Abbey House Dining Hall | 9:28 PM | First Day

The atmosphere of the room chilled almost instantly, with several people's faces going tense. Kamrusepa's class-reputation-at-risk alarm bells started ringing, and she opened her mouth, likely intent on aggressively changing the subject.

But once Bardiya got started on something like this, not even she could stop him. Not looking up from his plate, he continued speaking before the first syllable had left her mouth.

"I joined the cause after the Paritists took Ikkaryon from the noble council, since I'd already had some basic first-aid training. It wasn't much, but doctors were in short supply, let alone experts in the Power. They had to take what they could get, since so many people were wounded during the riots. But it wasn't until the war was almost over that circumstances arose which led me to my discipline."

"Calling it a 'war' is a bit much, don't you think...?" Ptolema said, with a nervous laugh.

It looked like she regretted the words before they'd even left her mouth. Bardiya gave her an immensely chilly look, and she all but lurched backwards into her seat.

"When the Administrators ordered the provisional government to be put down," he continued without further hesitance, "they employed a new type of artificed gas against our forces. It was intended to induce rapid fatigue-- A nonviolent solution, in theory. The idea was that those afflicted would simply collapse, or at least be so exhausted they would give up and go home. At first, it seemed merely ineffective. The leadership got everyone masks two days later, and we thought nothing more of it."

I tensed a bit, myself. I followed the revolutionary-sympathetic press. I knew where this story was going.

"But nine months later, when we were marching on the gulf, something began to happen," he continued. "People who'd been in the initial riots - my friends, many of them - were starting to take ill in large numbers. They experienced all sorts of problems. Heart rate instability. Respirtatory difficulties. Migraines that became chronic, and then disabling. The tumors followed soon enough." He stabbed his fork into a lingering piece of quail breast. "As it turned out, the gas had an unexpected side effect. In a minority of the affected, it damaged the anima script, specifically the histones. It compromised their cells ability to reproduce properly."

"It was an easily fixable defect," he went on, "but we had almost no arcanists specialized for it. So we did the only thing we could do. We pulled together, and played it by ear. I hadn't gone through my recognition ceremony yet, so I couldn't cast, and had perform supplemental duties instead. Going over textbooks, trying to assemble the incantations from what our diagnostic arcana managed to infer."

Linos, at this point, was looking like someone who had just stuck his hand into a pool full of sharks, and was now witnessing the water turn a vivid shade of red. "Were you... Able to help them?"

"Some," Bardiya said. "But most didn't see the end of the conflict. And those who were left still suffered terribly. The most we could do was prevent death - to stop their degrading anima scripts continuing to cause damage. What was already done was done."

Linos nodded, looking downward. Everyone else just stared.

"But one learns a great deal very quickly when forced to improvise in the field, especially when compared to a classroom," Bardiya continued. "And I came to see what potential for good the discipline of anima artificing had, despite its relative unpopularity." He gestured forward. "There you have it. How I found my way into the healing arts."

"Well." Linos coughed into his fist. "That's a very understandable motivation, to be certain."

"Yes," Kamrusepa added, her voice terse. "Thank you very much for sharing, Bardiya."

It wasn't hard to tell that she was feeling very frustrated. Her eyes kept going to the faces of Neferuaten and Durvasa, hoping to gauge their reaction.

Bringing up the revolution - or the civil dispute, or whatever you wanted to call it - in company you weren't familiar with was a dangerous proposition, especially when there was a lot of disparity in age between the people listening. People tended to be hyper-polarized around it on generational lines, with ours, the 14th, being the most universally sympathetic (though even then, there were exceptions) and each preceding one less so than the previous.

Then 10th and earlier, made up on those who had lived through both the Tricenturial and Interplanar wars, were the most contemptful of the revolutionaries. People who viewed the Grand Alliance as mankind's supreme political accomplishment, and any problems with the way it was managed as, at best, a lack of perspective, and at worst an entitlement that threatened to destroy a world order they saw themselves as having made great sacrifices for.

Even if that meant defending the occasional mass-killing, apparently.

Though like all attempts to build a political narrative, that only described rough trends in what was, in reality, an incredibly messy situation. Since it was quite easy to keep ones age physically ambiguous until practically the brink of death, many people in the modern era didn't identify themselves with a generation at all, or increasingly used generational labels as of a way to denote more than age. There were people in their 300s who were closer to the culture and material circumstances of the young, and thus identified themselves as a younger generation for the purpose of solidarity. Inversely, there were people our age who'd fake centuries more experience for the opportunities that would bring them.

But I digress. The point was that, if one of our hosts happened to have a perspective strongly opposed to Bardiya's, this entire weekend could take a turn for the worse very quickly.

"C'mon, Kam," Seth said, with a nervous laugh. "This is really personal stuff, and the guy did ask. Give him a break."

"I am being quite sincere," Kamrusepa said, with a notable absence of sincerity. "Though, we are guests here, so I do think it would have been courteous, perhaps, to have found a way to avoid giving such a charged response to the question."

Bardiya said nothing. He ate his food in silence, as if the conversation around him wasn't happening.

"Kam," he said, this time with a little more sternness. "Seriously. Drop it."

"'Drop it?'" She said, in the incredulous tone she always used when anyone appeared to challenge her authority. "I'm not holding onto anything to begin with. As I said, I have nothing but respect and sympathy for Bardiya's motivations. I was merely responding to you picking at me saying as much with my own perspective, which was that it was a little inappropriate."

To a neutral observer, this probably would have looked like Kamrusepa was dragging the uncomfortable atmosphere out for no good reason. But after spending more than 2 years with her, I was starting to get a sense of how she thought. What was actually happening was that she was signalling to Neferuaten, Linos and Durvasa that she didn't empathize too much with Bardiya's position, while also trying not to come across as outright antagonistic. That way, even if this made them develop a lower opinion of the class, she herself might escape as an exception.

