8 years, 116 days, and 19 hours after that day on the beach, but 12 years, 37 days, and 23 hours prior to the present, I had just been told something.

Well... That's not quite right. Let me take a step back.

I was in a room reminiscent of a local doctor's office; filled with the symbology and objects one associates with medicine, but without the sterile and threatening air of a hospital. The walls and flooring were a comfortable, bare wood, with an earth-toned rug and curtains, while off to the side there was an examination bed and a cupboard filled with various chemicals and tools. You get the idea.

Thinking about it, I suppose it was a local doctor's office, technically. Just not of the conventional sort.

There was a framed scroll hung on the back wall, displayed prominently beside a water clock. The text, at least the text large enough for me to make out, read 'Cheng Jia, doctor of pneumology, Knoron Academy for Psychology and Neurology.' It was in delicate cursive, and the parchment had a tint of gold, making it shine just a little in the light.

I was sitting in a comfortable chair at the desk, still in my dark brown school uniform. Across from me was a handsome Saoic man whose age I couldn't guess, dressed in professional dark robes, with smooth brown-black hair that came down to his ears. He was smiling.

"You've probably learned about this in your classes," he explained, in a mature but considering voice, "but because of the difference in substrate, before a child is born, their mind - or pneuma, specifically - still retains memories from their seed of the old world. To create a new person, a blank slate, the ego is severed from this record completely."

I felt thirsty, suddenly, the inside of my lips dry as an unease began to grow in my gut. I picked up the glass of water he'd provided for me, and took a few gulps.

"Sorry," I said, as I set it back down.

"There's no need to apologize, miss Fusai," he said, patient. "As I was saying. That process, while it causes no functional damage, disrupts the method the Ironworkers devised to attach an index, enabling use of the Power, to the mind. Think of it like cutting off an extra hand that most people never use."

"But you can't just transplant a new hand?" I asked.

"No." He chuckled softly, rubbing his eyes. "Please excuse me. It was a poor analogy."

I copied his laughter, though it came out much stiffer.

"I can tell you're not exactly keen on the idea," he said. "That's understandable, of course."

I looked hesitant, glancing away. "Um, well... At least, I think I understand why you make people swear an oath of secrecy."

That was downplaying it. Truthfully, I was pretty disturbed. Just hearing the concept in abstract was enough to make me consider derailing the plans I'd had for the past four years and reimagining my entire future-- Perhaps I'd go to an art academy, or look into becoming a logic engineer. You could do a lot in a field like that, even if you weren't an arcanist.

The man sat back a little in his chair, crossing his legs idly. "It's intimidating in concept, but please do understand that, in the overwhelming majority of cases, there are no observable effects whatsoever. Around half of the individuals who go through it don't even lose conciousness, and of the other, four out of five don't report any abnormalities when they reawaken. And even of the remaining 10%, the symptoms are negligable for nine out of ten-- Fleeting false memories, minor alterations in temperament that self correct, usually in under a day..."

"And the others?" I inquired. "The remaining one percent."

He considered this question for a few moments, obviously choosing his words carefully. "The technical term for the rare cases where confusion persists in the longer term is pneumaic assimilation failure. We have a program for treatment, using a combination of various phychological and medical means. It's time-tested. It brings people back to themselves quickly, usually within only only a few months at most."

'Confusion.' 'Brings people back to themselves.' I wasn't feeling fond of the way he couched everything in euphemism. It wasn't helping.

"What do you mean by 'it brings people back to themselves'..?" I furrowed my brow. "They just... Forget everything?"

"Not immediately," he said. "But they lose a sense of association with... Well, with anything that shouldn't be there, and that leads those memories and feelings to fade over time." He smiled. "The human mind is very adept at excising anything it judges to be out of place. All it needs is a push in the right direction."

"And it works on everyone."

He hesitated slightly, and broke eye contact for a moment.

"It doesn't work on everyone," I said.

"Very rarely, we do see stubbornly persistent cases," he admitted. "Or instances where the initial symptoms are so strong that it drives the patient to refuse treatment. But the chance of that happening is miniscule. If it's a one in a hundred chance of needing intervention at all, it's closer to one in five hundred, on top of that, to encounter further complications."

"And what happens?" I asked. "In those cases."

