Akari stretched out her arms and formed a full-body shield. Relia struck the shield with a barrage of pure Missiles, threatening to shatter it like a glass plate. Akari’s body shook as she cycled harder, packing the Construct with more mana.

Until now, she’d focused on her shaping skills, but Elend had advised against that.

“Shaping is the most versatile skill for this test,” he’d told her a few days before. “But raw power matters too, especially on the Construct and Cloak portions. And I’ll be honest here, lass—you’re looking at some low scores in these sections.”

Gee, thanks.

“We can’t help that,” he’d said. “But we can still control the narrative.”

Akari’s shield finally broke, and the next Missile took her square in the face. She staggered back but didn’t lose her balance.

“Oops.” Relia covered her mouth as if she’d just said a bad word. “Sorry!”

“It’s cool.” Akari removed her glasses and examined them. Unlike her old pair, these had Apprentice-level micro-Constructs in the frames and lenses. That was the best invention ever, and she wondered why all glasses didn’t come with those.

Right, she remembered a second later. The Darklights are richer than the Angels.

They fell back into their combat stances for the next round. This time, Relia raised her own shield while Akari tried to break it.

It was grueling work, but that was nothing new. As a Bronze, she’d had to cobble Missiles together from mere drops of mana. This was the same idea, but at a larger scale. Every attack drained a fraction of her soul, but the Missiles were strong enough to shatter brick walls.

Relia’s shields were far stronger than brick walls. Even then, the other girl held back her full power, using just enough to push Akari to her limits.

“The narrative is simple,” Elend had said. “If Akari Zeller is this strong now, then what could she do at Apprentice? You won’t fool anyone, of course. The board will be looking at your stats the whole time. But that’s the best part, isn’t it? Humans are most impressed by things they can’t explain.”

Kalden also trained in the Darklight’s backyard. Sometimes, he’d take a turn sparring with Relia. Other days, he’d keep his distance, attempting to form blades of pure mana, the way he had in Creta.

Except now, it took him well over ten seconds to form a single blade. That was fine for practice, but no real opponents would stand there twiddling their thumbs while you crafted a deadly weapon.

What’s he planning? Did he want to become a Blade Artist again, even knowing he’d never be as good as before? They’d asked him several times now, and he gave some vague answers like “testing the waters” or “keeping my options open.”

It was annoying, but Akari felt his pain. Simple aspects like fire or water only took a few months of preparation. Even on Arkala, high school students would enter the school’s Mana Arts program and emerge with aspects by the end of that semester.

But that wasn’t true for high-level aspects.

Relia had spent years traveling the world with her first master. She’d worked everywhere from hospitals to battlefields, internalizing life and death.

Akari had spent over a decade studying space and time, along with all the related math and science she’d need to know. Her parents had surrounded her with their mana every day. Not just their techniques, but countless artifacts around the house.

And Kalden had been studying sword fighting since before he could walk. This aspect had been in his family for generations, and they’d spent years in Shoken finding him the best teachers.