It was pretty slimy.

"Alright. Great." Seth said, sounding frustrated himself. "Well, everybody's heard your feelings about it now, so let's leave it at that."

"As you like," she said, impassive.

After that, the room fell into an uneasy silence. It was only broken a couple of minutes later, when Sacnicte returned from the kitchen with the cakes. Sponge, in honey and chocolate flavors, along with a bowl of cream, vanilla powder, and chocolate sauce.

"Uh, hope everyone's looking forward to a delicious dessert...?" Her tone became progressively more deadpan as she tuned in to the atmosphere of the room.

"Thank you, Sacnicte," Neferuaten said.

"Yes. Thank you very much," Mehit said, the words firm. Like she was putting a bullet point on the previous conversation. "It smells absolutely lovely, don't you all think?"

It actually smelled pretty generic, and possibly somewhat burnt. Nevertheless, we all read the room and mumbled assent to varying degrees, with the exception of Durvasa, Linos, Lilith, and Theo, the last of whom was looking at the new additions to the table warily.

"Uh, I think I'm actually going to excuse myself," he said, shuffling up from his chair. "I think I might've eaten too much during the main course. I'm feeling a tad bit ill."

"You gonna be okay, Theo?" Seth asked.

"Y-Yeah, I'll, ah. It's nothing serious, I'm sure. I'm just a little queasy." He smiled.

"If you're sure." He shrugged, taking a couple gulps of wine from his glass. "You lemme know if you need anything, alright?"

"Right. Thanks." Theo looked over in my direction. "Hey, Utsu?"

I looked up towards him as I was taking a honey cake for myself. (When faced with unappealing food, the best choice is always to take the least flavorful option, and then drown it in some kind of sauce or topping, because sauces and toppings are more difficult to get actively wrong.) "Yeah?"

"Before you go to bed, would you mind--" He hesitated, biting his lip. "Would you mind stopping at my room? I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh," I said, not really sure what to make of the request. "Sure, I don't mind."

"Alright," he said, looking more uneasy than he probably meant to. "Uh, well then, excuse me..." He shuffled away from the table, moving towards the door.

"Which of the two would you like, Lili?" Mehit asked her daughter, as he left the room. "The chocolate, or the honey?"

"I'm not a child, mother," she stated, taking one of the plates with chocolate cakes from the tray. "I do not need a middleman to serve me dessert."

Neferuaten chuckled. "She's quite precocious, isn't she?"

"I--Yes, very much so," Mehit said, with a stiff nod. "She has always been a very willful child."

Lilith glared at Neferuaten. "It is vulgar to talk about someone in front of you like they aren't there, old woman."

The room collectively winced, especially Kamrusepa, though she didn't look as annoyed as she had a little earlier. She'd written off Lilith in terms of embarrassment to the class a long time ago - and she was a child, so the whole situation felt more trivial.

Nonetheless, Mehit looked vexed. "Lili! That is in no way an acceptable means to talk to one of our hosts! Do you want me to take that pudding from you?"

"No, no, it's alright," Neferuaten said, seeming more amused than anything. "If anything, she's quite perceptive. I am rather elderly, unfortunately."

Despite these words, however, Lilith seemed to be second-guessing herself in a way that was uncharacteristic for her. Her gaze quickly flickered between Neferuaten, her mother, and the dessert in front of her. Finally, not looking up as she drizzled a large amount of chocolate sauce on her cake, she muttered something very quietly.

Neferuaten raised an eyebrow. "Pardon, what was that?"

Lilith took up her fork, and ripped off a large chunk of the cake, which she subsequently placed in her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and then - still very quietly, but louder - said, "Sorry."

Mehit blinked several times, taken aback. Several members of our class had the same reaction.

"Woah," Ptolema said. "Lilith actually apologized for something!"

"I know, right?" Seth said, grinning. "I didn't know she could do that!"

"I rather feel like we've just witnessed a dragon," Kamrusepa said, amused herself. "Whatever Yantho put into those cakes must've been quite something, Sacnicte."

A few people started breaking out chuckles or more overt laughter, which made Lilith look annoyed, and Mehit incredibly embarrassed. It was hard to tell how much she was blushing because of her complexion, but her whole face seemed to tighten up, her eyes almost closed.

I was really feeling increasingly bad the woman, as this day had gone on. No part of any of this had to be enjoyable for her.

"Well," Neferuaten said, smiling, "I rather feel like I'm missing something here, but for whatever it's worth, I accept your apology, young lady."

Lilith grumbled something inaudible.

"And I ought to apologize, too," she said, turning to Mehit. "I shouldn't have been making comments about your daughter. It was irresponsible."

"It... Is quite alright," she said, giving a rigid smile herself.

"This must all be tiring for you," Neferuaten replied sympathetically, lowering her voice a bit so that the exchange became more personal. "If you prefer, I could arrange it so the two of you could eat in private tomorrow, instead? I know this sort of affair can be difficult in public, even for an ordinary child." She subtly gestured towards Lilith.

"That is very kind of you to offer. Perhaps it would be for the best." Mehit hesitated after this, looking regretful, as if this was admitting some kind of defeat. "I'm very proud of my daughter. I'm happy to be here to support her."

"Of course," Neferuaten said, nodding. "I understand."

As this was happening, slowly, regular conversation was returning to the table. Ptolema was chatting to Seth, Kam had started saying something to Ophelia. For a few moments, it felt like the atmosphere of the dinner had decisively returned to normal, and that we'd dodged a serious argument.

But since the resolution of the exchange, Linos had been looking uneasy, saying nothing. He hadn't even seemed to react when his son had left the room, and his face was terribly flushed, with some sweat trickling down his brow.

Suddenly, he looked up, and addressed Bardiya again.

"I--" He hesitated. "Uh, Bardiya..."

