When the next morning came, Lady Mathilde summoned the scholars to her workshop.

While it probably paled before her true laboratory at the Institute, her wagon was truly an alchemist’s dream. The workshop resembled a cozy wooden cabin, clean and brightly colored. Clever use of space and hidden compartments allowed Lady Mathilde to store a wealth of potions, ingredients, dried mushrooms, and shelves packed with esoteric grimoires. A coal boiler served as the fireplace and energy source of the wagon, fueling the flames of boiling flasks. From alembics to blood-filled show globes, Lady Mathilde had collected every tool in the alchemical repertoire.

Valdemar also noticed other devices that he had only ever heard of, or never seen at all. The largest was the athanor near the boiler, a very special metal furnace used to mix multiple alchemical substances at a constant temperature, but he paid more attention to a strange projector. A black soulstone was attached to it, ready to be activated.

“Is that a phantom projector?” Valdemar asked Lady Mathilde in astonishment. Frigga observed a green homunculi fetus in a flask to his left, watching tubes fuel the artificial creature with nutrients.

“It is,” the priestess replied with a kind smile, before giving him a demonstration. She pushed a button and the device immediately projected the crimson image of a wizened old man.

“Day 30, Viveka month, year 304 After Empire,” the specter muttered to himself. Valdemar recognized it as one of the last years of the so-called Spore Plague that killed a third of Azlant’s population. “File 253: observation of Spore plague in action among adult female subjects. Subject: Andrea Torras, fourteen days after infection. Observation: the spore appears to spread through the air before infecting the cerebrospinal fluid and higher brain functions. Humor analysis shows an increase in adrenaline. Subject’s neurons are slowly replaced with fungi tissue, while biological functions are repurposed to produce more spores. Hypothesis: modification of cerebrospinal fluid might be the key to checking the infection. Note: must create a control group to observe further developments.”

“I’ve never seen one before,” Valdemar admitted as the ghost kept ranting. Phantom projectors allowed the user to extract a soulstone’s memories and showcase them.

“He was a... biomancer?” Hermann asked, as he and Liliane approached the device.

“An unlicensed one,” Lady Mathilde explained as she turned off the projector and caused the ghost to vanish. “Human biomancy was illegal in 304 A.E., but many spellcasters turned to the art in an attempt to cure the Spore Plague.”

“And three of them were successful in the end,” Valdemar remembered from the history books.

“This soulstone belonged to one of them, the alchemist Johann Baptista,” Lady Mathilde explained. “While he and his colleagues did find a cure, they committed atrocious human experimentations in the process. Even infecting healthy families to study the disease's progress.”

“That’s horrible,” Liliane said with a frown.

“They killed hundreds and saved millions,” Valdemar replied. “It’s a net gain. Extraordinary times call for desperate measures.”

Lady Mathilde smiled, but her grin lacked any warmth. “That was their defense, but they still abducted and experimented on people without their consent. However, since Johann and his colleagues did save the empire’s population, it was decided that their souls would be preserved in soulstones for the benefit of future generations. Lord Och came into possession of all three of them and entrusted Baptista’s spirit to me.”

“Your kind would not have needed to sacrifice anyone if they had allowed biomancy from the get-go,” Frigga said after losing interest in the homunculus. “Our people have never suffered from diseases for millennia thanks to health treatments and inheritable mutations. Nor do any of us die of old age, and we don’t even need a potion for it.”

“A process that… decreased your fertility,” Hermann pointed out. “You still haven’t… recovered from the last human war’s losses.”

Frigga’s expression twisted into one of disdain, but Valdemar could tell that Hermann’s words hit a nerve. “I would rather stay forever young than have more than three brats at home,” the dokkar argued.

“Lady Mathilde’s elixir makes both possible,” Liliane boasted with a bright smirk.

“Thank you, Liliane,” the priestess replied serenely, while Frigga sulked. “In any case, I didn’t gather you all for a biomancy lesson. Valdemar, a few days ago I gave you pointers about combat spells. I would like to check on your progress.”

“I’ve been practicing the reinforcing spell,” Valdemar answered with a nod.

“You too?” Liliane looked strangely competitive today. “Let’s compare!”

In response, Valdemar channeled the blood through his hand until his fist turned black as coal. His skin and flesh strengthened until they were hard as steel.

While Lady Mathilde’s eyes widened in surprise and Frigga looked on with interest, Liliane outright whistled. “Valdy, how did you do that?” she asked. By comparison, when the heiress reinforced the skin of her fist, it simply looked thicker and stiff.

“I rearranged the chemical composition of my skin while reinforcing it,” Valdemar explained. “From what I gathered, reinforcing works by channeling blood to thicken the skin. I figured that since blood contains iron and carbon, it would be better to restructure my skin into a flexible alloy of organic steel. It turned out great.”