"You're very focused on this, miss Fusai," he said. "Again, we really are talking about an incredibly rare scenario."

"Well... It seems important to know," I said. "I mean--It's not likely you'll ever end up in a tram crash, but they still tell you about what to do if it happens, right? Just in case you have the worst luck in the whole world."

"Very well. If you're sure." He nodded, glancing downward. "Rare as they are, those circumstances are obviously a tragedy for everyone involved. How it's handled depends much on the person in question, but in terms of general policy, they're offered a stipend of luxury debt relief, to help them ease the stress of the situation over the course of their lives in whatever manner they feel appropriate, as well as ongoing counselling."

I frowned. "That's not really what I mean."

He raised his eyebrows. "What do mean?"

"Rather... What happens to their mind?" I gulped, already feeling a little thirsty again. "Is it like multiple personality disorder? Or..."

I trailed off.

He was quiet for a few moments, considering the question. Eventually, he seemed to resolve on something, and made a more effortfully upbeat expression. "Would you like something a little more substantial than water to drink, miss Fusai? I think we might be here for a little while."

"Oh," I said. "Sure thing, I suppose."

He stood up, and moved over to a kettle near the back of the office. "What would you like? Tea, coffee..."

I brushed a length of hair out of my eyes, with a little nervous laughter. "Do you have any hot chocolate?"

He chuckled. "A little, but it's been here a while, so I can't vouch for the quality."

"That's fine," I said. "I'm not very fussy."

He poured in some water from the jug in the back of the room, and set it to boil.

I remember these events very clearly, just as much as I remember most things when my mind isn't fogged from stress and worry. I remember the smell of the office, cleaning chemicals mixed with the flowers from the hall outside. I remember the creases in Cheng Jia's face. I remember the position of the sunlight as it came through the window and struck my skin.

But...

𒊹

Inner Sanctum Initiation Chamber | 10:54 AM | Second Day

I stalled for a little while, looking into a few more of the boxes. I didn't completely absorb the contents or the names on the lids - none of which I recognized - though one of them contained a wooden violin, the meaning of which was fairly self-evident compared to the doll. It looked like it had barely been used, a fact which led me to wonder how seriously people actually took all this. Whomever had discarded their musical hobby had evidently not invested much into it to begin with.

After a few minutes, I pushed the lingering anxiety I was feeling down into the deeper parts of my gut, and stepped over towards Neferuaten, who'd now moved over to looking at one of the shelves herself. She glanced towards me as I approached, her expression friendly.

"Ah, Utsushikome," she said. "Have you been looking through some of the chests?"

"A couple," I said, with a small nod. "It's... Interesting."

She gently lifted the lid from one of them, examining the contents. "I appreciate you indulging me. I know it's a silly idea, but I think it's important you understand the culture that pervades this place before anything serious happens. For you most of all, considering what's planned for this afternoon."

"Yeah," I said, frowning as I recalled the offer they were planning to make me. On top of everything else...

"Say, look here for a moment," she said, gesturing towards the box.

Curious, I stepped around to where she was standing and peered inside.

Nestled within was a small, platinum ring, with a small and subtle diamond at the back. My mind went straight away to 'wedding ring', but then my eyes wandered upwards, and I saw the name on the lid.

Linos of Melanthos.

I blinked. "What? But... He's married." I paused. "Still married, I mean. I've seen his actual wedding ring."

Neferuaten hummed quietly. "It's rather odd, isn't it? It's not considered polite to ask, but... I've always wondered what he meant it to represent." She eyed it with a thoughtful look. "Perhaps an engagement that was tragically called off, an old flame surrendered." She shook her head slightly and laughed, as if catching herself doing something embarassing. "It's a good thing Theodoros stepped out."

"You think he might want to know himself?"

She snorted. "On the contrary, I'm concerned he'd actually know the answer. That would ruin my fun."

I glanced around the room. "I'm sort of curious what's in yours."

"Indeed?" She smiled. "Second shelf on the left, bottom row, second from the wall. You're welcome to take a look. I'm afraid I can't show you myself, though."

I gave a puzzled look. "Why not?"

"It's another taboo," she explained. "The only time we're open ours is to reclaim the contents, when our time with the order is finished. After all, if you look back, you haven't really left something behind at all."

I nodded, saying nothing.

