Staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror, Reeve sighed. He fidgeted with the stiff collar of his robe and tightened the silver sash around his waist... but something was still off.

The colors?

No. He liked those, he had to admit. The layering of white trim atop the soft sky blue was a nice touch. But it didn’t slim him down as much as the old black uniform did. Though, this new one would look better on the students.

Is my wig on crooked?

Not that either. The brown curls bounced in his hands. A bit too unnaturally, but his colleagues all knew it was a piece anyway.

He sighed again. Lady Adelais would be expecting him soon.

Turning around, he swept his eyes over the pile of boxes cluttering the room. Moving was always a pain — even if there would be others handling the heavy lifting.

But this time, it will be to the upper halls of the Sanctum, Reeve!

Typically reserved for visiting Magi of the Second Order or greater, the living spaces of the upper halls would be an improvement from his current conditions in almost every way. He tried to cheer himself up, but the excitement rang hollow.

Every little irritant seemed to nag so fiercely at his mind, while everything he should have been celebrating retreated from the ghastly visage of his fears. Reeve knew himself well enough to realize why he felt the way he did, but it did nothing to stop the tumultuous roiling of his emotions.

The former Marchioness was playing a dangerous game, and he’d tagged along willingly as soon as she dangled a juicy prize in front of him like he was one of her prized Vellatzals.

Up until the recruitment trip, he’d been able to ignore the gnawing apprehension. But now, it was all too real. And things were starting to move too fast.

Maybe in his youth, he’d be able to keep up. Instead, it had become the very thing he was chasing after.

Reeve picked his way between the boxes and unlatched the door, stepping outside into the corridor. Instantly, a gust of cool wind swept through the thin fabric of his uniform.

He shrugged it off as best he could and continued down the long hallway.

Servants were scurrying around everywhere as a chorus of doors slamming open and shut echoed off the tiled stone walls. Their work was swift and orderly, but there was a noticeable stiffness in their bows as they acknowledged his passing. The final preparations for the impending arrival of the apprentices were reaching their climax.

Everyone was feeling the stress, so Reeve replied with a polite nod and a smile. Acknowledging all who he passed slowed him down significantly, but he had a reputation to uphold.

“Ah, Reeve! Off to make your report to the Headmistress?”

Reeve’s head swiveled toward the blue-clothed man weaving his way through the hall. His stomach sank.

Alen Gen carried his aura with pride. His handsome face beaming in a genuine smile.

“Alen, it’s been a while! And you’ve guessed it. Are you just now returning from your own meeting?”

The young Magus approached and shook Reeve’s hand vigorously; his eyes sparkled with ambition and youthful exuberance. “I got back early and concluded my meeting a few days ago… It's good to see you, friend.”

Chuckling dryly, Reeve returned the man’s smile. “Likewise. So what brings you down into the lower halls then?”

Alen broke off the hand-shake as his eyes roamed around. He exhaled a wistful sigh before he spoke, “I just wanted to take a look around one last time… soak up the atmosphere and the excitement…”

Internally, Reeve rolled his eyes. Alen had only advanced from his apprenticeship last summer. He hadn’t even spent a whole year as an official Magi of the Sanctum, yet he would already be moving up to the upper halls.

“I understand the feeling well. Just wait till you’re an old man like me — then the nostalgia will really hit you in the gut.”

Pity. The last thing Reeve wanted. But he saw it in the wrinkles around Alen’s half-smile and felt it in the hand the young man placed tenderly on his shoulder. Though, he supposed he’d brought it on himself with a self-deprecating line like that.

“Well, I don’t want to be the one held responsible for making you late, so I’ll let you get on your way.” Alen transitioned his sympathetic grip to an awkward pat on the back.

Reeve just nodded his thanks and stepped by. Alen was all too similar to himself in the past. He could already feel the first hints of sluggishness in the cold winds swirling around the man.

But as much as he wanted to turn back and say something, Reeve only allowed himself to look forward.

He reached the end of the hall with long strides and stomped up the narrow, spiral staircase all the way to the top floor. Each level he passed was marked by a wide window that displayed the glittering white city below.

From the silver spires and array of towers of the inner district, all the way out to the vast tundra beyond the walls that had yet to regain its color. Arid grasses and shrubs stretched across the rolling hills in a motley sea of browns and light yellows. Whether it be this year or one soon to come, all would crumble into dust to make way for the fresh and newly sprouted greens.

It was a view Reeve knew well. And in a few hours, it would be blanketed by heavy shadows, leaving only a cluster of twinkling lights and laughter from the city shining through the darkness...

He’d be in need of a heavy drink tonight. Begrudgingly, Reeve’s feet carried him up the final steps.

