushed and pulled at my soaked clothes, hair and limbs. Again, I focused to create my second basic shape, forcing mana into my muscles to strengthen my body. With the extra power, I would be able to fight the current, and force my way back up above water.

Yet the Mystic still wasn't done with me. A loud boom from behind alerted me of the danger, but an invisible force still hit my forehead and sent me spinning in the water. Though I was disoriented by the direction of the attack, I wasn’t panicked. Today wasn't the first time I had been tested like this, so I closed my eyes and only concentrated on the sounds around me.

As usual, the Mystic had created bullets made of water to test my knowledge of the sound shape. Invisible in liquid, I could only intercept the attacks by the sound that preceded them. However, the old man would deliberately redirect the noise. Mana shaped in the form of a funnel would channel the sound all over the place and hit me at strange angles. The only way to predict and avoid the bullets would be to understand the mana structure and follow it to its origin, and all of that quick enough to dodge the attack.

Again and again, the old man shot bullets of water at me. Today was even worse than our usual sessions. Forehead or temples, no matter how I turned, the lunatic would always aim for the head.

Although I had asked my teacher to practice the funnel shape myself rather than be submitted to more torture, the old man had insisted on this indirect method. Since the Mystic wasn't a properly trained magician either, he didn't know the council's methods to restore the magic force within our reservoirs. Thus, it was important I retained as much of my mana as possible. At least that was what I pieced together from the old man’s sparse, cryptic replies.

As time went by, I managed to catch more and more bullets before they reached me. It felt like an eternity, and I could feel the air trapped inside my shape grow stale, but at last I had regained some measure of control. All I had to do was resurface and end today's hellish training.

Yet once again, the old man ramped up his challenge. With the light of the surface right before my eyes, another projectile broke through my mana shell and collided with my head, leaving a strangely cold feeling behind.

This time I had to train my light-bending shape. The old man would form tiny pebbles from the earth from his abode. In the water, they didn’t produce any sound I could hear. Even worse, the bullets were covered in a magic shape that made them invisible. Once again, I refocused to ward off the invisible threat.

Of course it wasn't true invisibility, but the light coming from the objects would bend to never reach my retinas. Although I didn't really understand the details, the old man had said that the creation of light or sound was much harder than simply bending it, so these shapes were a lot simpler and much more mana efficient than the alternatives.

Although the light-bending shape had always been the focus of our training, it became harder and harder to concentrate. As the air in my lungs grew heavier, my head began to spin. Desperate for a fresh breath, I focused my senses and somehow managed to see through the hidden shapes. I could only make out dim shapes within the clear water, but it was still enough. With the force generated by my shell and strengthening shapes, I managed to propel myself away from the attacks, towards the light up above.

Right after my escape, my head broke through the surface of the water. Finally, I was safe.

Sense training, strength training, sound and light bending; I had performed all of these countless times over the past weeks. By now I was finally capable enough to somehow get through the day with no more than a couple bruises and sore muscles. As I tread water and reflected more on my training, something felt strange.

Wait, why are we training all of these at once? Don’t we usually only train one or two at a time? I can’t even handle more than two or so shapes at once anyways.

In my confusion, I looked around to search for the Mystic, and forgot to scan for more projectiles in the process. The last thing I saw was another bullet, aimed straight for my head.

I woke up with a shout. That bullet had hit me straight on my forehead! However, when I touched the ‘wound’ I could only feel some water coat my fingers. I followed the trail and looked up to the earthen ceiling, where another drop of water threatened to fall and hit my head. Quick of mind, I jumped out of the bed, just in time to avoid the next attack.

After I had wiped the water off my forehead, I got ready to face a new day. Like every morning, the washed out clothes the Mystic had stolen from the people of the Caverns waited for me by the bed. A sigh accompanied my glance at the clothes from my old life. My jeans and shirt weren’t only dirty. They were also worn through after the constant abuse throughout the magic training I had endured over the past weeks. Now I was forced to wear the same rough cloth as the old man: Squalor clothes.