The young man looked up from his dessert, pushing a curl of blonde hair out of his eyes. Everyone else grew quieter again.

"I just wanted to say," he continued. "That I'm very sorry for the friends you lost. No one should have to go through that in our age, regardless of the circumstances." He exhaled. "I apologize for not saying that sooner. Just sidestepping it all by saying it it was an 'understandable motivation' was-- Well, it was cowardly of me." He scratched at the area behind his ear.

Bardiya didn't seem to respond to this emotionally at all, simply giving a measured nod.

"Obviously, the Administrators were at fault for using a completely untested chemical," Linos went on. "It was completely unethical. Grotesquely so."

"Mm." Bardiya sipped a bit from his wine glass, then looked thoughtful for a moment before finally speaking. "I appreciate the sentiment, despite the fact that you are stopping short of condemning the crackdown outright."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kamrusepa bite her lip.

"Well..." Linos said, hesitant. "Obviously, it was a complex issue..."

"The administration of the Old Yru Convention were placed in a difficult position," someone said, from off to my right. "The paritists that overthrew the city council were illegitimate in the eyes of alliance law, acting dictatorially, and spurning their offers of surrendering power to a transitional government to diffuse the situation. Further, they were confiscating property. Executing whomever they liked."

Because he'd said so little, it took me a moment to realize who was actually speaking. It was Durvasa, who was now leaning forward, his head against a fist. His voice was higher than I would have expected, with a bit of a nasal quality, but he spoke with confidence as he focused his gaze on Bardiya from his end of the table.

The room was dead silent again now, with the exception of Lilith, who was continuing to eat as if nothing was happening.

"Half of Ysara and Sao, and every nation with investments in Ikkaryon, were threatening to withdraw from the treaty if nothing was done," he went on. "It was obviously a rushed response, but the Administrators weren't left with very much choice in the matter. It was that, or risk two centuries of perpetual peace."

Bardiya didn't even flinch at this escalation of the conversation, though a certain hardness entered into his voice. "You criticize the provisional government for its violence, and yet ignore the fact that the city council let thousands of people die during the famine. And then killed close to a thousand more when people demanded change instead of doing anything that would compromise their ideology."

"Oh, please," Durvasa said, his tone dismissive. "The only people who still defend the meritist government are fools and iconists, if indeed such a distinction can even be made. No one would seriously argue that they didn't all but tie the noose around their own necks."

I glanced at Kamrusepa in response to that assertion. She seemed almost frozen in position.

"But it doesn't change the fact that the paritists overplayed their hand spectacularly, and acted with utter callousness. The Administrators approached them fully willing to enact most of the reforms the rioters had demanded. Instead, they squandered it all in a power grab and a chance to settle some petty grudges."

"I have always found it strange," Bardiya said, tapping the points of his fork against his plate, "how the city council was allowed to kill so many people, and never once be declared 'illegitimate' by the Convention. And yet, once we took power, it only took the execution of a dozen wealthy individuals - many of them responsible for those same atrocities - for us to be called brutes and tyrants, unworthy of continued diplomacy. Indeed, it is tempting to conclude the so-called 'humanists' in Old Yru valued some humans more than others." His upper lip twitched just slightly. "But of course, I am no politician, so I cannot claim to be versed in such concerns."

At this point, several people on the table were now actively looking away from the exchange, as if afraid they'd get pulled in. Ptolema was staring at her shoes. Ophelia looked anxious. Seth kept opening his mouth as if to interject, then stopped himself.

Ran, for her part, was looking in my direction. I could read her expression. Don't get involved, it said.

Sacnicte was the only person watching with a sort of disaffected amusement. But then, she was a foreigner, so she had that luxury.

At about this point, I was wishing I did, too.

"As for your assertion that they would have somehow resolved the tensions in the city themselves rather than passing it on to another local administrator who would have continued the same disregard for our humanity with a somewhat lighter touch, I am skeptical," Bardiya went on. His tone had an edge to it now. "Especially considering they had already pledged to the meritists not to engage in land redistribution, despite 9/10 parts of the city being owned by gerontocrats."

Oh dear.

"'Gerontocrats'?" Durvara repeated, incredulous. He scoffed, crossing his arms. "Oh, I see. Well, that certainly makes your position a little clearer."

"Durvasa," Neferuaten said. Her tone was soothing, but uncharacteristically firm. "Let's all step back from this. Master Tuon has already made it clear how he is personally invested in the situation. I doubt it will do much good for anyone to push the point."

"I-- I agree completely," Linos said, with several firm nods. "This is my fault, in any case. I ought to have let it be and said something in private. I let my self-consciousness get the better of me."

"Hey, c'mon," Seth said, with no small amount of unease. "You shouldn't apologize for trying to be kind about it, just 'cause, uh..."

Just because someone wasn't interested in being kind, I finished, internally.

"Thank you both for your counsel," Durvasa said, sounding a little annoyed. "But it's a little hard for me to move past a guest of ours all but confessing contempt for my entire generation."

"I do not feel contempt for your generation," Bardiya said, pouring himself more wine. "Frustration at times, perhaps."

"Really?" Durvasa replied, his lip curling downward. "Because it certainly sounds as though what you're saying is that it was right to steal the property of people based on no metric other than age. Not wealth, not social status - just age alone." He pointed his fork towards Bardiya. "That's what the provisional government called us when they tried to justify it, no? 'Gerontocrats.'" He snorted. "I suppose it would be foolish to expect a nuanced approach from a pack of glorified thugs."

"No one was stripped of anything essential. Only excess property."

"'Excess property' is certainly an interesting way to describe people's homes and businesses. Thousands of people expelled from places they and their families had lived for centuries, because they happened to be 'residing' somewhere else at the moment the paritists issued the decree." Outright disgust had creeped into his tone now, and his eyes were narrowed. "And you are not as subtle as you think in your evasion of my point. Why was this 'stripping' made on generational lines? Were there not wealthy people born after the turn of the millennium in the city, who somehow escaped demonization?"