You couldn’t just toss that knowledge aside, and you definitely couldn’t replace it overnight.

~~~

This new training routine continued over the next few weeks. Akari started each morning with a workout—usually weightlifting on Irinday, Narsday, and Kelsday. She went for a run the other days, following Chapel Street west toward KU, or taking Frostville Ave south along the bay.

Even after three straight weeks, she never got bored with the water. Most coastal cities had multi-story mana walls to protect them against tidal waves, but Koreldon City was the exception. The state of Estrana held back the waves from the northeast, while a smaller peninsula guarded them to the south. This gave them a view of endless, unobstructed water.

Some parts of Koreldon felt dull and gray, but not the sea. The sea came with a rush of power—the power of distant manastorms churning miles off the shore. Each wave was an echo of a faraway tide, and she could practically taste the mana on her tongue.

The city still had walls, of course. Their metal bases were visible beyond the pier, ready to spring to life at a moment’s notice. Those came on for monthly tests, but they hadn’t had an actual tidal wave in years.

Akari always followed her workouts with a shower and a high-protein breakfast. Then she spent a few hours studying for the written portion of her exams. This was her least favorite part of the work day, so she gulped down the metaphorical frog as fast as possible.

“What were the first Espirian states to break free from the Shokenese Empire?” Glim asked from her bedroom mirror. And how’d they do it?”

Akari and Kalden had both studied with Glim these past few weeks. Apparently, the mana spirit had a flawless memory, similar to Irina’s Second Brain. This made her a perfect flashcard machine.

Glim also formed a ticking clock in the top right corner of the mirror. The real written test was timed, so every second mattered.

Akari drew in a deep breath. “New Cadria, Shosal, Costria, and Rireda. The Shokenese had two factions at that point, and Mystic Everrest played their leaders against each other.”

“Almost,” Glim said with a raised finger. “Except Shosal was never a Shokenese colony.” A map of dream mana formed in the mirror beside her, and she pointed to the northwest corner. “See? You’re thinking of Sheton.”

Damnit. Hard to remember all the Espirian states when you’d just spent two years thinking they were barren wastelands.

The clock reset, and Glim continued. “Why hasn’t transmutation achieved more widespread use in the alchemy field?”

Akari had no idea. However, certain patterns emerged across Mana Arts and its related professions.

“It’s expensive,” she said with feigned confidence. “The mana they spend is worth more than the results. And transmutation is based on weight, so a bigger payoff means a bigger cost.”

Glim gave her a thumbs-up. “How are alchemists working to fix this problem?”

“Waste conversion. If one company pays them to take their garbage, they might have a chance of breaking even.” Akari had just made that up, but Glim didn’t need to know that.

“You just made that up!” Glim said.

Akari kept a straight face. “You’re saying I’m wrong?”

Glim nodded primly. “Alchemists are working on an aspect that specializes in transmutation. That’ll bring the cost down in theory, because they’ll be spending mana that was designed for the task. They even have an aspecting manual written, but they can’t find any volunteers.”

That was another classic problem in the Mana Arts world. Most volunteers wouldn’t be good enough to handle something so abstract as “transmutation mana”. And anyone good enough wouldn’t risk uncharted territory.

Glim’s timer reset again. “How much will a square’s area change if you increase the sides by ten percent?”

Akari did some quick mental arithmetic. “Twenty-one percent.”

Glim gave her another thumbs-up. “You got that two seconds faster than Kalden.”

Akari grinned at that. Their schedules were similar, which meant Kalden could be studying with Glim at this very moment. After all, Grandmaster-level mana spirits could split themselves into independent parts. Sure, each new Glim was weaker than the original Glim, but that hardly mattered for a simple flashcard program.

And “program” really was the right word here. Glim didn’t just have an eidetic memory the way humans did. Her mind worked more like a computer.

Or an artificial intelligence.

Akari thought of the Archipelago, and all the strange rules it followed. Some people like Maelyn Sanako got to keep their Mana Arts, but not their aspects. Others, like Akari and her parents, lost their Mana Arts entirely. And then there was Agent Frostblade who’d kept his Mana Arts and his aspect.

Despite that, the world still followed a strange sort of logic. People like Akari’s father had wielded aspects that were considered too advanced, so of course they’d lost them. So had anyone with low birth mana.

Meanwhile, Emberlyn Frostblade had gone from an alchemist to a Combat Artist. But even that followed the internal logic. In real life, her father had been an ordinary member of Last Haven's militia. But his increased status as a Gold Martial made it more probable that his daughter would follow in his footsteps.

But who invented all this? Mana Artists hadn’t been concerned about birth rank for several centuries, and they definitely hadn’t worn badges. But someone had designed a world that followed these imaginary rules, down to the last detail.

No ordinary human could do this—there were too many small decisions and nuances. Not just for the island itself, but the lives and memories of a quarter-million people.

Akari’s first theory had been a machine-based artificial intelligence, but Relia claimed those didn’t exist in the outside world. But of course they didn’t exist. Why bother with a machine if you could make an AI entirely out of mana?

But then things got crazier. Akari knew about machine-based AI from movies. But those movies only existed on the Archipelago—a contrived world without mana-based AI. That meant whoever made that world had erased all knowledge of mana-based AI. Not only that, but they'd followed that absence to its logical conclusion: if people couldn’t create AI with mana, they would find another way.

Talek. That gave her a headache just thinking about it.

“Hey!” Glim snapped her fingers. “Are you even listening?

“Sorry.” Akari blinked at the physics equation Glim had written on the mirror. “Eighty-five seconds.”

“Is that the answer, or the number on the clock?”

Akari flipped her off.

Glim laughed. “Thinking of Kalden?”

“Actually, no.”

“Why don’t you guys just study together?” Glim suggested.

“Ask him. He’s the one avoiding us.” That wasn’t entirely true, but it was close enough. Kalden still talked to her and Relia, but he didn’t act like their friend anymore. He acted more like a co-worker. Polite, but distant.

“I did ask him,” Glim said.

Akari perked up. “What’d he say?”

“No comment.”

Akari frowned. “You’re not gonna tell me?”

“No, no.” Glim shook her head. “He literally said ‘no comment.’”

“Why?”

She crossed her blue arms. “He said my reputation for gossip proceeds me, and that I’d turn his words against him.”

Akari shrugged. “He’s not wrong about that.” She’d been careful what she said around Glim too. Elend had even warned them their first day here, explaining how he could see Glim’s memories, and how nothing they said around her was private.

“Yeah.” Glim crossed her arms again, more dramatically this time. “You guys are no fun at all. Except for Relia. She’s an absolute gem.”

Glim sure had a lot of emotions for an advanced AI.

“But why don’t you ask him?” Glim suggested. “You don’t strike me as timid or old-fashioned.”

“I’m not.”

Glim leaned forward. She didn’t actually emerge from the mirror, but her face seemed closer than before. “So…?”

“No comment.”

“Come on!” Glim said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Akari twirled a mechanical pencil between her fingers. “Let’s get back to work.”

“Thought you needed a break, Miss Eighty-Five Seconds”

“Thought your job was to keep me focused,” Akari retorted.

“Come on. “ Glim clasped her hands together, making a cloud of sparkling blue mist. “I’m doomed to be forever single. At least give me some vicarious romance.”

“Why not fangirl over Elend and Irina? At least they’re a real couple.”

Glim waved a hand. “They got boring like forty years ago. Especially Irina. Have you seen her Second Brain?” Glim used dream mana to draw several ellipses around her upper body. “They’re just cold, heartless versions of me.”

“Great,” Akari muttered.

“Are you worried Kalden will say no?”

Akari shook her head and squeezed her pencil tighter. More likely, Kalden would say yes, but his statue impression would put those heartless rings to shame. They’d spend the whole time studying in cold, professional silence. She would try to meet his eyes, but he’d never look away from his textbooks. She’d try to start a conversation, but he’d give her one-word answers.

After that, they’d feel even farther apart than before.

Was this because of his lost hand, or because he’d merged with his old personality? Akari had worried about her old self taking over, but that hadn’t happened. She’d learned from her mistakes, and she’d proven that by following Elend’s advice to the letter. She had Dream Akari’s memories, but she hadn’t become her.

It was different for Kalden, though. Almost as if his loss had woken a slumbering dragon deep inside his soul.

Akari sent mana into her forearm, squeezing the pencil until it snapped. Damnit. This was all his fault. He’d started this that day on the roof when he said he liked her. She never would have gotten her hopes up otherwise.

Glim’s smile faded. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Already got a therapist,” she said.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Glim continued. “Not even Elend. He won’t view my memories. Not if I tell him it’s important.”

“Maybe,” Akari said. “But it’s getting hot in here.”

Glim cocked her head to the side. “Want me to go turn the air conditioning down?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Then, before Glim could say another word, Akari grabbed the hem of her tank top and pulled it off over her head.

“Wait—” Glim started to say. Then she flickered out like a dead lightbulb.

The mana spirit had some built-in functions that barred her from entering rooms if people weren’t dressed. Akari, being the hacker she was, abused this rule whenever she wanted to end a conversation.