This would be our thirty-fifth day in this place, or at least the thirty-fifth time I had woken up here. I had worked hard and learned a lot, but I really hoped that soon, the nightmare would end and I could return home. Rather than waking up with a stiff neck and aching muscles, I would once again wake up from my sister's incessant noise, Nate ready and waiting downstairs with a coffee and a cab.

I sighed again as I realized the cruel reality. Any day away from here was another day to drift further and further away from my normal life, from the life I wanted. I understood that I had to find out if Eileen was okay, but I was just as worried about Amy. All on her own, she really would be having a tough time. Not only them, I had also left behind Nate, who was stuck alone with his work again, as well as the wards in my responsibility.

Self-pity wasn't a solution though. Now that I had felt the old man's power some more, I realized that I could never escape against the Mystic's will. All I could do for now was follow the Mystic's instructions, suffer through his cruel training and hope that I would soon meet his nebulous standards.

With a last look down at the clothes that had become mine, I went outside into the common hall. That's what we had come to call the one room where we would gather, eat and talk everyday. 'We', that was me and Sophie. However, the 'talk' had little to do with myself.

“And so who controls the city later? You'd have to make use of the people below, right? Reorganize a bureaucracy?”

“That is very correct.”

At first, I hadn't understood why the old man had first ignored her existence and then even let her into his own home, but by now I knew. At some point during my training, the two had gotten into a conversation over things I didn't care for. Rather than some far-of revolution, I was more worried about my own future, and even more about my sisters. Anyways, Sophie and the Mystic had been locked in repeated debates over the future of Astralis ever since their first talk.

Although I didn't understand their topics, at least I felt I understood my ward's fascination. For the girl, it must have looked like a chance out of a hopeless reality. After being trapped in her own mind for so long, gifted but with no purpose, life had thrown her the chance to do something of worth. She would grasp the chance, even if it meant burning down the entire world.

The Mystic on the other hand must have been ecstatic to find a kindred spirit after so long. To me the man's claims of being over a hundred years old sounded like tall tales, but at the very least he must have been alone for a long time. Considering his strange speech patterns and off-putting manners, human contact couldn’t have been part of his daily routine for a good while. In a way, these two were the most extreme cases any caretaker could ever have to tackle, the worst thing Type One had to offer. A trainee wasn't ready for two anti-social revolutionaries with plans to overthrow the council.

“Morning,” I said, unaware of the actual time.

“Yeah, morning Brayden,” Sophie answered through the corner of her mouth. Meanwhile, the Mystic just gave me a simple nod.

I took a seat and gazed upon my breakfast. Like every day, the opulence spread before me: Bread, water and salted butter. Like everything else in the mystic's home, the food was simple, bland and functional. While I dug in, the two sank back into their own little world of fire and brimstone.

“...but how would you even get the people in the caverns to do listen to you? Isn't it all gangsters and crazies?” Sophie probed and glanced over at me again. Maybe she was worried that she had copied my argument from a few nights ago, but I didn't care either way.

“They are groups which believe in anarchy, in strength. The strongest will rule over them, always, until the strongest overreaches. Strength and restraint will unite the Squalor. Unity will break the tyranny of the mages.”

“You think those dirty bandits actually have a chance against the City Council, old man? Those red guards have guns and drones and... everything!” Sophie threw up her hands. “How can some dirty cave dwellers fight against an army of proper mages?”

“Once young Brayden has fulfilled his mission, there is hope. The force of Astralis is far weaker than it appears. From outside, the defense seems impregnable. Yet with but a single poke, one finds it to be an eggshell, nothing more.”

“Yeah, If I go along with your crazy plan, which I won't,” I said, my head buried in my shoddy meal. It might have been spoiling their fun, but theirs was a kind of fun I felt duty-bound to spoil.

“Brayden, you really should be more open. Seriously. Haven't you read the history books? Nothing's changed here in hundreds of years.”

“So what? What's there to change?” I raised my head to follow Sophie's voice.

“Ever heard of progress? Culturally and technologically, we've been sitting on the same spot for who knows how long. That's dangerous. Any society without progress will fall. Always. Also, the history books could be lying. We might be regressing. They're all written by mages anyways, so how would you know any differently?”