“It’s a highly advanced use of the reinforcing spell only found among trained battlemages,” Lady Mathilde congratulated him. “I’m impressed you picked it up so soon… and that you didn’t collapse immediately. Your blood needs iron to transport oxygen through your body, so using that much should have left you at least winded.”

“I heal and regenerate blood quickly,” Valdemar said with pride as he returned his hand to normal. “I think I could harden my entire body.”

Frigga snickered for some reason.

Lady Mathilde shot the idea down immediately. “Don’t. Reinforcing your entire body’s surface will consume an enormous amount of resources, and most importantly, it’s useless. The human anatomy is astonishingly resilient, so focus on covering your weak points. The neck, the head, the torso… you will consume less resources this way.”

“I’m jealous,” Liliane complained. “I can only enhance my arms so far.”

“Don’t worry, my dear Liliane,” Frigga reassured her while putting a hand on her forearm. “You will make a far better mind mage than him.”

“By the way, Valdy, did you sleep well?” Liliane asked with curiosity. “Oneiromancy is amazing, isn’t it?”

Frigga laughed while Valdemar gritted his teeth in embarrassment.

“What?” Liliane asked with a surprised frown.

“He’s hopeless,” Frigga said with a wide, mocking grin.

She has such a punchable face, Valdemar thought while struggling very hard to keep his calm. Liliane looked at him with astonishment, which somehow made him feel even more ashamed. “No way!” she said. “But oneiromancy is so easy!”

It was Valdemar’s turn to look at his friend in astonishment. “You can do it?” he asked Liliane.

“I taught her the basics of dream defense,” Lady Mathilde said with a raised eyebrow. “What is your problem with this science, Valdemar?”

“I don’t get it!” The necromancer admitted in frustration.

He had spent the entire night receiving ‘tutelage’ from Frigga about strengthening his dreamscape… but he would have asked for a refund if he could. The dark elf had given him exercises such as detailing childhood memories to build things in his dreamscape, or focusing on his feelings.

It didn’t work. Valdemar tried for hours to conjure things in his dream, to give them shape, to no avail. Frigga’s support turned to frustration at his slowness, then at astonishment before his terrible results, and finally into mockery.

“It astonishes me that an artist would be so poorly in tune with their feelings,” the dark elf said, as she finished delighting her audience with tales of Valdemar’s failures. Lady Mathilde listened with a frown, Hermann scratched his head in confusion, and Liliane looked at Valdemar as if he were sick.

“What does that even mean?” Valdemar rasped. “I know who I am.”

To the necromancer’s surprise, Lady Mathilde didn’t look convinced. “From what you tell me, I am not so certain.”

“Let’s do a thought experiment,” Frigga suggested. “Liliane, Valdemar, imagine you get an idea for a new source of energy. What do you do with it? You can answer the question too, Hermann.”

“I will start considering the practical applications,” Valdemar replied as he tried to figure out her point.

“Mmm…” Liliane took a longer time to formulate her answer. “I would try to see how it could help everyone.”

“I would study… understand it as much as possible,” Hermann declared after considering the question for the longest time.

Frigga nodded without judgment. “Now, that energy you discovered is limitless. Your whole civilization will benefit from it. However, it will put your coal miners out of work. They will lose their jobs and suffer. What do you do?”

“The answer is in the question,” Valdemar pointed out. “The greater good and the big picture trump everything. So long as the many benefit from it, the feelings of the few are secondary.”

“Valdy, you’re too hasty,” Liliane scolded him. “I would find a middle ground. Introduce it progressively, so the miners can find new jobs.”

“And so make the whole civilization lose out on the new energy’s advantages in the meantime?” Valdemar asked mirthfully.

“Everyone should prosper, Valdy,” Liliane replied with surprising firmness. “Common prosperity isn’t worth hurting people in the process.”

“Please, my dear, no judgment yet,” Frigga chided him, before glancing at Hermann. “What about you?”

“I… I do not know,” the troglodyte admitted. “I… I suppose I would ask everyone… to reach a consensus.”

Frigga nodded in agreement. “From your answers, I can tell dear Liliane will make the best oneiromancer among the three of you. No wonder we get along. Even Hermann has some potential, but you, Valdemar? You will never be more than passable.”

Valdemar frowned in anger. “Watch me.”

“No, she has a point,” Lady Mathilde declared. “Oneiromancers need to be in tune with their feelings, Valdemar. Not only those of others, but their own. They understand themselves and their values.”

“So do I,” the necromancer replied.

“I do not… see the problem,” Hermann agreed with him.

“Valdemar, imagine you fulfill your goal and reach this other world full of sunlight,” Lady Mathilde said. “What will you do then?”

An easy answer. “I will keep the path open so my people can settle on the other side.”

