Sundeera trails several steps behind the short Wiovan in sand-colored robes as the woman weaves her way through the crowd and down a narrow path. She’s the second member of the Order Sundeera has followed after leaving Kywen to finish preparing for the ceremony, and this one continues winding through the more lively tents and Spirit stands. By now, Sundeera is confident the Order is here for a reason.

She doesn't find it terribly hard to spot them as their hands take on an iridescent blue hue after successfully completing some kind of private ritual to join the Order, and they make no effort to conceal the tell-tale results. Many claim to have details and inside knowledge reagrding the ceremony, but anyone she's pressed for more information admits they heard it from their Auntie who heard it from her local gem dealer, and he heard it from his Awa. Everyone in her recent memory has come up short with answers, and it remains one of the many mysteries guarded by the Wiovan Order.

The woman finally reaches her destination and walks into a bright tent, one littered with those ranging from upright and merry to prone and plastered, and Sundeera waits a few beats before following, but once inside, she quickly takes a seat that puts her back to a corner and scans the other patrons, spotting the woman as she joins a large man with a thick neck who greets her from a table along the edge. Half of his body is beyond the reach of several glowing lanterns that hover within the peaks of the tent’s raised canopy. The woman leans into the blue gloom, placing a kiss on his cheek.

Wearing a bright silk kaftan, an expensive looking pendant, and the outline of a bulky knife, he doesn’t have a trace of blue to his large hands. The pair speak quietly with their heads together, and Sundeera considers using the opportunity to test the bracelet’s potential.

She nearly bites her tongue when a grimy-looking runner pops up at her table.

“Specials or you know what you like?” he asks.

“Ice wine,” she says while quickly slipping him a few bronze coins, at least twice its cost, “more ice than wine, please.”

The boy palms them and darts under the other floating tables, disappearing behind the partition separating work from pleasure and leaving Sundeera to covertly channel a binding, her fingers moving ever so slightly in her lap.

The man leans back, running his hand through dark, glossy hair as he speaks. He pours himself two fingers of some kind of milky liquor from a small flask and sips it gingerly, wiping the corners of his moustache with a napkin. He fills a second glass and sets it in front of the Wiovan woman.

Sundeera sends her current through the bracelet and tentatively reaches out with an invisible funnel of air. The woman ignores her drink even though he seems to be waiting for her to take it. Sundeera can hear the light tap of his fingernails on the table more accurately than their muffled conversation, and concentrating her aim, she guides the funnel higher until she can hear every word clearly. Locking its location in place, she widens the mouth of the funnel to grab even their lowest whispers.

“-been enjoying this role. I’ll miss it after tonight, but I am confident things will work out well for us either way,” he says with a wide smile.

“How do you figure?”

“It doesn’t matter which kid, yeah? They only need one strong enough. The Ancient Ones-”

“Why must you insist on speaking so freely?” she hisses.

He drops his voice again, “You’re worried for nothing. We get paid no matter which way this thing goes.”

She places her fingers on the rim of the glass as she considers his words, tracing a slow circle. A haunting smile spreads across her face as she slowly lifts the glass and clinks it against his.

“Don’t screw me,” she says and gulps down her drink in one swallow.

The man blows her a kiss in return.

A sharp ache blooms at the base of Sundeera’s skull, and she quickly releases her binding, pressing two fingers to her temples as the pain swirls down through her jaw. She can feel the weight of the bracelet on her wrist. The gems might be powerful, but her Inaru master’s words echo in her mind.

"Channeling with strength alone relies on a chain made of daisies; to channel with others forges a chain of steel, but channeling with balance removes the need for chains completely."

The reminder that every Channeler, no matter how strong or practiced, runs the risk of losing control, was fresh on her mind from the previous morning, watching in horror as one of her fellow Acolytes dropped to the grass, writhing in pain.

Another had whispered in her ear, “If she’s lucky, she’ll pass out.”

“What if she’s not lucky?” Sundeera had asked.

“She’ll die.”

The memory fades as she watches the man pour the flask's last finger of liquor into the Wiovan woman's glass before kissing her on the cheek and leaving her to finish the drink alone.

Sundeera tries to rub the tension out of her neck and inhales deeply into her belly, allowing her diaphragm to expand to its full capacity, and her heart rate maintains its slow and steady pace through the exhale. The pain quickly recedes into little more than a dull twinge, pulsing softly in her ears.

The runner materializes at her table once again, this time with an enormous, beautifully-carved goat’s horn filled to the brim with crushed ice and purple wine. She flicks him a pair of extra coins with orders to stay away, her mind on Kywen again.

Kywen has always been the fastest of the pair to create a binding, having done it without effort ever since she was a little girl who could send flowerless bushes into bloom with one touch. While her great strength in Root magic was expected, both Galen and Yamma belonging to the oldest ancestral Flora clan in Hindar, Kywen's struggle to channel any meaningful amount of Shade, Wild, or Crystal magic was not. It was as if a giant dam had been built across her stream of magic, pooling all the water into a single oasis of talent while desiccating her connection to the rest of magic. This channeling block prevented her from qualifying for Inaru training, as they require the ability to channel in at least three of the four disciplines of magic. Though Sundeera offered to give up her spot when she found out, Kywen insisted she'd be silly to let such an important opportunity go to waste.

The pressure constricting her chest starts to loosen its hold, and a fail-safe forms in Sundeera's mind as she weighs the threat to her nexum. Each sip of ice wine sparks a comforting warmth in her belly, sharpening her thoughts.

She knows how powerful Kywen is in wielding her ancestral Root magic, but of the four disciplines, Root magic is the toughest to recognize raw strength in without knowing what to look for. After draining the last of the diluted wine, she calls out to the Támaru she successfully bonded at the Inaru Ice Trial. The vibration that erupts behind her temples is just as jarring as the first time, when the connection was initially forged, and her guides had claimed the shock would lessen over time. “Do you think I’m worrying over nothing?” she asks without words. “I do not,” Lyro’s voice rumbles inside her head, “as things may be more complicated than they seem.” “She’s so stubborn!” Lyro’s booming laughter makes her eyes rattle in their sockets. “What’s so funny?” “Aren’t we all,” it says simply. Sundeera can’t stop the corner of her mouth from pulling up slightly. “Some more than others.” Lyro is a lot more playful than she had expected. The Inaru Disciples described a primary Támaru as docile and open. Lyro is aloof and mysterious, and right now, she can’t help but feel like the spirit is teasing her. The tent fabric ripples from opaque to translucent while the brightly glowing orb above her head dims to a soft, buttery-yellow, allowing the sun its final burst of red, orange, and yellow to kaleidoscope through the imbued fabric, setting the room aflame in the refracted colors. A small cluster of low-rolling clouds pass by with the ever-gusting coastal winds, dappling the faces around her in glittering rays, and Sundeera wonders how many of them are already too drunk to make the naming ceremony. She closes her eyes briefly, imagining what it would be like to relax with a strong drink, free to appreciate the approaching brilliance of Valdarus's twin full moons. She knew following the Wiovan woman out this far would be cutting things close, so Sundeera expands her link with Lyro. With its help, she thinks she can reach the Collaboration in half the time and hopefully avoid being late to the naming ceremony. Kywen will likely be heading to the Root arena, but she needs to make sure. Taking one last glance around the room, she slips out of the tent and walks away from the thinning crowd. “Ready?” she asks Lyro. “Yes.” She hears a faint echo to the spirit's response seconds before a hand reaches out and grabs her roughly by the arm.