"One could count the major property-holders of the 12th generation and lower on one hand," Bardiya said. "The provisional government had promised decisive action to lessen inequality, and without currency, there is no way to make clean divisions in wealth classes that does not require comprehensive investigation in every case."

"Ridiculous," Durvasa said, with a sneer. "There were countless ways they could have judged it more fairly, if they were insistent on the prospect. Instead, they chose age--"

"They made a judgement," Bardiya interjected.

"--because they had built their whole campaign of populist uprising around it. Around cultivating a mood where it was held acceptable to frame the people who built the society they'd grown up in as villains in the most absolute of terms."

"The elder generations had countless opportunities to reverse the crisis before it reached fever pitch," Bardiya said. Though his tone was still measured, I could see that he was growing flushed, his hands tensed up. "Instead, they opted to consolidate their wealth repeatedly, and offer nothing but scraps for us. And then, as they turned towards meritism as a political bloc, demanded years of civil service for even the right to those scraps - which they happily cut off the instant there was even modest scarcity, leaving us to die."

"Listen to yourself. How much you're willing to generalize so you can excuse your open contempt." He practically spat the words. "As I said, no one would defend the actions of the meritist council. But your people punished those who had nothing to do with it. And then you raised an army to punish more all across the continent, in cities and nations which had done no such ills."

"That they were less overt in their excesses does not make them innocent," Bardiya said. "All over the Mimikos, people were growing more and more flippant towards the material needs of the later generations, the vulnerable and impoverished most of all. And that continues even now."

"Needs?" He scoffed. "You know nothing of needs. You who lived your whole life eating for nothing, having your bodies maintained for nothing, being housed for nothing-- Though it would seem the latter does not meet your lofty standards."

Bardiya said nothing. He'd stopped eating now, simply looking down at his plate. His hands folded together.

You could have heard a pin drop in the room at this point, and almost everyone looked uniquely uncomfortable. Seth had his teeth gritted. Mehit and Linos were both staring longingly at the exit to the room, and even Lilith had started to look annoyed.

I didn't want to think about what face I was probably making.

One of the only exceptions was Neferuaten. She watched the scene play out closely, her expression impassive.

At some point, one of the lamps in the room had gone out. Now some of the hard shadows in the hallway were here, too, stretching out from the table towards the windows.

"I'm surprised you even came here," Durvasa said quietly, after a moment, cutting into his cake. "You're one of those people who think the Summer Compromise was 'betraying the revolution', I expect."

"There is much to criticize, to be certain," Bardiya said. "Its efforts to placate the wealthy undermined what positive changes it made, in many ways."

"You probably loathe our work here," Durvasa said, with a little exhale of bitter laughter. "See us as a gathering of gerontocrats, trying to extend our lives at the expense of the young like a pack of vampires."

This was bad. Bardiya, if nothing else, could be counted on to be absurdly honest. Kamrusepa bit her lip with strength enough to draw blood. It rolled down the side of her chin, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Durvasa," Neferuaten said. She didn't sound impatient, per-se, but her voice was a little more tired than the first time. "This is foolish. The whole point of this venture is generational outreach. Burning bridges like this over ideology serves no point."

"Oh, you're defending this whole idea, now?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "I thought you didn't approve of any of it. Yes, I distinctly remember you focusing on that point at length."

"I was against the affair," she said. "But sabotaging it after we've already started is the worst of all possible worlds. These are young people, Durvasa." She gestured over our group. "Even if they're keeping it to themselves, the greater part of them probably agree with him. You're creating a rift."

"What I'm doing," he said sternly, "is not abetting violent radicalism."

Neferuaten closed her eyes for a moment, slowly letting out a deep sigh. "That's--"

"I have been trying very hard to be polite, and conscious of my words, since I am a guest, and I do not represent only myself, but all of my class," Bardiya spoke up suddenly. His voice was cracking a bit, and he was looking up now, his gaze heavy, and with a certain instability in his bright brown eyes. "But since you ask, yes. I cannot help but view this project as indulgent. We live in a world in which untold amounts of people die decades or even centuries before their time because they lack the status to be afforded more costly therapies, and instead you are focusing on extending the lives of an already privileged minority, perhaps specifically your own--"

"That is QUITE enough, Bardiya," Kamrusepa snapped.

And when I say snapped, I don't use the word lightly. When she got angry - truly angry, which happened rarely but suddenly - her manner changed almost completely. The words came out with none of her usual playfulness, but strict, sharp, and quick.

Neferuaten began rubbing her brow, sitting back in her seat.

"It is one thing to be disrespectful to our hosts, but it is quite another altogether to openly attack the very thing we are here for to begin with, and personally at that. I will not have a member of my class painting us in such a disrespectful light."

Her class. That spoke a lot about her attitude, to say the least.

Bardiya didn't respond to this whatsoever, but Seth spoke up at once. "Fucking hell, Kam," he said, frowning and raising his voice a little himself. "Give him a break. The guy practically dragged him kicking and screaming to saying it."

"G-Geez, you guys..." Ptolema said, starting to look distressed. "Let's not all start yelling at each other..."

Kamrusepa turned to Seth with a swift intent reminiscent of a predator that has just heard something snap a twig on the other side of the tree. "What the grandmaster was doing - and may I remind you we are talking about one of the most accomplished men in all of modern Biomancy - was expecting just a little respect and deference for his position from a guest, something Bardiya has seen fit not to provide." She rubbed her eyes, too. "But of course you're siding with him. Of course." She looked towards Durvasa, lowering her head. "Sir, I'm so sorry about this. I take responsibility for them both as class representative."

"Frankly, I think my appetite is just about spent," he said, not even addressing her directly. He rose abruptly from his seat. "I'm not interested in sitting here and watching the rest of you argue among themselves."