"In any case," she said, closing the lid. "Did you need something in particular?"

I opened my mouth with the intent to speak, but then hesitated, feeling another jolt of apprehension. Don't go straight to the topic. Make small talk for a minute first. That'll calm you down, and make her less likely to take it the wrong way.

I cleared my throat, holding a hand to my mouth. "I was wondering about the induction bed over by the statue," I said.

"Oh, that thing," she said, glancing over towards it. "An artifact from when the order refused all but arcanists. They used to insist that prospective recruits who weren't be elevated during the initiation." She clicked her tongue. "It's a bit ridiculous, honestly. You'd at least want it somewhere upstairs, where it's brighter and there are some sedatives and proper beds, in case they had any of the negative symptoms."

I frowned. "Did you ever see it used?"

She shook her head. "I joined just in time to see the tradition abolished. I heard my fair share of horror stories, though." She folded her arms. "I suppose it was a useful thing to have around for a while, just in case there was a siege by the oathguard. So we could get all the servants to join in our heroic last stand." She smirked. "I jest, of course."

I laughed nervously, and adjusted my glasses, turning away from it deliberately. "Why it still here, then?" I asked.

"Because this organization is dysfunctional to the point of being unable to make basic decisions," she explained, deadpan. "I can't even get them to replace the phonograph player in the dining room. I hope you'll believe me when I say that the fact we managed to change a core policy recently was nothing short of a miracle." She sighed, and looked me in the eyes. "But I have a sense that's not the only thing you wanted to ask me, Utsushikome."

I shouldn't have been shocked. The grandmaster had always been good at reading my emotions.

Still, I clammed up, for a second, the muscles in my face feeling rigid. I shiver went through me, and my eyes lost focus on her face.

"Oh, dear," she said, with a frown. "This is something serious, isn't it? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put you on the spot."

Typical, I thought to myself. I can't even segway into the topic without making an ass of myself.

"No... It's okay," I said, rubbing my eyes. "It's my fault."

She gave me a sympathetic look, and stepped a little closer to me. "Would you rather we speak somewhere privately? We're a little short on time, now, but perhaps we could arrange something for this afternoon?"

I hesitated, then shook my head. "No, I've put this off too much already. If I keep doing it, it'll get out of hand."

"Alright," she said, with a careful nod.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts.

"I know it's been a while since you left the House of Resurrection, and we didn't really keep in touch," she said. "But I hope I haven't given you too much cause to distrust me. Whatever is wrong, I promise I'll do everything in my power to help." She placed a hand gently on my shoulder.

Kind. She's so kind.

I swallowed, and glanced over to Ran for just a moment. She was standing over by Kamrusepa near the back of the room, who seemed to be going on at her about something - probably complaining about the grandmaster's attitude behind her back, if I knew her.

That was good. I'd probably make it obvious with my body language if this went badly, and being in control of how to break that news was calming. If only a little bit. The strength of the flickering light of the brazier seemed to grow stronger.

"There's... A rumor... Or, rather, Ran and I heard something about this place from a friend of my grandfathers," I said. "That there's a patient you have here, that you've treating directly. A patron of the order."

I saw a shadow of surprise cross her brow, but only that. "Go on?"

"Samium of Ur-Ysar," I said, my shoulders tensing with apprehension. "Is that right?"

Neferuaten paused, for a moment, obviously considering something. Then she chuckled again, though it came across as more strained than normal. "I have to confess, I'm a little frustrated to hear you say that," she said, her voice hushed. "We made such an effort at keeping that business quiet ourselves, only for someone else to apparently start spreading it around..."

"So he is here, then...?" I asked. Please don't already be dead...

"Yes," she said, with a nod. "I suppose there's no point in denying it."

I sighed with relief that, no sooner than it left my mouth, became a different sort of trepidation in the back of my mind.

"I hate to sound like a villain in an adventure novel," Neferuaten said, giving me a side-eye, "but you haven't told any else about this, have you? Like your classmates."

"Uh, no," I said, shaking my head. "It's just Ran and I."

She exhaled. "Thank heavens for that. I trust you, Utsushikome, but these things can get out of hand very quickly."

I frowned. "I wouldn't have thought it was that important a secret."

