Akadem was a true underground city. The air was not stale or dusty, and following the flow of cool breezes, I easily located the vents that were discreetly hidden behind the ornate wood grates within the wall paneling.

Curious about the other crucial communications, I stopped at a WC I was passing by and had a look. Instead of a dark, damp and ill-smelling room that such facilities have been known to be for most of the known history, that one was spotlessly clean and even had a proper high-tank toilet. Out in the open was extensive copper plumbing, which despite looking old-fashioned seemed to be perfectly functional.

The thick hot water pipes also kept the room nice and warm. First I thought that the toilet had been installed together with the plumbing. But a careful look revealed the abrasions and irregular shapes of the copper pipes. The varying thickness of the oxide film on copper suggested, that the plumbing was actually much older than the porcelain part, with the later additions having required some tinkering.

It might seem odd to pay so much attention to such details, but my experiences told me that one can learn much about the people and their culture from the way their necessities are organized. Well, the wizards clearly liked comfort as much as others, perhaps even more so. Considering the effort required to maintain and even upgrade such things, the wizards must have invested quite a lot. I grinned, imagining some centuries-old mage meeting a modern japanese high-tech toilet.

But even with the current facilities of the Akadem I was thoroughly impressed - rooms by the windows had mobile phone coverage, toilets were warm and plumbing looked functional. A quick turn of a knob and I could confirm that even the water pressure was strong and steady.

Feeling even more curious about the comfort levels enjoyed by the people whose lifespans reached centuries, I left the restroom and turned towards the nearby stairs. According to the map in my memory, a few floors down there was a variety of eateries. That is where I went next.

---

As I left the floor that could be considered as administration level, I finally saw other people. I made full use of my heat sensing and other abilities, observing them while trying to remain out of sight. Here, the corridors became wider, and arched ceilings extended far into the darkness above. The areas where the hallways crossed were turned into small squares, where the people stood in separate groups, discussing something among themselves. Most seemed to be in their early twenties, wore subdued casual clothing and used terms that I only occasionally recognized from the basics of magic books I had read a while ago. Somehow, it gave off an air of technical university.

Nobody paid me any attention as I passed by. It was Saturday early afternoon, but I was not sure if the weekends were free in the Akadem. Leisurely deciding that everything will be known in due time, I reached the double-sided doors that led into one of the eateries.

I pushed the doors open, and found myself in a buffet.

“...h. Teach got mad too. Sry ‘bout that, bro.”

The buffet was empty, except that in one of the far corners, there was a small group of teenagers of around 14-15 years. Occasionally, I heard snippets from their conversation, as they were eating a pile of deep-fried food that looked like breaded schnitzels.

“...ong as she doesn’t do that. Right, Os?”

“Yea, yea, Raph, hahaha!”

“Hah, hah, hah!”

I cringed inwardly. I had forgotten how annoying could be teenagers.

Where the room was linked to the adjoining kitchen, stood several tables with a variety of dishes laid out. From the heat, steam and sizzling sounds, I found out that the trays, pots and pans for hot food were continuously heated with some kind of magic. Cold dishes were the other way around, kept refrigerated on the trays full of non-melting ice.

“Wilmar, I heard you got an invite from Mallory! Cheers!”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Really?! That old geezer Ment actually invited you? He is like what, wizard of six step tower?”

“Seven, Raph, SE-VEN!”

“Woa!”

The absence of price tags, menus and even personnel blatantly suggested that food here was free. I shrugged, and despite having no actual need to eat, picked up a tray.

Six step tower? I had read just a while ago, that wizards were given grades according to their achievements.

Traditionally, these grades were represented by the number of levels their towers could have. Even now, when only very few conservative and old-fashioned wizards actually bothered with the towers, the titles still remained. An apprentice who had officially finished his education would become a wizard of the first step tower.

Being able to use certain spells, create special objects and so on would make one a wizard of the second step tower and so on. But each condition set a requirement for power, control and other possible variables. Theoretically there was no limit, however, each level became increasingly difficult to reach. According to the magic history book I had gone through, the author knew only about three wizards who were above the tenth step. So seventh step seemed to be a solid above average, reaching the level of a “powerhouse”.

---

Fried eggs, boiled eggs, omelettes, porridges, soups...what were those, radishes?... oats, bacon, sausages and jerkies, fried and boiled meat, poultry and fish, curds, cheeses, breads and all sorts of stews. Hearty food, without any exquisiteness. How did they prevent spoiling, by the way? It was lacking fruits, though. Instead, there was a variety of odd-looking gooey substances and small colourful round pebbles. I also smelled some blood.

