“Wake up.”

I opened my eyes blearily. The philosopher stood in the entrance of the hut. Behind him peeked the grey sky. The birds had yet to even begin their dawn chorus. Though I had felt a sense of perfect clarity before falling asleep once I closed my eyes I could have slept through the winter. Instead the philosopher had allowed me at most a couple hours of rest. Not to mention I laid on the floor with a thin blanket as a pillow. A dull headache lurked behind my eyes.

I heaved myself into a sitting position. A couple weeks of exercise and studying on the journey to Odena had not been enough to shake off a lifetime of pampering. I tried to keep the resentment off my face as I stared up at the philosopher, blinking the sleep out of my eyes.

“Are you certain this is what you want to do?” Brother Augur looked down at me with a tranquil expression but there was a hint of derision in his voice. Again I was struck by the discordant nature of the man. He seemed like both an enlightened hermit and an imperious philosopher; it was a strange dichotomy, as if two souls inhabited one body.

Two weeks of studying was not enough time for me to truly clash wits with a man like this. I felt a measure of confidence due to my magic. I had thought of the many potential applications of my power, from gambling to assassination. Unlike the ability to manipulate sound or generate massive infernos, my magic was one of opportunity. Its limitations were based on my limitations as a person; even with a dozen chances I would lose a duel against a Blademaster every time.

Yet even for a naive boy it had its advantages. Namely, I could ask stupid questions or give terrible responses and learn from them without suffering any consequences.

“Do all philosophers act like you?” I said.

It was a vague question yet he instantly grasped my meaning. He smiled. “Not everyone recognizes the staccato. It is, in essence, the study of body language, charisma, the first impression. The way I am using it now confuses you, makes you unsure of what you are dealing with. Confusion opens you to suggestion. A master of the staccato can disguise himself as anything with the proper resources. As for how the others behave, they are generally tough but fair. My generation were all raised by the same sour old hag. Strong personalities rub off on you.”

The philosopher wandered about the hut as he talked. The room consisted of little more than a chair that seemed to have organically grown into its shape, a table that was more of a protrusion of smooth wood extending from the wall, and a row of potted herbs in the windowsill. He gathered a few mint leaves and disappeared outside.

I followed, lost in thought. This lesson was a sign that, for the time being, I had been accepted as an apprentice. I thought of interrogating him about the future--when would I meet the others, how were the philosophers organized, what was expected of me? The headache reminded me I had overexerted myself last night. For now it would be best to play the role of observant pupil.

Brother Augur leaned over a small firepit beside the hut and reached his hand into the hungry flames. His expression remained neutral as he grasped a heating-stone from the center of the pit and transferred it to a clay bowl filled with water. Steam immediately erupted upwards yet the philosopher gave no sign that handling the stone caused discomfort. He settled into a lotus position beside the bowl, waiting patiently as the water began to boil.

“You are, of course, wondering what comes next,” he said. “You chose to join the philosophers, not the Academia or the soldiery. They would have been the superior option. Discipline is the foundation of a great man. You have a spark, granted, but you look like someone new to suffering. No one will whip you for breaking rules or force you attend seminars. Here you earn your knowledge."

“That’s fine.”

His eyes chastised me for breaking his monologue. “If Avarus takes a shine to you he may teach you the secrets of the blade. Others may teach you to play music so beautiful it sends listeners into a frenzy. When you’re older some may invite you on expeditions beyond the Frontier in search of glory. If you walk away, no one will chase you unless they have taken personal offense. You control your own fate.”

I blinked up at the sky, thinking of the world outside of the Great Cities, all the mysteries waiting to be discovered. Though I had been raised to take control of the family business, unlikely to personally venture far outside of Velassa, my imagination had always wandered far.

Here, in the middle of the Civilized Lands, everything I encountered was the domain of man. Yet if I went far enough away from Odena I would find cracks in the shield. Our world was filled with amazing stories, some of which may have been false reports or old legends, but all of them agreed that the world was a realm of bizarre danger and strange beauty.

If I traveled far enough outside of the Great Cities there were places where demons had formed cults in the wilderness; if I stumbled into the wrong forest I may find myself under the thrall of the Goetia. Farther along, close to the Frontier, there were forgotten villages where ethereal arachnids scuttled between buildings on dream-webs.