"It shouldn't be, but Samium is an intensely private man, especially for someone with such a high-profile," she said. "And we've had a lot of difficulty securing major donors in the past century, especially ones with influence in government. So we're sort of at his mercy as things stand right now." She clicked her tongue. "And... It's crass to say, but he's left the organization quite a lot in his will. If that were to change at the eleventh hour, so to speak..."

"Uh, right," I said, nodding. "I think I understand."

More so than for his scholarly work, Samium was known for having been a quasi-important figure in the founding of both the Ysaran Accord, and later the Grand Alliance. He was from the last vestiges of Ysaran nobility before it was wiped out by Rhunbard during the Tricenturial War, hence his birthplace name of 'Ur-Ysar', referring to the palatial district of the old capital.

After the foundation of the alliance and the later banning of Egomancy, he withdrew completely from public life, some say to avoid the controversy that came with his academic work. But quietly, he'd remained immensely wealthy and had maintained a lot of important connections. It was why it'd been so difficult for Ran and I to locate him, and why him being here was such an unlikely miracle in the first place.

"Who was it that told you about it him?" she asked, with a cautious look. "If it's alright for me to ask. If it was an old friend of... Well, I might be familar."

"Oh..." I said. I'm sure it's fine. "Her name's Autonoe. She's from Altaia." I scratched under my hairline, glancing away. "We've been in contact over some things."

"Mm, her." Neferuaten's eyes wandered for a moment. "We've met, though only briefly, some years ago. Different cliques, I suppose...." She tapped her fingers idly against the side of her leg, thoughtful. "Hopefully she's been discreet about it otherwise."

"I would think so," I said. "It's sort of a, uh, special circumstance."

"I see," she said, nodding. "So, why do you bring this up?"

Now, the second moment of truth.

I took a breath. "We we hoping, since we're here anyway, it might be possible to arrange a meeting with him," I said, and then continued without giving her a chance to interject. "There's a matter to do with my grandfather and I that we were hoping to discuss, something that only he would know about. That I've been thinking about for a long time."

Not the whole truth. But not exactly a lie, either.

"I see..." She raised a concerned eyebrow. "Frankly, after yesterday, I would've thought you'd be avoiding conversations about the man, if you could help it."

"It's not really about him," I said. "More something that happened. It's... Difficult to explain."

She was silent for a moment, thinking.

"Formally, he's not part of this event at all. We're strictly physicians to him, not colleagues, and he isn't to disturbed with anything he doesn't explicitly request. So... On paper, it's not appropriate." She folded her arms. "But, given the circumstances, and his indirect relationship with you, I think an exception should be made."

Thank god.

"Thank you," without hesitating. I practically exhaled with relief along with the words.

"I can't promise what response he'll give, of course," she said, and frowned with worry. "And if you're hoping to get some kind of catharsis from the experience, I really wouldn't. He's more fond of your grandfather than anyone. Whatever happened the two of you, I wouldn't put it past him to defend it."

I shook my head. "I'm not after catharsis. Just an answer to something."

She looked at me for a moment, her brow slowly furrowing. "I hope you're planning something strange, Utsushikome."

"I-It's nothing that will cause the order any trouble," I said, genuinely. "If that's what you mean."

"Judging by the fact you haven't offered any specifics, I'm assuming this is something very private."

"Mm," I said, my body drawing inward a bit.

"And to do with miss Hoa-Trinh, as well, since you want her with you?"

"Yes," I said, along with another little nod. "Again, uh, it's hard to explain. I'm sorry."

She nodded a few times in turn, slower and smaller each time, before finally coming to a stop. "Well, if it's delicate, than I won't pry further. Whatever you're hoping to accomplish, I don't want to make something sensitive for you more difficult than it already is."

"Thank you," I repeated, the words coming out very quiet. "I know this must seem strange, but that means a lot to me."

"I'll trust that you know what's best for you," she went on. "I just pray it ends the way you hope."

"Yeah," I said softly. "Me too."

Even though she barely had any idea what was going on, she somehow knew what to say regardless.

A part of me almost wanted to open up with her, and actually explain the situation in full. Maybe then, I'd feel less lost if the answer I recieved wasn't a good one.

I knew I wouldn't, though. If you build your mind - your identity itself - around a rule for long enough, it becomes no more possible to break than ripping off one of your own fingers. And as much as I cared for and trusted the grandmaster, it wasn't absolute. Even a 0.1% chance of it getting out was too much.