This was clearly not the reaction Kamrusepa was hoping for by taking his side. Shock filled her eyes, which then gave way to embarrassed desperation. "Sir, I promise--"

But he didn't seem interested in listening. He stepped through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

...and in that moment, for just an instant, Kamrusepa looked unlike herself. Fragile and insecure, almost lost, like a child that had wandered too from her parents. Her eyes widened, and her usually-animated hands trembled, then fell slowly to her lap.

But then she rallied, and turned to Bardiya with an angry expression. "I hope you're pleased with yourself. He might not even speak with us tomorrow, now."

"I am sorry if I have inconvenienced you," Bardiya said, stoic.

"You're sorry you've inconvenienced me," she repeated, with dry incredulity. She shook her head, looking away. "Oh, well, that's all well and good, then. When I'm thinking tomorrow, about how I've lost one of the best chances to make inroads into the Biomancy scholarship community in my life, for the stupidest reason possible, I'll be able to feel a nice warm feeling in my chest because you're sorry about it."

"Let it go, Kam," Seth said. "It's not like they're gonna stop the whole event. Have some goddamn empathy instead of thinking about your career for once."

"Sometimes I wonder how you all got into this class. You're still such children," she said. She took up her wine glass, and downed almost the entire thing in one go. "Honestly. Acting as though this doesn't happen every time. That he doesn't try to derail every event we have into a fiasco because he can't resist telling his damn sob story again."

Bardiya flinched at that, a pained look flashing in his eyes. And something about the way Kamrusepa said it created an itch in my mind. The dismissiveness, mixed with the framing which was apathetic to the unfairness in the situation. Admitting that Bardiya merely talking about his trauma invited controversy, but not showing any criticism to that state of affairs, instead regarding it as a mere liability.

Hello, it's me from the amygdala again, I heard. (Or rather, felt abstractly. On the off-chance you're taking these moments of internal monologue literally.) It's time to have that political argument we talked about earlier.

What? No, not now! I thought. This is even worse than that last time!

I'm afraid it can't be helped, it said. The adrenal glands have already been contacted, and the neurochemistry is in progress.

DESTROY EVERYTHING! The adrenal glands said, unhelpfully. ENEMIES SURROUND US!

In my defense, I did warn you, the first voice said. Well, good luck!

Thus, less than a second after Kamrusepa had finished speaking, I found my mouth opening in what felt almost like an instinctual motion.

"I don't understand you sometimes," I said, quietly.

She looked at me, frowning. "Oh, don't start with me, Su."

Ran raised an eyebrow at me, too, but didn't look as actively objectionable than I'd expected. She'd probably already written this all off as a problem we'd have to work around.

"You can be so kind, most of the time," I said. "You help everyone with their studies and coursework, even when it doesn't benefit you. You even do it for me all the time, even though you act like we're academic rivals. You can be kind of condescending and have a nasty sense of humor, but you're not mean, and you're not bad at empathizing with people, either. You even defend us when you're talking to the headmaster." I took a breath. I was getting worked up; the words were coming too quickly. "The only time that changes is when we talk about politics."

"Don't try this with me, Su. Least of all right now." Her eyes flickered in the direction of Neferuaten and Linos, who were keeping quiet since Durvasa's departure. She'd let herself give into impulse for a moment, but was probably becoming concious that she needed to look like an adult in the room so long as there were still council members here. Maybe she was even regretting speaking up at all.

"It's bizarre to me," I said, "I mean-- Stop me if I'm being inappropriate in saying this, Bardiya. But all he did was talk about his experiences. The things that no one could argue were horrible. It was Durvasa who escalated it and kept pushing the topic, yet you're blaming him for it."

"Who's to blame isn't the point, Su," she said, wrinkling her nose at me. "When you're accepting the hospitality of someone else, you need to defer to them."

"But he barely said anything inflammatory," I said. "He didn't even raise his voice."

"He challenged him," Kamrusepa said. "Repeatedly."

"So what are you saying?" I asked. "He should have just pretended to agree with him?" In my peripheral vision, I saw that Seth was nodding along to my words.

"I didn't say that, but it certainly wouldn't have hurt," she said. "No one loses anything from a white lie or two every so often to keep things civil."

"That's the whole thing, though," I said, adjusting my glasses. "Because we're students, everyone we meet in circumstances like these are going to be authority figures, which means they'll nearly always be from the earlier generations. And probably wealthy, too. Which means there's never not going to be a risk they'll be upset. So what you're wanting from him, in practical terms, is to keep it all to himself all the time."

"I don't have the power to make him keep it to himself if I wanted to," he said, her tone flat. "That much is obvious."

"But when he doesn't, you get angry. Even though he's the victim - the one who had watch people die in a cruel and stupid way." I furrowed my brow. "It's like you don't even think about what he's probably feeling."

"What are you trying to get me to admit, Su? That I lose my sense of compassion when I'm thinking about our careers? Seth already beat you to that jab a minute ago."

"I think she's saying that you're being a little political yourself," Ran said.

"Gods above, it would be wonderful if I could have one exchange with Su where you didn't rush to be her knight on a white horse, Ran," Kamrusepa said, irritated. "You're both acting as if this is all so simple. Everyone lost things in the civil dispute; some relative or friend or another, some piece of family history. And yes, that's tragic. But Bardiya isn't some innocent party. He was a soldier, and he and his friends were shooting at the bloody grand alliance army. Frankly, they're lucky they even tried something non-fatal to begin with."

Bardiya suddenly stood up himself, tucked his chair in, and left the room without a word. Unlike Durvasa, he didn't slam the door, but did close it firmly behind him.

I was pretty sure I heard Linos mutter something self-deprecating to himself as it happened.

