"Intelligibility," Alderton said. "Is the foundation upon which all science,all language, all of history, and even religion is based. It is the intelligibity of a thing calling out to a potential knower. Seeking to be known."

"How can that be?" Prisma said. "A thing calling out to be known? Doesn't a thing exist regardless of whether or not it is known?"

"It does!" Alderton said, holding up a rock in his palm. "But take an object, for instance, this rock. Does this rock exist?"

The class pondered the point. "Yes, I think it does," Prisma said.

"Does Frostilicus exist?" Alderton said, turning to face Frost. "Before you met him? Did he exist?"

"I wish he didn't," Prisma said, rolling her eyes.

Alderton winked, his lips curling slightly.

Frost only shook his head.

"He exists, and so does this rock," Alderton said. "But both are enriched by being known. A rock far away in the distance of space without anyone to know it is far less appreciated than this one. The same goes for our planet, which is so much more than a simple rock for the life which it holds upon it."

The class was silent.

"Similarly," Alderton said. "Frostilicus is more appreciated for your having known him, and for him having known you. The relationship is as real as the thing itself. The act of knowing creates intelligence, relationality, knowledge itself."

Prisma shrugged, "I'd take him or leave him."

"Can a friendship," Master Alderton said. "Or an enmity for that matter, exist without knowledge of another person?"

"No," Prisma said. "I suppose not."

"A person who is separated from the whole," Alderton said. "Living a life only designed to please his or herself, instead of serving the greater good, is living a less fulfilled life."

"What about Frosthaven?" Frostilicus said instinctively. His forehead turned red as he spoke.

"I beg your pardon," Alderton said.

"Frosthaven," Frostilicus said. "Is separated from the rest of the world up here in the Northern Reach. The Flintlock ravage the nations. Yet you sit here with all the power in the world. Doing nothing. What about that?" His skin bristled as he spoke. He didn't mean to vent but he couldn't help it.

"That," Alderton said. "Is a topic for another day."

There was an awkward pause. No one was quite sure how to respond to that. Alderton himself seemed uncomfortable with the question. Finally, Prisma broke the silence.

"Master Alderton," Prisma said, raising her hand. "You were saying about intelligibllity?"

"Right, yes," Alderton said. "The intelligible thing is lit up and brought to life, if you will, in the act of being known. Similarly, the knower is enriched in the same act. We call this coinherence."

"Coin—what?" Frolick said, shaking his head. "This is too heady for me."

"Coinherence," Alex said in his typical snoody voice. "It means that there's an elemental mutuality between knower and object."

"Precisely," Alderton said, his voice pitched. "Wonderfully stated Alex. There's a certain harmony or consonance established between a thing and the knower in a true act of intellection."

"Intellection," Frolick said, clutching his head. "Gives me a headache."

"Foundations of Frost Magic 101," Alex said, his eyes flitting down to a textbook on the floor. "It's the way frost magic works."

"True," Alderton said. "Yet I cannot emphasize enough the profundity of this principle. Upon it rests all of human knowledge, not just frost magic. It doesn't just apply to material objects, mind you, but mathematics and history and stories."

"How so?" Frost asked.

"Take the more extreme approach," Alderton said. "Certain ancient civilizations once believed that we are merely random actors in the world, created by random chance out of circulating matter. There is no coherent story to anything."

"Doesn't sound too far-fetched," Frost said. "That sounds reasonable, actually."

"Aha," Alderton said. "But there's the rub. If all is pure unintelligible randomness, then history is meaningless. If things cannot be truly known, there are no patterns, or shapes. There is no such thing as beauty or romance."

Alderton continued. "Coinherence is a unitive principle. By knowing events, we make it a story. By knowing shape, we make it a pattern. By knowing a loved one, we make them beloved. That is the definition of knowing."

"What happens if there is no coinherence then?" Frolick said, puzzled.

"Then things cannot be truly known, and if things cannot be known, then that which makes us persons does not exist," Alderton said. "We are less than animals. Human life and all that we consider good—our art, history, beauty—can be thrown away."

"We can kill whomever we want," Frost said. "Destroy whatever we want. Take what we want. Because people aren't people anymore." Just like the Flintlock, he thought to himself. Suddenly, it made sense why Quartus was so hesitant to kill even his enemies. The good king would rather sacrifice his own life than take the lives of others unnecessarily.

"Exactly," Alderton said. "We are more than a random formation of chemicals. We value life. We value the good things in the world around us. Take this building, for example. By knowing that this classroom is a classroom and not merely an odd formation of raw matter we fulfill its classroom-ness. That's coinherence."

"So then what makes us people then?" Frolick blurted out. It was just like him to say whatever was on his mind. "Doesn't it take something other than humans to fulfill our human-ness by knowing us?"

Alderton paused at the question, stroking his white beard. "Why the Almighty, of course."

The Almighty? Frost jerked his head. That seemed a stretch. He believed, of course, but failed to grasp the connection. He'd learned to say his prayers as a habit, but he'd never actually pondered what or who the Almighty was.

"I will attempt to summarize," Alderton said. "Our act of knowing is like a miniature version of Divine Knowing."

Frost scratched his head wrestling with the point. "So you're saying that the Almighty is some super-powerful being that knows every and all things in the universe?"

Alderton was silent.

Frolick blurted out, "But how do we know that's true? I mean, we could just say that there are cosmic space dragons floating around in the stars that know things. We should ask for proof."

"You're sitting in a classroom inside of a university hall," Alderton said. "Is there scientific proof that an architect sat down and designed this structure? Not exactly. And yet everything around you reflects the work and design of the architect."

It was a good point. Not something Frostilicus had considered before.

"Let me give you something else to consider on this," Alderton said. "I would push the point back to you and say that you're thinking too small. Far too small."

"I don't understand," Frost said, shaking his head.

"The Almighty isn't some fantastical super-powerful being that goes around Knowing things into existence," Alderton said. "Far from it."

"But isn't that just what you described?

"The Almighty," Alderton said. "Is Being itself, the pure act of Knowing itself."

"So you're saying," Frostilicus said, tilting his head to one side. "That God, is, um, a Verb?"

Master Alderton smiled, his head nodding ever-so-slightly.