In addition to the completely unfamiliar and creepy stuff, I also steered clear of an assortment of haggises. And black pudding - I had never understood the allure of blood sausages. Therefore, I piled up a choice of half-smoke sausages to go with cheeses. And some cured meat, simply because it smelled of an interesting blend of spices and herbs.

The drinks table was disappointing. I had expected to find some wine, but instead found boiled water, fermented and fresh milk, something suspiciously tar-like smelling of peat, juices and other fruit derivatives. There was also something like very light, but a bit nasty-smelling beer and, surprisingly, kvass. Remembering my stay in Russia ten or so years ago, I felt a bit of nostalgia and poured myself a glass of the latter. Although according to my memory, I had liked the brand from Poland the most. Or was it the Finnish kalja? It did smell of roasted rye, but the exact difference was unknown to me.

I sat down at one of the tables. The sausages were good, rich in aromatic spices and well-ground meat. The first cheese I had picked was too creamy and smelled of sulfur for my taste, but most of the hard ones were totally delicious.

At first, I was distracted by my way too sensitive taste buds, but I was adapting. I had been adjusting my senses for a while now, but things like cheeses had more complex aromas than the tea or fruits I had tried before.

However, It was surprisingly easy to modify the signals coming from taste receptors, allowing the layers of taste to blend and let me experience the aroma as a whole. It was much more enjoyable than sensing everything separately like a goddamn molecular spectroscope. In the end, it was so much better to have a proper body instead of being a huge skeleton.

Promising myself to get a crate of good rum as soon as possible to avoid the local obnoxious fermented rye drink, I washed down the last bit of the dried sausage and turned my attention towards the teenagers. I still had half a glass of the murky dark beverage that I did not plan to drink, and it was a good enough excuse to observe them while remaining inconspicuous.

There were five teenagers, all boys. Four of them looked ordinary, and wore knitted vests over thin pullovers. A freckled redhead, brown hair with glasses and two black haired ones. One of the black haired was slightly tanned, either owing to his genetics or having recently spent some time under the sun.

And the fifth one looked different from the others, with his pale thin face that had a somewhat sickly looking blue sheen, very noticeable in the soft ambient light of the diner. His hair was platinum blond and had grown just enough to make it look messy. He also wore an eye-catching embroidered shirt whose mauve colour accentuated his bluish skin, making him a potential attention magnet anywhere he went. Due to the half-closed eyes, he had a permanently bored expression, and even gave only half-hearted replies to his companions. Apparently, he was the one called Wilmar.

I listened to them for a while. As expected, with the recent events, the occult community was restless. Many of them gathered together, preferably in ancestral mansions or villages. From some small hints, I inferred that WIlmar was not fully human, but was fairly strong and had a promising future. And at least a part of his family came from the continent. I did not get his surname, but the name Wilmar felt German.

---

Deciding that nursing the half-full glass for too long would be suspicious, I left the buffet. The fact that there were plenty of odd people in Akadem got me interested, so I decided to find some time to get the access to student roster later on. Would be good to know beforehand if some demigod popped up.

I chased away the thoughts about armies of teenaged hormone-addled Heracleses, Perseuses and Theseuses running wild. For now I decided to have a look at the lower floors that according to the map had huge empty spaces. Hmmm, or was it Herculi, Persei and Thesei, again?

Following the long stairs leading down, I passed several floors before the gradually arching stairway began to widen. Following the curve, the descending path took a while before it opened up, grandly revealing a giant cavern.

Under the cold Scottish mountain was a huge, bustling underground hub. Using the natural rock as the base, numerous pillar-shaped towers extended towards the barely visible ceiling from where the bright magic lightning illuminated the space. The walls of the cave were gouged out, leading deeper into the bedrock with countless small windows peppering the face of the cave wall like deep, glowing pockmarks. And above the heads, numerous stone bridges bound everything together like a massive spiderweb.

As far as I could sense, there were hundreds of people around. By now, it felt surprising that my expectations were finally met and I saw plenty of different people wearing all kinds of cloaks, mantles and capes. Some even had proper staffs and imposing hats. That is what proper wizards should look like, I agreed with myself.

All over the place there were stalls, shops and all kinds of services, from barbershops and snacks to to-order potion brewers and inscribers. The last ones seemed to specialize in engraving, stamping and drawing of the various magic seals, arrays, circles, pentagrams and other similar stuff.

“Sir Victor!” - I heard from a side.

“Ah, Marsh.” - I nodded to the approaching blond teenager who had lowered the hood of his cloak.

