“Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;

I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.” - Sarah Williams

The same day at nightfall at a small temple in the suburbs.

“Marthelm!”

“Yes, mother superior?”

“How is the child?”

“He is resting and should recover in a few days if nothing goes wrong. The malnutrition and the...parasites harmed him greatly.”

A small figure sat on a wall nearby and listened with magically sharpened senses. Vanessa looked at the small building and the light that came from its windows. The life that she had saved on a whim seemed to have been preserved by the grace of Meloris.

She looked at her hands and black ice grew rapidly encasing her fingertips in jagged claws. The bitter cold misted the air around them, the sky was dark with smoke and soot no stars were visible.

‘They live such short, brutal lives. Once my father would have pitied them and then probably ignored them after giving them some scraps. Now the remnants of my people scrabble in the wastes of what was once the heartland between the ruins of our past glory serving her who doomed us. Undead reign where laughter and song once did.’

She looked through the open window and saw the priestess stroke the forehead of the child and a tentative smile stole on his small face marked by pain and exhaustion.

‘If you can't move the boulder then carry a twig. If you don’t begin you will never finish.’ Proverbs and sayings by philosopher wizards long dead and forgotten came to mind. ‘Perhaps even those claws of mine can make this world a bit better.’ Feeling strangely satisfied as she sat there watching, unheeding of cold and wind, the priestess rose and went, candle in hand, to close the window seeing for a moment her light reflected in lambent green eyes that vanished in the darkness.

The shutters closed and a latch was thrown wind hummed around the corners of the old temple.

Meanwhile in the Wisteria Dorms.

A scratching sound could be heard from the window and Cyrus perked his head.

Mireille yawned unashamedly and stretched her arms while pushing out her chest.

Alea's spider looked on and seemed faintly displeased at this lack of manners. How a brass construct was capable of displaying such emotions was a mystery for the ages. She was tinkering with the Ayrton Converter. The brass, copper, and steel sphere was opened, and inside could be seen densely packed runes and a mechanism made of small rods and gears that took up most of the available space.

Lorelle was sorting clothes into the wardrobe.

Alyssa went and opened the window wearing her nightrobe.

“Meow!”

“Semiramis, how nice of you to come by. Cyrus missed you already!”

Flapping her wings the fluffy grey-blue cat with the hawk-wings glided into the room. Her mouth was stuffed with a small hare which she unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

“Oh no! That will be difficult to get out of the wood!” Alyssa looked on helplessly.

Mireille snickered “Mira! Miramis!”

The cat studiously ignored her and went towards the much more interesting Alea.

A green shadow darkened the ceiling lights and Cyrus pounced on the bloody offering holding the body of the hare with his hind claws and then ripping chunks of fur and flesh from the carcass before swallowing the bloody pieces whole.

Alyssa put her hands over her face and sighed. “Yes great and fierce predator, please, please don’t spread the blood to the whole room.” She looked imploringly at Lorelle who nodded and went to get some cleaning gear.

“Meow. Mrrow.” Semiramis looked curiously at the opened converter and then pawed a gear lying near the edge of the table.

“Don’t you dare!” Alea's voice would have frozen a hot spring in summer.

“Mreeow.” A gust of wind swirled dust from the tabletop and the gear spun into the air the cat leaping after it. Instinctively she beat her wings and soared around the ceiling.

“Mireille! Help!” Alea grabbed for the recalcitrant feline and missed.

Mireille looked incredulous then, laughing, tried to grab Semiramis.

“Not the cat! My gear!”

After a short scuffle, the growling cat was separated from her prize by the promise of food. Mireille had saved some bacon to nibble on before sleeping and that was sacrificed to preserve the peace.

“How can a cat use wind magic?” Alyssa was perplexed.

“I think it is mostly instinct?” Alea answered. “I have heard that there are some species of salamander that use fire magic. I would think that a more hazardous proposition.”

Mireille fluffed Semiramis who purred on her lap. Cyrus had brought her a ribbon from Alea's collection and was dangling it from his mouth trying to interest her in playing with him.

Alyssa came over and sat beside Mireille wanting to stroke the silky cat too.

Mireille looked at Alea. “Say, what is this converter converting actually?”

Alea turned her head. “It converts Mana dust into motive and magical power. It will be the new heart of the automaton I have already sent for. It will be my project for ‘Like Clockwork’.”

“Oh, that explains it. Is this dust not probably dangerous? I heard people snort or eat it or something which leads to them dying from it?” Mireille buried her face in the purring felines thick pelt.

Semiramis was lazily batting at the ribbon and Cyrus always pulled it back just before she could snag it.

“That is somewhat true. The dust is necessary for so many magical machines that it is impossible to completely regulate it. And the necessary alchemical alterations to make it ‘usable’ as a drug are not difficult to perform for even a lay alchemist. It seems to be quite the problem. But please! Never try it out and never, and I mean it, try to do something like this with unaltered dust. That is like drinking white spirits and thinking it alcohol!”

“What happens when I do that?”

“You go blind and dumb.”

In another dorm.

Lieseleta sat in her room before a vanity pushed to the wall underneath an ornate mirror. Jera smoothed her hair with a brush, the golden locks gleaming in the light of the glowstone. She wore a loose pink robe cinched about her waist with a pastel blue sash, roses were embroidered in silver thread reaching from the lower hem to the middle of her chest.

The room was spacious and the walls and ceiling were ornamented with stucco. The floor was polished and varnished wood gleamed in the light of the stones. The windows were latticed glass, the shutters closed for the night. A large canopy bed stood farther to the back.

A knock sounded from the door.