"Oh, now he's leaving. Of course he is." Kamrusepa crossed her arms. "He's happy to defend his vaunted paritists glorified pogrom until his face turns blue, but now that I've questioned the narrative for just a moment, his delicate feelings have been hurt."

Seth shook his head, wide-eyed, speechless.

"I don't know how you... Or Durvasa, or whomever... Can act as though a group of people who had nothing, and had to fight for their lives after they were just trying to survive, are somehow equatable with the people who stormed in and ended up killing them. It's not as if they even knew what the provisional government was doing."

"Part of being an adult, Su," Kamrusepa said, "is taking the long view. If Bardiya and his friends had laid down their weapons, it would have been for the best. But there are worse things for civilization than a handful of people dying."

This was the second time today that I'd heard someone preface a statement with 'part of being an adult is', but in this case, the person saying it clearly wasn't. Ran subtly snorted, and Ptolema looked increasingly confused and upset. Ophelia was looking away entirely now, towards the far window of the room, from which the dimming light of the sanctuary rooftop was cast.

"Is that really something a healer should be saying?" I asked. "That it's preferable for people to die, then try to affect any change?"

"Oh, don't be such a stereotype, Su," she said looking away herself.

"We're supposed to want to save people, to make the world better. To defend a bunch of people who practically committed murder--"

"You're a murderer too, dour girl."

I stopped, and blinked.

It took me some moments to process the words.

They'd come from Lilith, who now seemed to have finished with her dessert. Now she was just slowly swirling her spoon around in the last remnants of the chocolate sludge on the plate and, occasionally, dipping a finger into her cream bowl and licking little bits of it up. Her expression was irritated, but disconnected.

"All arcanists are," she said. "It's how it happens. So having fights over moral high ground like this is very stupid and annoying. Please stop."

With a much sharper suddenness than before, the room fell deafeningly quiet. At first people looked incredibly shocked at her, but then it became looks of vague sorrow, or disquiet, or embarrassed offense.

Mehit, at first, looked furious, like she was about to truly scream at her, in comparison to her more gentle scoldings. But then that anger seemed to drain out of her all at once, and she was left looking like she didn't know what to do or say at all.

The silence lasted for a long time.

It was Sacnicte who eventually broke it. "I'm, uh, gonna go help out in the kitchen, I think," she said, standing up. "Hope you all liked it, I guess."

After she left, Ptolema coughed into a fist, clearing her throat. "Is she, uh--"

"Yes," Neferuaten said, seeing the question coming.

"Oh," Ptolema said. She made a wobbly, bittersweet smile. "'s good, then."

Silence returned. Distantly, the clock from out in the hallway lounge ticked.

I looked at Ran, for some reason. She seemed less affected by the moment then everyone else. She was looking down at the table, and I saw the subtle but unflinching determination in her eyes which was always, always present, no matter what.

"Well," Neferuaten said, eventually. "I think it would be better for us to call this a night. Durvasa was one of the people who supported this event to begin with, so I am sure that won't refuse to participate. He is probably just in a poor mood and needs to calm down."

"Absolutely," Linos said, again with firm nods. He's pretty deferential to her. "I'll talk to him. Get this all sorted out."

"Sounds good," Seth said, with a small smile. "Would still love to talk shop with the guy, for whatever it's worth."

"Yeah, me too," Ptolema said.

"I--" Kamrusepa hesitated for a moment. She sounded a little meek, now, all the fire gone from her. "I hope I didn't go too far, back then, and set a bad impression, grandmasters." She laughed stiffly. "Even though I fuss when other people do it, I sometimes lose track of myself, too... It's a nasty bit of hypocrisy, I'm afraid." She smiled awkwardly. "I apologize - to everyone, I mean."

"Uh, sorry if I made things worse, too," I said.

"These sort of topics bring out the nasty side in all of us," Linos said reassuringly. "I'm just glad Theo wasn't here, he might've had a panic attack-- Gods, look at me, talking that way about my own son in front of strangers."

We all chuckled a bit at that. But make no mistake: The conversation was unquestionably dead, and the silence resumed again at once as we focused on finishing off our food and drinks.

"I think... I might've had this red wine before," Ophelia spoke, quietly, after a while.

"Really?" Neferuaten raised her eyebrows. "It's nothing special. Just an old vintage from Tem-Aphat I had lying around."

Grapes were one of the only crops still grown naturally, and almost exclusively in Mekhi.

"Mm," Ophelia said smiling. "I think they used to serve it at a restaurant in Pallataku. I went there often. It's nice, nostalgic."

"Everything's nostalgic to someone," Ran said.

I found myself nodding at the words.

𒊹

The two of us walked up the stairs, and through the hallway to our rooms. The light of the sanctuary had now dimmed to something resembling moonlight, leaving the gaslamps, hung intermittently, as the primary source of illumination. The painted walls looked different like this. Fresher, more vivid in their colors, like the flowers almost could have been real.

We soon came to the door to Ran's room.

"Hope these beds are comfortable," she said, as she unlocked it. "Haven't felt this tired in a while."

"Me neither," I said, distantly. And then, because it felt like I ought to say something more, "we'll sort it all out tomorrow, alright?"

She turned and looked at me for a moment, her eyes tired. Then, she made a small smile. "Yeah. Have a good night, Su."

"You too," I said.

She shut the door, and I turned and headed for my room.

I unlocked the door, and stepped forward. Unlike the hall, the lamps hadn't lit themselves automatically, so it was nearly pitch black inside now. I could barely even see my own body. I stood moved over towards the bed, then sat down.

Phew.

I let my mind empty for a little while. My eyes adjusted to the light. Something about the changed atmosphere and the high ceiling gave the room an almost strangely religious air. The blue light from the tall windows, against the dark-painted walls.