"Well then," she said. "Since we're here, there was something I'd been meaning to bring up myself. Do you mind?"

"Oh," I said, a little thrown off by the sudden change in topic. "No, not at all."

"I realized I might've gone a little too far yesterday evening, so I wanted to apologize," she said. "I fell back into old habits quickly, talking to you, even though it's been over a year, without concern for how it might've made you uncomfortable."

"What do--Oh. Oh, right," I said, the other shoe dropping. My face flushed. "It's fine. I didn't mind." I smiled meekly. "I was... a little surprised, though."

"Mm," she said, smiling in turn. "You just looked so sad, back then. I wanted to try and cheer you up a bit."

"It did cheer me up!" I said. "Uh, well. At least until what happened at dinner."

She chuckled. "You're sweet, Utsushikome." A little mischief came into her expression, and she lowered her voice. "I'd offer to try and cheer up some more now, but, ah, I think it would be quite difficult to angle it so that the others wouldn't see."

I laughed softly, and she did so in turn. Warm and relaxed, without the stiffness of earlier. My shoulder bumped just slightly against the shelf, and the dust swirled into the air around us, before coming to quiet rest.

"Thank you, grandmaster," I eventually said. "For, well... For this, and everything, I guess."

"No need for that. I've done nothing special to warrant it." She looked at me, her face awash with kindness. "You know, you really ought to call me by your name. We're hardly in classes."

"Well, I wouldn't want to give people the wrong idea..."

In fact, my mind pointed out, the wrong idea is exactly what you're trying to give them.

A thought came to mind. "What was with the machine in the other room calling you 'Nefi', by the way?" I asked, with a dry note. "I thought you hated nicknames."

She scoffed. "I do. I think it was Hamilcar who taught her it. I'm convinced he's on a campaign to destroy me since we ended up in opposite cliques on the council."

"I think it's pretty," I said.

She shook her head. "Pretty. Gods above, I'm far too old for words like that." She looked at me affectionately for a moment, then placed a side of my face. "You really are a kind girl, Utsushikome. I hope whatever is going on ends well for you."

I tried to smile. "I... I hope so, too."

"It always seems so difficult, when you're young," she said, lowering the hand. "Trying to shed all the painful things that others have imposed upon you. But I hope you know that, underneath all of that, you're one of the most promising young arcanists I've ever met... And far more importantly than that, an earnestly good person. And that will remain the truth long after all of this has passed."

I nodded, trying not to wince at the irony.

"Well then," she said. "We better wrap all this up, hm?"

In the end, I didn't check her box. Somehow, it didn't feel appropriate, after that moment.

𒊹

I'm not sure quite how to describe my relationship with Neferuaten.

There are two tiers to training at the House of Resurrection. It's an old institute from the First Resurrection that predates the standardized model of modern colleges, so its courses are much longer, spanning ten years and broken up into five 'trials' of two years each.

At the risk of sounding a little too pleased with myself, in my first two years, I finished three. So they transferred me into their special program for exceptional students, which got a lot more attention from the more prestigious lecturers. It was there that I met her, whereupon she became my de-facto primary tutor as a result of being the only individual who taught Entropic Thanatomancy at that level.

I didn't know who she was at first, but she clearly felt uncomfortable it in the dark, because as soon as she realized, she took me aside to tell about her relationship to my grandfather, the order, everything. At first, I thought it made her a promising lead on finding Samium - we were looking, even back then - but once it became apparent that, at the time, she had no idea where he was either, it actually sort of put me off her. I hated being reminded of him, even via association.

But slowly, things changed. We ended up in longer and longer conversations after class, whenever I asked questions about the material. We'd talk for hours, my curiosity and natural contrarianism playing well with her desire to always delve deeply into the nuances of different academic topics, as well as her subtle penchant for gossip. Somehow it always felt interesting, and despite our differences in experience, she never seemed to get bored.

Eventually, we started to brush against other topics, and it became clear we had a lot in common beyond a field of study. We liked a lot of the same books and dramas, even echo games, and never seemed to run out of things to talk about. One day, off-handedly, she'd asked if I'd be interested in seeing a play with her and some friends, since they had a cancellation. It felt a little odd, but I decided to go, fibbing about my age to the others.

