A million flickers, shooting, sparking. The sounds of the universe collapsing and expanding. Heartbeats languorous and slowly thudding to an eternal tune, just beyond the edges of perception. Entropy rising as the eon progresses.

He shuddered, breath steaming into the chilled air. Eyes rolled, spasmodically cataloging and referencing without understanding. Arms outstreched strained themselves to the edge of breaking, reaching for intangible flows. Muscles shivered with effort, pushed to mortal limits.

The horizon of power grew nearer, a deceptive tide swarming with unrelenting urgency. A wall of storm in his mind eye, a meteor of monumental proportions flaking under his desires. The centuries piled up and fled as he enacted his subtle sorcery.

With a final surging whirl his will coalesced into coporeal form, the climax as ever too swift and brutal. He closed his eyes, fingers flexing with sudden freedom. A gusty sigh was forced out, satisfaction merged with regret at the loss of titanic immensity he had experienced.

When he opened his eyes again he saw it. The culmination of his efforts, the result of intense study and practice. Years spent with a singular determination, his dedication invigorated by success. As always, the same storm of emotions drowned him upon regarding his achievement.

The tunnel bore was smooth, slight tracings of a spiral etched in the curved walls and ceiling. Sound rushed in as he examined his work, the efficient bustle of work and slight slither of magic easing him back to reality. He pulled from his copious sleeve the scroll of parchment, unfurling it to study the design.

He had measured his manipulations with standard precision, matching the precribed depth and length for this section of tunnel. Looking back with a quick glance he took note of the handful of workers clearing behind him, shoveling loose dirt and debris into small carts to be ferried out of the growing system.

Years of experience allowed him to accurately assess the current progress, his expertise judging the efforts of fellow mages as they too expanded tunnels into the underground network. Soon the brute work would be done, and they would move onto finer tunnels, snaking up and around to various locations above them.

His eyes caught on one of the younger mages, still novice enough to allow energy leakage. The younger girl's hair whipped through the air, unearthly wind billowing loosely around her. Other professionals cut disapproving stares at her mentor, an elderly mage more interested in looking busy than directing her.

He shook his head, shamed that this was the standard he now worked alongside. Straightening, he curled the scroll up and tucked it back into place in his sleeve. Disrupting the young mage now would be inadvisable, potentially shattering her attention and releasing a modicum of the chaos she tried to harness. As it was, he knew that a more experienced colleague would more than likely have to refine her work, easing away the roughness and weakness that would be left through her inexperience.

Professional pride had its drawbacks, but he would be damned before he left any potential instability in this system. A good network could function for centuries, allowing the city above to function more efficiently, not to mention more cleanly. If tunnels were poorly made there would be a risk of collapse, blockages and sinkholes. Heaving a sigh, this time filled more with resignation than success, he headed towards her mentor.

Werot was a fine mage, despite his current laxity. Whoever had assigned him to the girl had made a mistake though, as one of his inevitable failings was a reluctance to involve himself with others. As such, he had most likely brushed off concerns regarding the neophyte and just given her a list of work to do. Understandable, but such an approach just created more work.

Standing just below average, Darsel still held himself proudly, his robes relatively clean despite his line of work. He was a well regarded mage, old enough to have accumulated respect for his work and consistency. Confronting Werot would just make the older man stubborn, so instead he approached him casually, greeting him with a genail nod.

"It's all going well, don't you think?" he asked, glancing around the central hub from which the spokes of tunnels branched out of. Not really large enough to be cavernous, it was still large enough for the few tables and chairs that had been brought down. Resting mages sat and ate, replenishing lost energy.

Werot glanced up from the bundle of scrolls he was perusing, a slight squint pinching his face from the strain of reading in low light. His face softened in recognition, before his customary scowl fell back into place.

"Hmph, as it should be, Darsel, as it should be," he replied tersely,"not nearly enough challenge to this kind of... dumb labour."

Darsel nodded sympathetically, scratching his chin.

"True, the later work should be more engaging, once we start connecting up to the streets. A bit more flair needed for that kind of intricacy." As he spoke he let his eyes wander, before resting them on the young mage still carving away at a tunnel. Her hair had now streamed out behind her, the wind blowing more consistently in response to her final focus.

Werot grunted, following Darsel's attention and spotting his unwanted protogè. His scowl deepened with displeasure, which only increased as he took notice of the covert glances of his colleagues. A low grumble eased out of him, annoyance at his burden obvious to everyone around him. Darsel chuckled softly, shooting him an apologetic look when he glared at him.

"Sorry, sorry - it's just that you know what you have to do. Stop being such a grumble bones and at least get her out of here."

Werot sighed, his defences dropping in the face of the easy charisma.

"I know... I just wanted five minutes without prattling so I could actually focus on something."

"It's been five hours!" Darsel exclaimed, earning him a guilty expression from Werot. Older he may be, but in some ways his wisdom certainly didn't reflect it. He grumbled again, reluctantly tying his bundle of scrolls up and stashing them in his sleeve. Easing himself up from the table, he groaned as his legs ached. Stiff from inactivity, he hobbled away from the table, slowly making his way towards his student.

Darsel sat in the now vacant spot, a contemplative look on his face. He would have to talk to the Initiate in charge of training. A mismatched pair could stunt the potential of a student, their growth stymied by a lack of care and opportunity. Werot was too set in his ways, and required prodding to step up to this new task. It would be easier and better if Darsel just cut the man out. Mentally mourning his soon to be lost time, Darsel stood and stretched.

As Werot began harranguing the novice for her sloppy work, Darsel turned back to his work. He had more to do still before he could return to the surface, so the poor gril would just have to suffer for a bit longer. Stepping up to a slight alcove, he once more opened himself to the cosmos.