Ran really was right. I hadn't realized how tired the day had left me until I sat down. The constant travel, walking, talking. Getting surprised and worked up over and over. My whole body ached, and my eyes felt stiff in the corners. Normally I had trouble sleeping in places I wasn't accustomed to, but after what happened during dinner, more than anything, I felt a pull towards the pillow.

And for a moment, I thought about not bothering with what I needed to do next. How many times had I done that?

Four, my memory supplied. The day after your last appointment. The day you were in the hospital. The day you missed your ship to Mekhi. The night before the first major exam at the academy.

Every time it had been more than warranted.

Every time it had weakened the habit. Just a little bit.

I shook my head. No matter what happened this weekend, four was already too many.

I stood up, and lit the gas lamp on the desk, then walked again to my trunk. This time, I reached into a special compartment at the bottom, one that had its own little combination lock, and withdrew a small brown book. Then I went into the lavatory, took the mirror over the sink down - since there wasn't one anywhere else - then brought it over to the desk, too. Finally, I grabbed a glass and poured some water from the sink. Then I pulled up a chair, and sat down.

I unscrewed the bottle again, and this time let four drops descend into the liquid below. Then I drank it. Four was enough to influence the flavor if you used too little water, so I'd filled the glass right to the brim. I drank it in five gulps, before gasping a bit as I set it back down.

And then, once again, I looked at myself.

Rounded looking face. Dark eyes. Long black hair. Puffy lips. Small but long-ish nose. Freckles. I took off my glasses, and undid my braids, letting my hair fall loosely over my shoulders.

Then, I reached over to the little book. it was a plain, black journal, upon which was imprinted the words "Acclimation Log". I'd scrawled a little text in next to this: "Vol. IV."

The sacred text, the holy relic of this unrelenting quest.

I'd made the addition to give it a sense of continuity. You were only supposed to ever need one log, of course, but I was so far off the rails in terms of proper practice at this point that even this kind of awkward improvisation felt better than doing nothing. I'd said as much to Kam back in the morning. To live as a human, people needed narratives to believe in, even if they weren't quite true. 'People have to sleep.' 'People have to work.' 'People have to die.'

But those were just vague rules, phrasing I'd used because it had been easier in the context of that conversation. What really mattered, on the day-to-day level, was the idea that it was all for something. If someone invented a elixir that made people not to need to sleep, it would, in retrospect, recontextualize all nights everyone ever wasted sleeping as wastes of time. Not something that occurred for some inherent purpose, but whims of circumstance, a tragedy of when you happened to be born.

If you accepted that all unfair things in the world could be removed, if only someone knew how - fatigue, labor, death - then to exist in the world we had now, with all its grotesque imperfections, was to know that you had been violated by fate.

So it had to have some higher value. For it not all to be for nothing. For suffering to exist for some reason. For ones life not just to be objects, colliding into one another.

Until they didn't.

That was what this crude text on the cover was, pathetic as it looked. A narrative. The concept of 'this will lead to something.'

And that mattered more than anything in the world.

I flipped through it, until I came to the first page that wasn't already filled, which ended up near the back. I took up a pen from a container they'd placed at the head of the desk and, at the top, I scrawled the date, followed by "Day 4412".

First, I did the exercises. I closed my eyes, then, using my right hand, touched my face and body at various points, making an effort to be conscious of my breathing and the sensation of my body, to be as in the moment as possible. I made a few faces. I smiled, I frowned. I stuck out my tongue in a stupid looking way.

Then, I wrote the words 'Basic Facts:'

I looked upwards, staring at my reflection. At my dark brown eyes. The shape of my eyelashes and eyebrows. The faint but discernable sweat where my bangs met the surface of my forehead.

Then I opened my mouth, and began to speak.

"My name is Utsushikome of Fusai," I said. "My birthday is the 11th of October. I was born in Oreskios, in the Yonta District Hospital. My natural hair colour is black. My natural eye color is dark brown. I am five foot, seven inches tall. My blood type is B negative."

I stared for a few more moments. Then, I looked back down, and scribbled: Low association.

Recollection:

"My first memory is from when I am two years old," I continued. "I am at a beach on the coast of Altaia, where my family is on holiday. My mother has led me around the corner of a cliff face to a 'hidden' cove, and has convinced me I have discovered it myself. I am overjoyed, because the sand is untouched and covered in shells."

I wrote. Low association.

Interpersonal:

"My relationship with my family is mostly good. I love my mother very much, and she's always very supportive whenever I talk to her about anything, though I don't like how angry she can get about politics, and I sometimes feel how much she pushes me with my schoolwork is an expression of her own regrets about failing to become an arcanist, even though she didn't even want me to go through with it at first. I love my dad, too, and he's only ever kind to me, but he gets upset and withdrawn so easily that it can be hard to talk to him about anything serious. He's also very stingy, and that can be frustrating."

I took a breath. This one was longer than the others.

"My two best friends in school are Iwa of Suyak, who I've known for years and got me into the theater, and Yu Jia, whose family are from the Arcanocracy and I met in art class. I care about them both a lot. There's also a boy I like in another class who I've been seeing more of named Takeuchi, though I don't know if I--" I swallowed. "If I like him."

I wrote, my finger smudging a bit against the ink. Low association.

If it was just the first part, it might've been a medium. But that wasn't how this was supposed to work, and you couldn't break the rules, no matter what your opinion on what might've worked better was.

Personal Trivia:

"My hobbies are reading, watching plays, and playing echo maze puzzles. My favourite book is The Season of Excess by Anna of Terthai. My favourite food is sanbeiji. My favourite color is turquoise. If I were to get a pet, I would probably get a cat. My favourite time of the year is summer. My favourite part of myself is my voice, which everyone always compliments. What I'm most proud of is how good I am with numbers. What I dislike about myself is how I sometimes have trouble talking to people."

I wrote. Low association.