It's always been easy for me to pass myself off as older than I am, ever since I became like this, despite what you might think from my usual affect. I'm a lot more knowledgeable than most people my age, and more importantly, I'm a very good liar.

It comes with the territory. If I wasn't, people other than Ran would have definitely noticed.

After that, we met outside of the university more and more often, her becoming sort of a source of emotional support. At some point, I became aware that what was happening was probably quite inappropriate. It's not like I was underage, having turned 25 two years prior, but she was my professor. But I'd been bad at making friends in both of... Well, in both my past contexts, and I'd felt so lonely living in Tem-Aphat, away from Ran and any reminders of the resolutions we'd made. And it all somehow felt so natural. Things got out of hand.

One day, I'd had a fight with my father over the logic bridge, and had got a little drunk when I was due to see her. I don't know exactly what I was thinking, but I did something uncharacteristic of me. Inappropriate. But she didn't respond in the way I'd expected. To my shock, she didn't act like it was inappropriate at all.

It wasn't as if we ended up dating. That would never have worked, and I was pretty sure she was past wanting that sort of thing anyway. On some levels, she always kept her distance. But it became something we did together, an avenue of private expression that became part of her support for me - and mine, eventually for her.

I, uh, know this all probably sounds incredibly weird.

I felt a lot of guilt about it. It was maybe the most selfish thing I'd done, over the past 12 years, the greatest violation with the most potential for long-term concequences beyond myself. But it was mostly in the past, now, and it felt... No worse, to indulge myself one last time.

...well, that was what I was telling myself.

I'd told a lie to her, the previous day. I actually had a pretty good idea about why he'd been removed from the order, even if it wasn't the one on paper. Even before the more overt symptoms of dementia had seized him, he'd become an increasingly violent and abusive man in his later years, falling into rages that would sometimes last for days on end. It'd driven my mother almost completely away from him. The order, I understood, had done a lot to guard his reputation until it was no longer something that could be salvaged.

Whatever he'd done in those days, I'd been spared most of it. His only impact on my life had been his final act. A gesture of love, perverse as it had been.

I'd lied to Neferuaten, too, when I'd told her I wouldn't do anything disruptive for the order. Because, in truth, depending on what Samium said, I didn't know what I'd do at all.

𒊹

"So tell me if I have all of this right," Ran said quietly as we trailed the rest of the group. "You found a cryptic message in a book you've never looked at before, that you verified was years old, meaning it's impossible it could be related to anything going on right now."

"Uh, yes," I said. "But it's not impossible! He could have written it a really long time in advance, for example!"

"And you decided the best way to discern if it was true or not," she went on, not responding to my counterargument, "was by trying to stealthily suss out if a room it provides incredibly vague directions to exists, by looking at the lower floors and trying to infer the layout."

"I mean," I said, scratching my head. "Technically, that part was Kamrusepa's idea, not mine."

She narrowed her eyes. "Sometimes I feel like I need to put a monitoring incantation on you, Su. I can't leave you alone for five minutes."

"H-Hey, come on," I said. "I don't think I'm being that unreasonable."

We finished in the room not long after our conversation. Part of me had expected Theo to have simply been making excuses and to have actually gone off somewhere, but he did actually come back, looking a little more relaxed. Kamrusepa made a joke about how he could've just told us if he needed to use the lavatory, and Neferuaten gave a shorter version of the explanation of the boxes. I wasn't sure how much he absorbed.

After that, we set off from the room and further down the winding passages of the underground, eventually coming to a different set of upward steps that led, inexplicably, to a hatch below the belltower I'd completely missed the day prior.

She then brought us up a much grander and rather bizarre looking staircase at the back of the building, excessively large, minimalist, and wrought of - as best I could tell - titanium, of all things. Its design was odd and experimental, with faux-sharp edges and no handrails. It spiralled upwards to the second floor, a view of the large pond in the garden visible through the tall window beside it.

Whomever had designed the second floor had obviously been in possession of more luxury credits than sense. As soon as we arrived, a theme to its design became apparent: Almost all of the walls were, in fact, actually massive fishtanks, illuminated via biological light within. It was so aesthetically over the top that it crossed the line from being beautiful to coming across as a little tacky.