Although her point caused a frown, her radical ideas still didn't convince me.

“...apart from speculation about things beyond us, the progress you find so important is all focused on the Towers of Knowledge. They have that name for a reason.”

“Now you're speculating.”

“Sure, whatever.” I waved off her claim and carried my plate over to the Mystic's excuse for a sink. “Why would progress be needed in the first place?”

For a while, Sophie sank into silence. When I was already convinced of my victory, her whisper broke my delusion.

“...you're the caretaker, you tell me.”

I wanted to refute, but the sarcastic answer I had come up with got stuck in the back of my throat. In my year on the job, I had seen too much pointless suffering, too much decay inside those houses, hidden away by a perfect facade.

“The city is rotting and you know it. The people are less and less active, there's more and more social problems. The mystic geezer here told me that a few decades ago, the Squalor was barely a third of today's size. It's getting worse every single generation. Not only the people though, the city as well.”

While my hands washed out the plate with some water from a jug, my mind was focused on my memories. Meanwhile, Sophie continued her rant.

“What about all the cars that used to be around? What about the drones getting fewer and fewer? What about the turned off conveyors? All these neat little conveniences eliminated one by one, all on some flimsy excuse. Doesn't it seem like the city's breaking down?

“I don't want this place to crash and burn. I'm not that evil. It's already crashing all on its own. Here's the problem though: If we don't do something now, tear down the foundations and build something new, then someone else will. Maybe that won't happen now, but I guarantee you that once things start to fall apart, some warlord is gonna stand up and take control. Those warlords always do. And believe me, you're not gonna like his version for our future.”

At last I turned to find that Sophie had gotten up herself. Her eyes were filled with a cold fire that was no less intense than the Mystic's stare.

“You know, I've looked into history,” she said. “Politics too. A lot of people think that's pointless, what with the almighty council to guide us through paradise, but I did it anyways. One of the things I've realized in the process is this: Whenever there's a violent revolution, the chances that things will get better after are minuscule. Even an eventual improvement will come with immeasurable pain in the early years, and that's the best case. All you can do is hope those in charge aren't crazy... or power drunk. A revolution needs to be steered by responsible people. You're a good guy, right? Even if you're not much else-”

“Thanks for that.”

“...okay, sorry. Still, wouldn't you be perfect to lead this kind of movement? Someone who is nice to everyone, who wants to help everyone, who would be stupid enough to give up his own freedom to help fat slobs and self-obsessed ghost girls back on their feet. At the same time, a real life mage! Someone who is strong enough to control any revolution from the center! If there's only one person in this city who can stop the council's tyranny, it would be you.”

Like I had done so many times these days, I thought back to my sisters. Even though Amy wasn't a mage herself, at the very least Eileen was. She had always been the better me. Not only was she more capable, but more compassionate as well. If these two lunatics were right, maybe my goal should be different from what they expected: To get my sister out of those towers and have her lead that revolution Sophie wanted so badly.

“First, young Brayden must finish the training,” the Mystic chimed in, still seated, immovable as always.

“Urgh.” I let my real feelings show. “What's it gonna be today? More balance training? Or another drowning session?”

Of course I ignored Sophie's grin. Although she had always been around during the training sessions, our nightly talks had shown her much more compassionate than she let on.

“Unnecessary.” The Mystic said. “An overuse of force will deplete your precious pool, so the caged training will be shortened. Today shall be a practical application of skill. You shall march through the caverns, undetected. Then, you shall return here and tell of your findings. A successful completion of this training and you will be free to move around the Caverns from then on. A big step towards the great goal.”

I jumped back up on my feet, ready to challenge the world. Finally, a chance to leave this stuffy place!

“Let's go then!” I called out.

“Good. Enthusiasm is very welcome. However, child. Be aware that calm will be needed for your task. Danger lurks around all corners, even down here, away from the beasts. You may best remain careful, unless you wish to end your life and all hopes foisted upon it.”

While the old man still held his sermon, I was already on my way down the stairs. Soon, large strides sent me past the illusory wall and into the thicket of the caverns.