Personal Extrospective:

"I hate how it seems like nothing is ever going to get back to normal after the revolution," I said. "Half the places in this town that used to be around when I was growing up are gone, and a lot of them haven't really been replaced. And everyone is always so angry all the time... It wears you down, living in a world where it always feels like everything is tense, like it could all blow up at any moment. You never feel entirely safe." I broke eye contact with my reflection for a moment, my gaze flickering off to the right, but quickly reasserted it. "And it frightens me sometimes how high the expectations my family are. That everyone has. It makes me want to withdraw into myself."

The words were passionate, but they came impassionate, despite my best efforts.

I wrote. Low association.

Personal Introspective:

"Even if things are hard, I feel like a lot of things have happened to make me happier lately." I blinked a few times. My eyes almost hurt from how tired I was. "I've cleared every exam at the top of my class, which is already for over-performers. Everyone is saying I'm going to be an amazing arcanist, just like my grandfather. I feel so happy when people talk about me like that. Like everything I don't like myself is falling away, like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. And that all my fears of being left behind were stupid after all. It's such relief."

A little fluid rolled down from my eyes, along the side of my face, as my voice started to crack a bit.

Ah. I guess I wasn't just tired after all, huh?

Gods.

I wiped my hand over my cheeks, then wrote. Very low association.

I wrote in the final entry. Meta-Perspective:

I furrowed my brow. I didn't think I could do this one right now. It was hard, even at the best of times.

You have to try, I thought. For her sake.

I stared deeply at myself in the mirror, and tried to twist my brain around and come with an answer. I felt my imagination grinding awkwardly against itself, reaching for something and failing, like a machine with the gears just a little too far apart. Too worn down from overuse to operate like it ought to.

I'm angry. No, I'm hopeful. No, it's too late to matter. No, I just feel numb. I hate this. It's all your fault. You're so disgusting. No, you've done well. I empathize with you. It's been hard, but you've never given up. I'm excited. No, there's nothing to be excited for. None of it means anything. None of this means anything.

None of it has ever meant anything. Not since the very start. All we're doing is deluding ourselves.

The person in the mirror stopped looking like a person, like a glamour had been dispelled suddenly. Instead, she just a became a mess of colors and shapes on the glass. An image which provoked no response in me at all.

I went back to the lavatory, and poured myself another class of water before returning. I unscrewed the bottle, and added another two drops. I drunk the whole thing, then picked up my pen again. I wrote. Unable to answer today.

I closed the book, then took it back over to luggage and placed it back in its little pocket, leaving the lamp on. I took off my clothes. I collapsed onto the bed, wrapping myself in the sheets.

I fell into what was, for me, rare: A dreamless asleep.

𒊹

I wasn't sure when exactly I woke up because, like an idiot, I hadn't bothered to bring the clock over to the bedside table earlier in the night. I felt like it'd been at least a while, but had no sense for the specifics; it could have been as early at 2, or as late as 5 or even 6.

I tried to get my mind to shut back down, but it filled itself with complicated thoughts almost immediately, and now that I wasn't quite so exhausted, the mattress actually felt kind of old and lumpy. There was in indent in it where someone with a particular body shape had obviously laid many, many times, and it was not an indent suited to me.

Typical. The one thing these people apparently hadn't wanted to spend a huge amount of luxury debt on.

I pretty quickly gave up. But it wasn't like I was going to get up, either. What was I going to do in a place like this in the middle of the night? Even the idea of using a logic bridge felt too mentally taxing. Grumbling to myself, I reached for the small pile of books I'd deposited at the bedside, hoping to find that mutiny novel Ran had lent me. I grasped for something that felt the right size.

What I pulled back wasn't that. Instead, it was something unexpected: the brown notebook that I'd been given by the class coordinator before we'd set off, with all his notes about the Order of the Universal Panacea.

With everything else that had happened, I'd completely forgotten about it. So much for using it for 'research', as he'd suggested.

Thinking about it again, giving it to me really felt like an odd gesture. How much free time did he think I'd have? And even if I'd had a lot, what would I really get out of centuries-old speculation about them?

I opened it up anyway. I hadn't really been into the novel that much, so it was a acceptable substitute.

True to his word, it was surprisingly easy to read for something that, presumably, he'd only really intended for himself. It had an index with all of the order members along with their inferred specializations, which made it easy for me to guage who was who without much difficulty, despite the lack of names. Neferuaten was listed under the title "The Illusive Entropist," which struck me as charmingly childish. I never would've imagined that Nindar had a side of him like this.

I snorted to myself when I realized I'd started thinking of him as his first name instead of his birthplace one. It really didn't take much to start conceptualizing someone without their veneer of authority, once you knew a little about them.

Some of what he had written was obvious, or even a bit wrong - like claiming she probably had children - but he got a surprising amount correct. Her gender, her rough age, that she was probably from coastal Mekhi. He even had a little list of candidates that narrowed it down to her alongside six other women, and one man as an outside bet.

More impressive still, though, was his documentation of her approach to research, and his examination of what she prioritized. He noticed her focus on treatments that were preventative rather than reactive, and remarked that this was unusual because it showed that she wasn't too invested in her own mortality and those already old, but rather improving the chances of the contemporary young.

He also speculated that she was working with other, less well-known groups in addition to order, having identified her style of publishing - albeit somewhat masked - in other sources. I wondered if that was true, and if so, if the rest of the order knew about it.

I was flipping through the pages, looking for interesting parts, when a sheet of parchment suddenly came loose from another section much deeper into the book. Unlike the rest, the material looked new, probably only replicated in the last year or two.

Curious, I lifted it up, and folded it open. To my surprise, the text was dark red, and said--

YOUR LIFE IS IN DANGER

DO NOT TRUST ANY WITHIN THE INNER CIRCLE

FIND THE ARCHIVE ON THE TOP FLOOR OF THE MAIN BUILDING

REMEMBER YOUR OATH

I blinked.

Huh...?