The lands beyond gave birth to even more fantastical places such as Daevadastra, the underwater hive of the nagas, formed from coral that glimmered with colors beyond the spectrum of the human eye. There were places that existed even beyond our world---most notably Desolada, the realm of the Goetic demon lords, floating in the hollow core of the moon.

Brother Augur coughed, bringing me back to reality. He poured boiling water into a cup and, retrieving the mint leaves from a pocket, brewed himself a cup of tea. “That faraway look in your eyes tells me you’re a dreamer. I mention searching the world for glory and off you go. A word of caution, though. Dreams do not translate well to reality. They are distorted things, unstable, but the mind pretends they are coherent.”

“So you don’t agree with searching for glory?”

“Glory.” The philosopher blew on his tea, face scrunched in thought. “Seeking things---glory, power, fame---is one of the ways the mind sabotages itself. Not that I wish to dissuade you from living a life full of mistakes. Knowing something and experiencing it are completely different. Your mistakes shape the person you become. They keep you humble.”

I considered his words carefully. He tended towards rambling but he was certainly more accessible than the convoluted writings of most philosophers. I felt a pang of resentment at him claiming I couldn't truly learn anything just because I was young and hadn't experienced much. After a moment it faded and I realized the truth---I had lived a sheltered life where abstract concepts like love and death seemed like a distant nuisance. I had witnessed death by the Magister’s hands, experienced it for myself, and it had transformed me. It also made me realize how little I was and how little I knew.

“Do the others think like you?” I said.

He finished his tea and poured water over the firepit. It took him several minutes to respond which, while slightly annoying, let me know he respected my questions long enough to give them such consideration.

“Each of us are different, of course. The only true commonality between us is our mutual respect and the desire to conquer ourselves. Hedonism is always popular and not always bad. Some want solitude, free from convoluted social plots and disappointment. In the end we're just people, learning together."

He gestured for me to follow him. We walked deeper in the Gardens, towards the center, where the true artistry of the place was on full display. I had entered through the medicinal gardens but as we headed towards the center the scenery became more beautiful.

Past the stone pathway, past legions of forget-me-nots and roses and violets. Deeper we went, until familiar flowers segued into exotic plants from around the world. Iridescent trees began to loom over the path, the dance of colors along their great expanses shifting in hypnotic patterns. Glacial flowers gleamed blue-silver in the twilight; when the wind stirred their petals they would suddenly blossom and release spores that drifted through the area like diamond dust.

A man in honey-colored robes rested in a hammock strung up between a pair of trees. I walked on my toes, careful not to disturb him, but as I snuck past his eyes opened and focused on me. The intensity of his gaze made me take a step back. After a moment he snorted and fell back asleep. I hurried to catch up to Brother Augur, who strolled along with the confidence of a respected elder returning home.

A dozen feet later we passed a gargantuan tree, a hollow carved into the side of its vast trunk. It was one large room, veins of sap glistening along wooden walls the color of bone. A circle of candles flickered around an old man meditating on a pile of furs. I tore my eyes away from him as I followed behind Brother Augur.

“When will we be there?” I regretted the words the second they came out of my mouth. It sounded like the whine of a petulant child.

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “We are already here. What were you expecting? This is the center of the Garden, possibly the most secluded place in the city. Of course most of us have homes elsewhere but some have chosen to retire here.”

I should have known better than to assume anything. Groups of philosophers mingled throughout the Civilized Lands but they lacked the structure of the Academies. No matter where you went you could expect the Academies to behave in a similar fashion. Five years of studying until they earned the bronze ring of a generalist. If they wished they could delve deeper into subjects of interest such as surgery or alchemy---some revered academics were rumored to have so many metallic rings they had to thread them through a necklace.

The philosophers did not dispense trinkets to display how educated they were. They were all individuals pursuing different paths through life. No committee had created a strict set of rules they were obliged to follow. I thought back on my tutor, Everett, who followed the teachings of Severius. Though he agreed with most of his mentor’s words his own experiences had shaped his mentality, personalizing his own branch of philosophy.

The memory of my old tutor brought a smile to my face. By now my migraine had faded and I was confident I would be able to use my power without much pain. With the confidence of a fool who could reverse time, I asked, “Do you know of Everett? He’s a philosopher from Levena that moved to Velassa.”