It might've gone a little too far even by Kamrusepa's standards. She held a hand to her mouth with concern as we came upon the sight, biting the corner of her lip.

"Because we're underwater, you see," Neferuaten said flatly. "Someone decided we needed a theme. Regrettably."

"It must be rather hard to keep them all fed," Theo said. He moved over to stare at a catfish, and it looked back at him, its gaze judgemental.

"And to clean up the shit," Ran remarked.

"The golems do the former, but Yantho does the latter," Neferuaten said. "I'm fairly sure he's plotting to murder the lot of us. One could certainly not call it an unjust cause."

We moved along, Neferuaten showing us inside a few of the rooms. It looked like most of the second floor was bedrooms, so there wasn't a lot to see. They were far larger than what we had in the guesthouse, though - practically apartments in their own right, with their own little kitchen setups at the backs of the rooms.

She showed us her own, which looked a lot like her lodging in Tem-Aphat, albeit a little more spartan. Lots of experimental, avant-garde paintings, a large logic engine, and an excessively big bed. There were some papyrus wrappings lying around on the table - she'd probably been snacking on junk food before the start of the tour, which fit what I understood about her character.

Whenever we got a moment, Ran and I would continue our exchange.

"Look," I said, "Even if you think it's silly, I'd really rather put my mind at ease with it, okay?"

"This isn't going to put you at ease, it's just going to get you more worked up," she said, her eyes narrowed. "If the room is supposed to be hidden, not finding it won't make you feel any better. You can't prove a negative."

"Maybe we will find an archive, and they'll be nothing wrong with it. Or it'll be really obvious it won't be here, because the third floor will just be big open spaces." I gave her a pleading look. "C'mon, Ran. Will you help, or not?"

She glared at me for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. This is a bad idea, but you did good earlier. I don't want to be shitty with you."

I nodded and smiled, a little reassured.

When I got a moment a later - as Neferuaten was explaining something Theo and Ran about a bust of some important past donor - I shifted over to Kamrusepa instead, tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention.

"I talked to Ran," I said. "She's going to help us out."

She gave me a look of wide-eyed bemusement. "'Help us out?' With what, exactly?"

I blinked. "Y-You can't be serious," I said, my voice raising a bit. "With checking if the archive exists. This was your plan--"

"Yes, I know, I know, Su," she said, giggling a little to herself. "For goodness sake, you make it so easy that it's almost no fun."

I twitched, my face flushing with embarassment. "This situation is pecular enough without you jerking me around."

"On the contrary, it's because it's peculiar that I must 'jerk you around'," she replied, holding up a finger. "One must embrace the comedy in the absurd, lest the other shoe drop, leaving one unproductive by virtue of disengagement or anxiety."

I frowned. Sometimes, I genuinely couldn't tell if Kamrusepa was saying something insightful, or just using flowery language to justify being a cunt. It was probably a grouse-or-egg situation.

"In any case, I'm surprised you hadn't already," she went on, taking a slightly more serious tone. "Knowing the two of you, I would've expected you'd had your tete-a-tete over the matter before we all went downstairs."

"Ran and I aren't joined at the hip, Kam," I said.

"Votes are still out on that front," she snarked, glancing idly at the aquarium adjacent to us, which contained a small octopus. "I'm glad we're on the same page now, but I don't think another person will make much difference. We're all taking the same tour, after all."

"Have you been getting a sense of the layout?"

I asked, in large part, because I definitely wasn't. As it turned out, it was one thing to talk in abstract about 'inferring the layout of the upper floors based on the lower' like it was a math problem on some tietiary school exam, but actually doing that was, in reality, extremely confusing and difficult. Especially in a big building like this with a layout that seemed designed to be unconventional. The brain wasn't good at comparing the relative sizes of closed spaces at the best of times, and that was when they weren't arranged by someone who hated the concept of architectural symmetry.

The fact that so many rooms were curved, keeping up that vaguely organic quality of the exterior, made it even worse. I wondered how much of it had been part of the original temple, and if the answer was more than 'nothing', what sort of religious group would do such a thing. Clerics of the Dying Gods weren't exactly known for their artistic experimentalism.

"More or less," she said, with a nod. She reached into the little bag she always carried around - orangey-red, matching her hair, but darker - and withdrew a sheet of parchment. "I sketched out a little map of the first floor when we stopped at the lavatory earlier. See for yourself."