Lady Adelais’ office and living-space spanned the entire length of the highest floor of the Sanctum, and the staircase exited right into the reception area.

Reeve was greeted by her taciturn assistant, Mazar. A man who veiled himself beneath a head-wrapping and spoke more with his gestures rather than words.

He indicated for Reeve to take a seat on one of the granite benches as he went inside to inform the headmistress.

There were no backs to any of the benches or chairs and no hot tea was served to warm the bones. So Reeve could only sit on the cold slab, slumped forward, waiting impatiently.

Lady Adelais was ready for him, he knew that very clearly. She was never not ready for anything. But she always made her guests wait. Long enough to grate on their nerves, but quick enough that they wouldn’t grow truly angered. And it didn’t matter how familiar one was with her methods. They would wait all the same. Just as he was now, despite his twenty-plus years in her service.

The seconds on his pocket watch ticked loudly and slowly in his ears, but he wouldn’t look at it. She was watching, and he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction

Five minutes, then ten, all the way until the twenty-second, he waited. Time passed in silence until Mazar finally returned, propping open the door. With a twitch of his head and eyes, he indicated it was time.

Reeve stood up and followed the man into the antechamber where the twin white marble statues of the imperial vellatzals loomed over them both; the amber gemstones lodged in their eye-sockets looking down on Reeve with disdain.

Ignoring their haughtiness, he kept his gaze trained on the door at the end of the room. It sprung open at Mazar’s gentle touch, revealing Lady Adelais hunched over a stack of papers at her desk. There were no candles or adornments in the office, only a single skylight in the ceiling and glowing roots of hoarfrost that crawled up the walls.

Reeve swallowed the lump of saliva in his throat and stepped inside. A loud slam followed him, ringing through the space as the door swung shut.

“Begin,” the headmistress ordered without looking up. She dipped her quill into the inkwell and pulled a fresh sheet of parchment in front of her.

“Of the four candidates I was sent to assess, three of them passed.”

“Who was the failure?” Lady Adelais’ voice was dry and crisp.

Reeve hesitated, as he watched her hand hover menacingly over the page. “Viscount Berg’s fourth son. B-But…” he added hurriedly, “his twin — the second daughter — was the most promising of them all!”

The woman’s stormy eyes flickered up, and Reeve was forced to avert his gaze lest he loses himself in their abyss. He suddenly wished he’d loosened his collar a bit more as it still felt awfully tight.

“Did you fail him on the spot?”

“No… As per your instructions, I said that we would consider his admittance further during a collective meeting.” The back of Reeve’s robe was already sticky with sweat.

“Good.” Lady Adelais returned to her notes. “You will send a message to inform them that he meets our standards.”

“Y-Your Grace… wouldn’t the daughter be enough? The boy’s foundations are deplorable — especially his Spirit Locus. Making it into the First Order is the extent of his capabilities...” Reeve always found himself complaining about the pride of Magi, but now, his own was rearing its ugly head. He didn’t know what the viscount had been thinking when he allowed his son to butcher the process of clearing his mindscape so badly.

She placed down her quill and Reeve began cursing himself furiously in his mind. He already knew the answer.

“Reeve… I’ve already told you this once. We’re after connections, not talent. If I cared about attracting the most promising youths, I’d have our Arcanium focus solely on the Selections and ignore private recruitment altogether. We must bring the noble families of the northern reaches uniformly to our side.” Her fingers strummed once across the surface of her desk as the air in the room thickened.

“I... understand…. Your Grace…” Reeve was having trouble finding his breath.

“I didn’t correct you the first time because we’re in private, but it's Headmistress now. You’d do well to remember that.” A visible clamp of swirling azure wind grabbed Reeve’s head and forced him to meet her eyes. He would’ve shuddered if his body was able to move. “I see you understand. Now, what of Baron Marwood? Has he succeeded?”

Reeve stumbled forward as he was released. “Yes... H-Headmistress…” he wheezed out, gripping his chest as blood pumped rapidly through his veins. “The result was better than anticipated, though—” he bit his tongue wondering if he should say more. Lady Adelais was only interested in listening to what she wanted to hear.

His thoughts tugged back and forth. But in the end, he felt like the servant boy was still worth mentioning. “There was one other matter of interest...”

Lady Adelais’ thin eyebrows raised, but she was already back into her work.

“I examined a servant at the Marwood manor. He had a supreme affinity with the Primal Discipline.”

The room froze. “This boy. Was he the daughter’s attendant?”

“I do believe he was…”

“That cripple… Interesting…” The headmistress smiled — a deep, bone-chilling smile. “You’ve done well bringing this to my attention, I’ll handle the rest. And as promised, your reward awaits you in your new lodgings. Do make sure to keep a close eye on all of your candidates…”

“By your will, Headmistress.”