In the unoccupied corner of my mind, I wondered if considering that odd genderfluid physiology, I should use some special pronoun to denote the peculiarity. Considering the rampant ‘tolerance’ in recent decades, finding an acceptable wording for something unusual was getting progressively harder.

“Just call me Matthew, sir.” - he chuckled. Or she. Heshe? Shehe? Some variants I thought through, sounded too transgender or hermaphrodite to describe the phenomenon exhibited by the young Marsh. To ease my mind, I decided to refer to his male form as a ‘he’.

I smiled, trying to look amiable. I honestly admired his courage when he joined Arthur on his venture to the black market.

“Well, well, Arthur’s eloquence was persuasive enough for me to take up the position of the Mentor,” - I slowly explained, before continuing: “So now I am sort of bound by professional etiquette.”

Matthew scratched his head: “That’s for Teachers. As a Mentor you can call us students and apprentices whatever you like, haha. Traditions remain strong even in the current age.”

“Really? I have never paid attention to such details.” - I leisurely admitted.

Before I could continue, the ground shook. Stalls fell apart, and people lost their footing. However, everything quieted down in mere moments. Already I saw a few hooded figures levitating as they rose above the crowds and began sorting out the chaos.

Matthew sighed, as he shook hisher sleeve that got dusty from some debris falling from above.

“Agai…” - he began complaining, but shut up as I took a sudden step back.

Carefully calculating the physics involved, I stretched out my hands and caught a lump that fell from above. To absorb the force from the free fall, I shifted sideways, making a quick roll to the side. Otherwise, it would have been impossible to guarantee the safety of the unlucky person. The nearest overhead bridge was more than fifteen meters above us. Or as we were in Britain, somewhere around forty-nine feet. That unit conversion was becoming a habit with all the extra mental capacity I had now.

I stood up and looked down to make sure that the person was alright.

In my arms, was a cute girl, strong but delicate at the same time...

Nope. Futile hope.

There was a fairly ordinary-looking boy whose age seemed to be a bit older than Wilmar and his group. So around sixteen, perhaps? Green eyes, red hair. Genetically rare, but not unusual. Irish?

---

Feeling suspicious about the situation, I looked at him. He froze, stammering as he tried to say something while in shock.

“Ta-ta-ta…”

“Hmm.” - I hummed: “Nice to meet you too.”

“H-h-h-he…”

I calmly kept nodding my head: “You are not an orphan, by any chance?”

“N-n--n-n-no…?”

“No? Good. Lucky one, by the way. Then, any recent weird dreams, memories, fortune tellings?”

“N-n-n-no…?”

“Wonderful. I trust, no odd vendettas, feuds and revenge ideas in your surroundings?”

“N-n-no…”

“Spiritual guides? Family prophesies?”

“W-w-ha? N-no?”

“Perfect. So you just aim for a bridal carry by good-looking older men?” - I narrowed my eyes provocatively.

“Nooooooo!” - the second shock was good enough to jolt him out of stupor, his scream echoing across the street.

“Ah, ha, ha. Joking, joking.” - I truly could not ignore such a good opportunity for a joke.

Matthew was already biting his fist to hide the laugh, but laughing tears were already flowing freely.

I put the unfortunate skydiver on the ground and patted his shoulder: “Be careful, the boy who lived.”

A strangled chortle came from Matthew, as he was already beating his first against the nearby wall.

While Matthew was distracted, I quickly bent forward and whispered: “Careful, watch your back.”

I nodded as his surprised expression turned into a serious one. He gave me a short bow and after a soft “Thank you” disappeared into the crowd. Just in case, I forcefully memorized the details of his appearance.

I looked around, trying to make sense of what I had just encountered.

An assassination attempt in the Akadem? The timing with the earthquake was suspicious, and I had detected that he had been pushed off the bridge. Opportunistic or carefully designed attack? If it was the latter, something serious was going on.

I looked at Matthew, who was calming down.

He wiped his tears and chuckled: “Sir, you read pulp fiction?”

“A good way to remain in touch with modern society.” - I shrugged.

Then I crinkled my brow: “Matthew Marsh.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Who was that?”

“The one who dropped down on you? No idea, to be honest. I can try asking around, find a Teacher, perhaps?”

I shook my head: “No need. Do you know where is Arthur?”

“Mentor? He informed me that he’ll be unavailable today, and actually asked me to find you and answer all the questions you may have.”

“Unavailable? Nevermind.” - I scratched my chin as I thought a bit: “Give me a basic introduction about the place and then I would like to have a look in the Depository.”

Matthew smiled widely: “Of course, Mentor. Please, follow me.”