Keya awoke early; they had not slept in the tavern, as promised. He rented an expensive room for a week just to have the semblance of normalcy, and we are not even using it. Why would they, when the opulence of his fantastical manor was but a magical door away?

The rugged outdoors of the Mor’Orc camp was a distant memory. Although the sleeping sacks were magnificently warm, little would forevermore compete with the comfort and safety she felt in these quarters. Her bows hung on the wall, and plentiful books packed shelves. It was a place where her mind bloomed with new possibilities each day, and where she awoke from dreams only to live them: home. The warmth that word imparted upon her heart was almost too much to bear.

Jon knocked at her door and roused Keya from contemplation. She anticipated being far worse for wear from all the drink and fighting, but it appeared her new-found vitality extended to rough revelry as well.

They broke their fast with simple porridge in the bunker. ‘Simple’ did not mean what it once had; the porridge was perfectly salted, buttered, and sweetened so as to be fit for a king. Master had a practised hand in the making of it.

The blunders of last eve, however, were ponderous in the air between them.

“So, no hangover for you too then?” he remarked.

“It is as you say. I appear to have entirely sobered prior to our return. Though my magic is suppressed here, indulging in spirits appears to be a short-lived and trivial matter. I take it the potion has prevented similar distress for you?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” Master consoled her with a small smile. “How did you know what it would do?”

“I enveloped it with my aura one afternoon and sensed the same verdant rejuvenating energy of my magic. The conviction was strong, though I cannot attest as to why. Knowing of some ancient alchemical legends, I deduced as much. The other flask, though I can sense it, feels quite contrary; I do not know what it does.”

“Warm, fuzzy feelings and guesswork, huh? If I didn’t have firsthand experience of the weird synesthetic sense of magic, I might be madder. Kinishinaide; no harm, no foul.”

He need not have been so forgiving; she understood the depth of her failure. “I am truly sorry Master.” She tugged on her mug of coffee on the polished counter. “I failed your expectations in many ways last night, or perhaps worse, I met them.” She slumped her head.

The usual clang of bowls and cutlery could be heard as Master washed up and dried things. The duty was alternately shared over the days—merely another of the untenably equitable customs she had yet to deserve.

“Have I ever told you about the greatest heroes of my world?”

“Have you not shown me their movies?”

Master scoffed. “No, I mean our real heroes. Not the sensational crap we entertain ourselves with.”

Keya shook her head.

“My people are a varied bunch, but among their achievements, one of the highest honours is to discover something new. As you might to some degree be aware, we are exceptionally good at preserving and growing knowledge over many generations. Much in the same way, Elgelica has planted and nurtured trees, slowly building upon what has come before.

She nodded.

“It’s an effective strategy, but, at some point, it becomes harder and harder to make any noticeable growth. Like the trees at the centre of the city, broad and stalwart as they might be, their annual change compared to the periphery is far less noticeable.

“That said, I recall one such notable change in years past; notable on our ‘mature trees of knowledge’ that is.”

He pulled a drying towel from the rack. Keya was yet to establish whether she was being reprimanded or edified.

“We called it the Higgs. You see, such changes to our knowledge are so important they are named, titled after the hero or group of heroes that first divined the nature of the thing. It would then take many more such great men and resources to confirm that the knowledge was indeed accurate. This could take decades, and the initial diviners may well have passed on by then. In this case, we were fortunate and most the team, though advanced in years, were alive to partake in the joyous occasion. Videos of the event still exist, so you could witness it yourself if you wish.”

Keya idly sipped while tracing patterns on the marble countertop. These people fought for knowledge instead of glory, interesting.

“One such commentary always sticks in my mind though. A man remarked that being right after all these years would be wonderful, but what would truly make him and his colleagues ecstatic would be to be wrong in some way as well. Why do you think that is?”

“It makes little sense to me, Master. Surely, being wholly right is the superior outcome.”

He nodded understandingly, “you learn less from being right, Kay? And in a society were the barest inch of new understanding is celebrated, the hope of fault is prided over the honour of rectitude.” He stared off into the distance, which was not very far underground. “You are going to make mistakes, Kay, just like me. What happened last night was as much my fault as yours.

"Furthermore, it was, is, and will be inevitable. What sets you apart is whether you treat failure as a waste or as a resource. If you know more today than yesterday, then it was no loss. Simply repeatedly ask yourself: ‘What have I learned?’ Do this, and I swear on my life you will never fail me or anyone else. They may say otherwise, but do not believe them.”

“I find that hard to accept, Master. I feel you should be harsher with me. How will I learn if I am not punished for my mistakes?”

“Ah, I believe you are mistaken, Ms Ces. I have, in fact, given you the harsher path.”

“I…” He has? How? Why? Thoughts and feelings were hard to put into order just then.

“Finish your coffee; we got places to meet and sights to people.”

They readied for the day and exited the rift in their tavern room. Making it to the ground floor, Bretha called them over. The bar area was eerily vacant compared to the bustling crowd the previous night. “Ya got a message dears, from the lady Sepha Shalen of the council.”

Jon spoke. “Huh. I assume any relation to Virion Shalen is ‘utterly coincidental’.” He examined the sealed scroll absently.

Bretha replied, “‘Utterly coincidental’, I’m sure. Although after your little show last night ‘Master’,”

He flinched at the sound, and Keya looked for a barrel hide in.

“I expect a lot more coincidental letters. We’re not a messenger service, you know!”

“Yeah, tell that to the Shalens.” Casually, Master slipped Bretha another silver, and with a practised swipe it was gone. They turned away to find a corner to read.

Unceremoniously Master cracked the seal, and then mockingly held the scroll up like an announcing minstrel.

“Dear Luren-sun, blah blah blah.” His voice was a melodramatic pitch higher, with feminine affectations. “I’m a council member you know! We’re gonna meet at the Council Spire so I can, like, impress and intimidate you, LOL. Please don’t rush, but you totally should. I’m gonna make you wait anyways though. Your servant is like completely unimportant, but he should tag along, you know, just in case. Anyways, super stoked to meet you, we gonna like totally be BBFs. Signed Queen Bee, Sepha.

“PS. You can find me at the Council Archery Training Grounds; it’s like a complete coincidence. What the hell, right? Bring your bow.”

Keya wretched the scroll from him, completely incredulous. “There is no way in the realm the letter is written so!” She unfurled the parchment to confirm. It was—to her relief—written in elven with all the airs and pleasantries associated with an elf of a high-born station. Albeit Jon’s content summary was frustratingly accurate.

“This Sepha chick, whoever she is, is perfect. Sounds like negotiations are gonna be a bitch though, and I hope she’s got enough pull. Madam Bretha,” he called across the mostly empty room; some patrons had yet to notice the night had come and gone. Keya had to admire their tenacity. “Please tell me that Sepha Shalen is a powerful council member of ambition.”

“Nay, she be the newest and weakest. Ambition aplenty, I suspect,” said Bretha.

“Eh, I guess I can work with that,” said Jon. “Thanks a bunch, Bretha. Might we bother you for that meal now, I’m still hungry for some reason.” The last part he conceded to Keya alone, she could eat a little more too she realised.