Brother Augur raised an eyebrow at me. I thought of his earlier explanation of the staccato---he claimed to be the perfect actor, able to fill any role he wished. It would be worse than useless to attempt to infer anything from his body language. He shrugged and continued walking along the pathway.

The world fractured around me as I reversed time to before we encountered the man in the hammock. This time I ignored his stare and walked past the old man meditating in the tree without a glance. If Brother Augur wanted to give off an air of inscrutability I may as well copy him.

Not for the first time I reflected on how strange my life had become. Everett had been somewhat a novelty in my life. Everyone else that my father knew behaved in a way I had considered ‘normal’---merchants, the gentry, and other members of privileged society, all following the same general etiquette. Nothing in my life had prepared me for smart-mouthed dwarfs like Volario and eccentric philosophers living in a massive garden.

I knew little of my father’s past beyond him becoming a wealthy merchant, only that he had served for some period of time as a soldier on the Frontier. Understandably he did not like to speak about whatever horrors he encountered there. What connection did he have with these people? Despite my curiosity I thought it would be best not to reveal my relationship with a man who had suffered Nony’s wrath, even among people he apparently trusted.

We carried along in silence until we came upon three youths lounging around a tree. They were around my age, perhaps a few years older. They wore simple outfits of grey wool. Only one of them looked up, a girl with a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Her red hair and clever face reminded me of a fox, especially when her lips twisted into a playful smirk.

“Who’s this now?” She looked me up and down. I wondered what she thought when she saw me, with my fine clothes and smooth face. She had a way of immediately making me feel self-conscious, as if I was some imposter brought before her for interrogation.

An awkward silence stretched between us. I had expected Brother Augurto introduce me; when I turned towards him I saw he was already heading back the way we came. I wanted to chase him down and thank him but knew it was pointless. Better to make a good impression with the girl and her companions.

“My name’s Leones,” I said, bowing my head. “I came here to study.”

The young man at her side shook his head slightly. “Great. Well, I’m sure Augur saw something in you. He always has been one of the odder ones around here though.”

It was an obvious challenge. He sat close to the girl, their knees touching with a casual familiarity. This was the dance mankind had performed since our history had been recorded.

The Goetia had enslaved our ancestors for millennia. The whole time we fought each other for women or food or for the entertainment of our masters, never even imagining raising a hand against the lords of Desolada. It was not until the Archons descended from paradise that we were able to throw off their shackles. For all the philosophy and art and good we had brought into the world since gaining our independence, we were no different than our ancestor who would slit another man’s throat for looking at his wife.

I thought of reversing time and trying again but thought better of it. I would have to at least attempt to put in an effort instead of relying on my power the moment I felt pressured. Either way it was pointless. The youth was looking for a fight and nothing would change that.

Instead I ignored them and continued along the path, deeper into the territory of the philosophers. I had no particular plan in mind. Brother Augur said there were five others of my generation I had yet to meet. Chances were that at least one of them would welcome me with more than mockery.

I barely made it a few steps before the young man yelled at my back. “I was speaking to you. Do you have no manners?”

That made me turn. He had stood to his full height. Stubble covered his square jawline and veins stood out along his muscular forearms. He was at least eighteen, if not older.

“We’re here to become philosophers," I said, "not court ladies."

My words gave him pause. An incredulous look spread across his face. Before he could respond the third member of the group threw back his head and laughed. Until now he had ignored us, sitting off to the side with his back against the tree, whittling away at a chunk of wood roughly the shape of a person. Unlike the older boy he was slender, his face too sharp and assymetrical to be considered attractive, but he had the most striking green eyes.

“Do I amuse you, Felix?” The older boy faced his companion.

Felix slid his paring knife along the wooden figurine one last time before pausing, staring down at the blade in his hand. There was no sound except for the wind and the susurrus of dead leaves skipping along in its wake.

The girl stood and rested her hand on the older boy’s shoulder. “Is all this necessary? If it makes you feel better, all of you are very masculine and respectable. I for one am very impressed with this display of virility.”

Felix resumed his whittling as if nothing had happened.

“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Mara.” She looked up at the youth beside her, wrinkling her nose and laughing. He offered me a smile but remained silent. “This fine specimen of a man is Caedius. Come, we’ll show you around. And just so you know, there's nothing wrong with wanting to be a court lady.”