“That’s not what she asked.” Frigga smiled. “What will you do? How do you imagine your life after you fulfill your objective?”

Valdemar opened his mouth.

And immediately closed it.

What would he do after opening a pathway to Earth? He… he would probably try to visit his grandfather’s tribe if it still existed, and… maybe explore this brand new world?

“You never… never considered what you will do after reaching your goal?” Hermann asked.

No, he didn’t. Valdemar’s life had revolved around fulfilling his grandfather’s dream, and he never imagined what his life would look like afterward.

“You see the big picture, but forget to include yourself in it,” Frigga explained. “And that’s why you will never be a great oneiromancer. You have a goal, yes, one that you borrowed from someone else; but you don’t have dreams.”

“Why think about the future if I haven’t achieved my objective yet?” Valdemar asked back. “I’ll cross that bridge when I reach it.”

Lady Mathilde had the grace to explain things better than the dark elf. “Frigga makes a poor effort at making her point across. What she means, truly, is that you are a thinker and not a feeler. Your mind reasons in terms of tangible results, of problems to solve, but with little consideration for your own feelings or those of others. It’s not a bad thing. Your disciplined mindset heavily contributes to your engineering and summoning prowesses. But this will make learning oneiromancy and all forms of mind-magic difficult. These spellcasting traditions heavily rely on intuitive feelings and empathy.”

“Lord Och has no empathy for anyone, and yet he can read minds,” Valdemar countered. “And Frigga is, forgive the expression, a selfish ass.”

Valdemar ignored the glare Liliane sent him, but Frigga didn’t seem to care anyway. “You wound me,” the dark elf replied. “It’s not because I put my feelings and person above others that I don’t consider them. I wouldn’t be half as good as riling up your kind if I weren’t such a sensitive, caring soul.”

“As for the Dark Lord, he had centuries to cover his weaknesses,” Lady Mathilde replied. “Anyone middling in a field of magic can become talented with enough time. I’m not saying you can’t master these skills, Valdemar; only that you will have a harder time with them.”

“You can’t… be good everywhere,” Hermann tried to reassure Valdemar, who crossed his arms in defeat. “You should focus… on building your strengths.”

“Come on, Valdy, you’re already amazing in so many fields.” Liliane patted him on the back. “Don’t be greedy.”

Valdemar sulked, but after a moment he realized that his friends had a point. He couldn’t expect to become a master of all forms of magic. Besides, he didn’t need to invade others’ dreams or read minds. The necromancer only had to learn enough to protect himself from those who used these forms of magic. And if not, he could simply summon a creature that would solve the problem for him.

“But we have digressed from our original point,” Lady Mathilde said while trying to refocus her lesson. “Liliane, Valdemar, I am very proud of your progress. Now that you have learned the basics of the reinforcing spell, it’s time I teach you a long-distance option.”

The priestess raised her hand, extended her fingers, and pointed them at a wall.

Blood ruptured from below her nails, before taking the shape of five sharpened projectiles. They hit the wall so fast that Valdemar’s eyes couldn't keep up, impacting on the steel with the strength of arrows.

“This is the Blood Bullet spell,” Lady Mathilde explained. While Liliane examined the point where the projectiles hit, Valdemar focused on the priestess’ fingers instead. The wounds below her nails had closed immediately, leaving no opening. “You will solidify blood below the nail to crystalize it, and then use pressure to launch the resulting weapon at high speed. Of course, it decreases the amount of blood in your body. The more you use it, the quicker you will exhaust your reserves.”

No wonder I haven’t seen many Knights cast this spell, Valdemar thought. Reinforcing or telekinetic slams didn’t exhaust reserves nearly as fast as throwing these projectiles.

“I know a stronger version,” Frigga commented lazily, trying to show off. “Except I use bones and reinforced phalanges rather than blood.”

“The Bone Bullet spell is indeed a stronger variant, but one that needs more resources and finesse,” Lady Mathilde replied calmly. “For now, blood will suffice.”

“Master, doesn’t it hurt?” Liliane asked with a frown. “You’re cutting through your skin.”

“You will feel pain, dear child.” The priestess smiled. “But you’ll get used to it with effort.”

“I… I would like to learn as well.” Hermann cleared out his throat. “I need to… get better at fighting.”

“You’re thinking of the Collector?” Valdemar asked, his troglodyte friend nodding in confirmation. It seemed his defeat had affected Hermann more than he expected.

“Cool, we can practice together,” Liliane chirped with a smirk. “Could you show me your Bone Bullet technique too, Frigga? I would love to learn it.”

“Of course, my dear,” the dark elf replied before kissing her friend on the cheek in a way Valdemar didn’t find chaste at all. “Everything for you.”

It took them until the night, but the group finally reached its destination. Iren informed them that they had crossed the right Earthmouth portal, and Valdemar stepped out of the wagon to take his first step on Astaphanos’ capital of La Dorada.