***

“Stroud, are you ready? It’s almost time for us to go!” Maeve’s shout leaked into the bedroom, muffled by the thick wood and stone.

Stroud sat up slightly and half-opened one eye as he replied, “I’ll meet you on the lawn in a few minutes!” He shook his head as he looked at the dresser partially blocking his door. On more than one occasion in the past few days, his possession of the raw Nura had nearly been exposed. Maeve had a habit of entering rooms without knocking, and she’d been a whirlwind of excitement and nerves as the day of their departure loomed near.

“...Fine.” Receding stomps indicated the girl’s full retreat.

Settling back down atop his bed, Stroud opened his mouth in the shape of an ‘O’ and sucked in a sizeable breath. He trapped the air in his lungs, shaping it into a bubble before he pushed it down into his gut.

The bubble sunk down into the nest of turbid energy below his navel and popped like a balloon as he exhaled out through his nose. Sparks scattered, but their propulsion was weak. Stroud strained himself to push the Nura out and through his body, achieving some measure of success — though nowhere near what he wanted.

He took out his dissatisfaction on the breathing manual at his side, picking it up and tossing it harshly over to his bag near the door. It hit the stone, high and well to the left with a loud slap, traveling with much greater speed than he intended.

Some ‘breathing technique’ that is. All it really told him to do was push oxygen down into the remnants of his Sea — where the Nura traveled when he drank it — and to use the bursts of air to expel the liquid essence through his body.

It worked... to an extent. But he still felt like there was so much potential being wasted. He hadn’t even come close to achieving the same strength of dispersion as Gau had during the first session back in her hovel.

He couldn’t seem to manage to push it all at once, even after limiting the amount he used in each dosage. And the distribution of energy through his limbs was often uneven, which was more worrying than anything else.

One of the vials was already half-empty now, through only three sessions.

Stroud grumbled some choice curses under his breath, directed at Gau, then clambered off his mattress. He moved over to his pack with tender steps and rifled through it one final time to make sure nothing important was left out.

The spell sigil was tucked carefully inside a case, hidden beneath the sparse layers of clothes. A sharp dagger rested in its leather sheath, and his notes were all folded up in a neat wad. With the final additions of the journal and the vials, he was all set.

It wasn’t much, but he neither had many personal effects nor did he feel much attachment to the few he did. Stroud was glad to leave the Barony behind him for a time. Only a little under a year had passed since his re-awakening, but it had become glaringly obvious just how limited the resources in the area truly were.

He needed change. Progress. Anything different to stifle his deep-seated apprehension toward complacency.

Shrugging the bag over his shoulder, Stroud pushed his dresser back to its normal spot, cringing at the grating screech of wood dragging across stone.

Deep breath. Stroud opened the door and stepped outside, refusing to look back. Forward was his only direction...

The makings of a crowd were beginning to gather at the end of the lawn. He saw the Baron, Lady Marwood, and a whole host of servants and knights waiting to see Maeve off.

But before Stroud could make it over to them, he felt a figure approaching quickly from behind to wrap him in a sudden hug.

“Were you going to leave without saying goodbye to your poor old mother…”

Stroud shrugged off his pack and turned around so that he could embrace Celina properly. “I thought you’d already been waiting with the others.”

“I’ll be over there soon to say farewell, but I had to see my boy off personally, first.” Celina looked at him tenderly, combing through his hair as she smiled. Burgeoning tears glistened in the corners of her eyes and Stroud struggled to repress the pangs of guilt in his heart as well as the longing in his soul. He hadn’t been spending as much time with her as he should have. She deserved more.

“Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll be back with Maeve as often as we can.”

“I know you will,” she laughed through a choked sob. Celina halted her tidying and held him at arm’s length. “You’ve been looking healthier these days, Stroud. Don’t let the city keep you from your exercise, and don’t let the excitement halt your studies… But I believe it’ll be tougher on Maeve than it will be on you. Keep an eye on her.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as Celina eyed him with worry and warning.

Stroud poured all his determination into his returning gaze. “I will.”

“Good…” Celina looked like she wanted to say more, but she stopped herself from rambling further and squeezed Stroud back into her embrace with all the strength she could muster.

As they separated, she took a moment to wipe her cheeks with a cloth. “I hope for you to make some friends, but be wary of who you trust, Stroud. Listen to your gut. More often than not, it’ll be a better judge of character than what your eyes and ears will reveal.”

“Yes, Mother.” Stroud nodded stiffly.

“All right, let’s head over.” Celina drew herself up and dabbed at her eyes one final time. “We’ve left them waiting long enough.”