Jera looked up, she wore a simple tunic-trouser combination in earthy colors, brown and green with leather sewn onto the joints. A pendant in the form of a shield with crossed sword and mace hung from her neck.

“I will get that milady.”

“You need not be so formal with me when we are alone.” Lieseleta pouted playfully.

Jera gave a half-smile and went to open the door.

In the dark corridor stood a liveried servant holding a scroll in one hand and a lantern in the other. After a short exchange of words and some copper coins, she took the scroll towards the princess.

As the girl reached for the parchment Jera shook her head. “Please let me check first.”

She produced an ornate wand made of pieces of green and white jade framed in runed silver. As she spoke the command word stars began to glimmer inside the stone and a ray of vibrant light shone onto the scroll. Runes became visible on the parchment and the seal glowed with green light.

“Everything checks out. Nothing beside anti-tampering measures and the usual self-immolation glyph.”

“Then can I open it now? That was Timus, he should have checked it too?”

“You can't be too trusting your highness. Your brother tried to poison you once already.”

“You can't know it was him.” Her stiff shoulders betrayed her fraying composure.

“I beg your forgiveness for this presumption.” Jera bowed.

Lieseleta gave a deep sigh. “Sorry. I know, please stop.” Jera righted herself and then opened the scroll.

The girl began to read and raised an eyebrow. “It is from Tervellin Gold. He warns me to be alert towards a certain Leonhard Poroskar and mentions Jamila von Nordstrom. I will have to have a talk with him.”

She remembered the red-gold-haired insolent youth and his self-introduction. ‘His hobby is flirting.’ She smirked.

“You can’t be seen in public with the king’s bastard.” Jera admonished.

“Then it will not be in public? We have a visit to the town planned for this weekend, do we not?”

“That is true. I will try to find some more trustworthy guards.”

“I leave that in your capable hands.” The princess smiled mischievously.

Sighing under her breath Jera continued brushing the golden locks that gleamed metallically in the light of the globes.

Meanwhile in the second-floor corridors of the academy main building.

“Calvin, a moment of your time.”

“Mrs. Jamila. What can I do for you.”

“Could we talk for a moment?” Jamila stood in the corridor wearing her dark grey robes and looked at him, head tilted to the side. Pince-nez glasses gleamed in the dim light of the sparse glow globes illuminating this lesser-used part of the academy.

“If you must.” Calvin nodded wearily. Once he had loved her low contralto voice and how she laughed at his jokes. And once he had thought her to be a friend. Scars both visible and invisible had resulted from this misconception.

“My study is just down the corridor, or would you like to go to yours?”

“If it makes no difference I would like you to accompany me to mine.” Calvin subtly drew some glyphs and summoned his power. Walls of shadow enclosed his mind. A whispered word activated a ring on his left hand a current of magic connected to his core.

They walked in silence. The swish of her robes, the muffled sounds of their sandals. A distant sigh of wind. Somewhere a door was opened and closed, footsteps faded, silence again.

Once he had found it comfortable because he thought he knew her mind, now he held destructive magics in time-spelled constructs at his fingertips. ‘Not only flesh decays’ the corner of his mouth turned up at this morbid thought.

“Something amusing you?” She did not look but somehow knew. It was like it had been and completely different. They had not talked in years other than when it was truly necessary.

“This situation naturally. You know that you could never persuade me and nonetheless, they sent you. Why did you accede to this? I remember you being a cautious player never committing unless sure of the result.”

“Perhaps even I like to have a sense of closure.” Her voice echoed down the hall.

They arrived at his study and after disarming the wards and unlocking entered.

“Wine, spirits, tea?” He went towards a small cabinet and opening the glass door took a decanter holding it with a questioning gaze.

The room was much smaller than Illimens, stuffed to the brim with old books the lone window struggled to supply fresh air and it smelled of mold, dusty parchment with a note of tobacco. A large desk with a leather upholstered chair stood before the window, some other chairs were buried beneath books and scrolls.

“Messy as always.” She tapped her fingers against her lips. “Wine.”

He took two glass goblets, different ones, and put them on the table. There did not seem to be a complete set. “Please serve yourself while I clean a chair.” He did just that as she murmured and green light played around the decanter.

“I would not presume to poison you. That would be the novice trying to fool the master. I would simply try to send you to hell.” His smile was bereft of joy.

“Please try to keep civil will you. It will not take long.” She swirled the wine and sniffed. “A Gildburg.” She sipped. “You know your wine.” She seemed a bit surprised.

“Everything changes, given enough time. What do you want.” He took his own goblet a pulse of green flowed from his ring and then he drank a large swallow.

“You know that Illimen never intends for you to be a tower master. You are much too useful as an unbound tool.”

Calvin raised an eyebrow.

“Our offer- The Tower of the Arcane, your choice of apprentice, access to the restricted records, and as much money as you would need for the project.”

He nodded. “That is more than I would have thought you would offer.”

“I have not the time to dicker. I have not the inclination to slowly increase the price. I know you.” She brushed back her hair, he realized that she had loosened her hair a little. A few strands fell softly around her face.

“You KNEW me.” He folded his hands. “What makes you think that I would entertain such an offer?”

“If you would but keep out of it.” She sighed. “I could not give all of what I offered but might make a personal offer.”

A flash of pain in his eyes was the only reaction. “Why tear at old scars. That is in the past. Thank you for the offer, I would like to delay and say that I am considering it. I am not. For old times sakes don’t ask me again.”

She nodded, eyes hidden behind her glasses. “Good night Calvin.”

“Good night Jamila, old friend.”