Famously known as the Pearl of the Empire, the city lived up to its name. Raised on an island surrounded by the Lightless Ocean, the settlement mixed impressive architecture with exotic beauty. Shaped from brass, tin, and gold, the buildings used curved forms rather than the rigid lines favored in Paraplex and other rival Domains. Domes and rounded roofs were more common than spires and towers, while vast canals allowed cowled undead boatmen to transport travelers on lavish skiffs.

The city buzzed with activity. The Earthmouth portal led the group’s wagon to a sprawling bazaar where merchants from all corners of the empire came to sell their wares. From licensed necromancers selling mindless undead servants to dark elves tradesmen importing expensive silk, La Dorado was a commercial crossroads where many pleasures could be fulfilled. Biomancy-enhanced whores invited clients to lavish brothels for unforgettable trysts, while oneiromancers openly peddled dream-drugs. Some magicians even offered wealthy clients to experience the memory of others, or to live out their darkest fantasies in dream worlds where their will was law.

Of course, not even this place was exempt from the Dark Lords’ surveillance. The mirror-faced Knights of the Mind observed the bazaar from the safety of the rooftops and the shadows of alleys. They didn’t just survey the streets to prevent crime. They also patrolled dreams and thoughts.

All fantasies could be satisfied by oneiromancers; all but those that the local Dark Lord, Lady Phul, deemed unacceptable. She allowed more freedom and debauchery than her colleagues, but it was all an insidious illusion; a calculated spectacle meant to lure citizens into complacency with meaningless sensations. Those who succumbed to darker temptations, who mistook the liberty of dreaming of torture, sex, and ephemeral power for a license to turn to the Strangers or question the Dark Lords, were never seen again.

But both people and buildings paled before the beauty of La Dorada’s gardens. Sprawling rows of plants, phosphorescent mushrooms, and bio-engineered trees decorated the streets. The smell of flowers mixed with the smell of sex and drugs; in La Dorada, beauty and decadence coexisted in equal measure. Liliane and Frigga immediately asked Lady Mathilde’s permission to visit the garden, and Hermann seemed tempted to join them.

And yet, for all of the city’s beauty, the eyes were here too.

They were on the cavern’s walls and the ceiling, big and small. An army of squamous orbs observed the oblivious human ants toiling beneath them. The watchers judged men and women in silence, unseen and yet all-powerful.

Valdemar looked up at the ceiling, at the largest eye of them all. It was so red, and so big, that it probably matched the city below in size. Its black pupil seemed to watch the bazaar, and Valdemar wondered if this creature could notice him specifically.

“Can you understand me?” the necromancer whispered, his voice drowned by the shouts of oblivious merchants and the cacophony of tourists.

The eye of the world did not answer. Maybe it didn’t hear. Maybe it didn’t understand human language. Maybe it watched but didn’t truly care.

“Blink if you do,” Valdemar asked, afraid of the answer.

For a moment, the necromancer found solace in his ignorance.

But then the giant eye closed.

Lids of hideous festering flesh emerged from the stone flesh of the living cavern, covering the eyeball in a protective mantle. They were so huge, and yet moved so fast, that they made no sound when they joined.

And when they snapped open again, Valdemar felt the thousands of eyes of Astaphanos adjust their gaze. Their pupils turned from watching the thousands of civilians to a single person in their midst with unwavering intensity.

Valdemar sensed the burden of their vigil on his shoulders, on his back, on his face. He felt from every direction, from above and below. When he looked down at the ground to escape the watchers’ attention, he noticed tiny golden eyes growing from the pavement, so small he hadn’t noticed them.

But they had seen him. They had heard him, and they had answered.

Whatever this thing, this superorganism was, it wasn’t just alive.

It was sentient too.

Letting out a breath in silent anxiety, Valdemar tried to focus on something else. His gaze wandered to the crowd in the bazaar, but the people had eyes too. Most didn’t pay attention to the necromancer. Some looked through him, focusing on stands behind his back.

But a pair of eyes peered into his own, as pale and grey as his own.

Valdemar froze in shock as he noticed her long raven hair and oh-so-familiar face; the same face that sang him songs when he learned to talk, who carried him in her arms whenever he cried. She looked younger, far younger than when she died, but it was her. Even hidden below her black hat, he could recognize her anywhere.

He blinked, and she was gone.

Valdemar immediately rushed into the crowd, pushing away people. He heard shouts and Liliane calling his name, but he didn’t care. He rushed between the stands, towards the alley where he glimpsed her, but he only saw fleshy eyes on the walls and shadows.

But he hadn’t dreamed. He knew what he had seen, even if he didn’t understand how it was possible.

“Mom?” Valdemar asked.

The eyes didn’t answer.