I took and unfolded it. It was very rough, but looked surprisingly accurate, even having figures guessing at the relative measurements of various parts of the building. I couldn't see a single mistake based on what I recalled myself.

"How did you manage something like this? We were only there for like two minutes," I protested.

She scoffed. "Because I'm a genius, Su. I was under the impression that was rather the idea of this whole affair."

"You even have the circumference of the building listed!"

She nodded. "We did go all the way around it, as you recall." A smug expression slowly crept on to her face. "Why, were you having trouble? Have I finally found something concerning figures which you aren't a bizarre savant of?"

"Eyeballing something isn't exactly a reliable basis for math," I mumbled.

"Mmhmm, I suppose we'll see," she said, chuckling. "I find you can usually get a very good estimate by counting your paces."

Counting your paces. Ridiculous. How did this girl nearly always beat me in our exams?

"Of course, I'm not so arrogant to suggest my measurements are perfect." She clipped the paper between two of her fingers and slipped it out of my hands, placing it back in her bag. "But most of the rooms in this place are pretty big, so it should suffice. Though, if our potential hidden chamber ends up being tiny, it might throw something of a spanner in the works-- But that's dealing with an eventuality within an eventuality."

I exhaled a bit. "Do you really think this is going to work, Kam?"

She raised an eyebrow. "If by 'work' then 'lead us to find a secret archive on the top floor of the building', then no, because it probably doesn't exist." She shrugged. "As the others suggested, it's very unlikely the letter was authentic or meant to be read in this context to begin with."

"Right," I said, scratching my head. "I was wondering earlier-- Is there any way they could have faked the age? So the Form-Chronicling Arcana would get confused?"

She thought about this for a moment. "It's not entirely out of the question," she said. "It accounts for simple Chronomancy being used to distort it, but if it had been within temporally different space somehow - like one of the Lower Planes - then well..." She bit her lip. "Also, since I made the text the target and not the paper, I suppose someone could have cut the letters out from something and reassembled them? Though that would be rather far to go for a prank."

I folded my arms. "Sounds as though you're behind Ptolema's 'bookmark' hypothesis."

She hummed. "Not exactly. I have my own theory."

I raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Back when we were travelling, I wasn't wholly joking when I suggested our roundabout route might be a hazing," she said, idly leaning against the glass. "There's quite a bit of gossip about the unusual ways in which the order likes to test its prospective candidates on their loyalty, their beliefs..."

"So that's why you suspected Sacnicte," I said, rubbing my eyes.

"Sharp as ever, Su," she said, with a small smirk.

"What would they possibly have to gain in making us search for a secret room?" I asked. "And believing someone was out to get us?"

"That, I couldn't say," she said. "Something to do with dealing with unexpected events? Perhaps whether one is willing to place ones safety in jeopardy for the prospect of ones ambitions...?"

"This sounds sort of conspiratorial," I said skeptically.

She snorted. "Strange circumstances demand strange explanations. I'd like to see you come up with a better theory."

It was, to my annoyance, rather difficult to do so. Every possible option - that it was the most high-effort prank in the universe, that it was genuine and the coordinator really had been written a warning about this specific event years in advance, that it was somehow all just a complete accident - just felt like a different flavor of absurd.

"I don't want to interject," Neferuaten casually spoke over her shoulder, "but though I can't make much out, my hearing isn't quite hard enough to miss the two of you chatting conspiratorially, back there."

I flinched a bit, but Kamrusepa was unphased. "Pardon, grandmaster. We were just gossiping a little about some of the boys in our class."

Theo shifted uncomfortably, while Ran rolled her eyes.

Neferuaten smiled. "I shant pry, of course, though it does wound my ego a bit that the two of you aren't interested in my incredibly interesting anecdote about how we got this bust of First Administrator Lapis of Djora."

"I'm sorry, grandmaster," I said, my eyes turning to the ground.

"No need for an apology," she said, with a coy smile.

She might've overheard you and just isn't saying anything, I thought. Not that it would really matter.

"Honestly, I fear we've already seen the most exciting stuff here already - the best of what's left is in the research tower. But... There is one more thing here that you might find interesting here." Her gaze flicked upward. "Tell you what. Why don't we skip ahead?"