~~~

Her study sessions usually went on until lunchtime, then she’d switch to Mana Arts training in the backyard. After that came dinner, which they ate together in the dining room. Or the breakfast nook. Whatever it was called.

Elend still had a few more weeks before he got back to work, so he usually joined them for meals. But Irina tended to work all day. She’d be gone at six in the morning before Akari left for her morning jogs, and she wouldn’t return until well past nine in the evenings. Clearly, she didn’t follow Elend’s advice about balance and resting.

Speaking of resting, that was definitely the hardest part of the day. She’d spent the first day pacing the trails in the backyard, trying to cycle ambient mana through her palms. Her body itched to train more, or even to study in her room. Anything was better than nothing.

To make matters worse, Kalden didn’t have to follow Elend’s rules. While Akari paced around after dinner, he just kept on training, careless as a cat.

“That’s bullshit,” she said to Elend one day on the covered patio. “Kalden gets to keep working, but I can’t?”

“Oh no.” Elend lowered his sunglasses at her. “He’s even worse than you, lass. Irina tried telling him that. So did Relia.”

She deflated at that, and her eyes settled on the silhouette of Kalden forming blades against the setting sun.

“But unlike you, Kalden didn’t ask for my help. Not that he needs it. The lad will write a great essay about how he lost his hand in battle, and the board will gulp it down like soulshiners.”

Talek, he was right. It was basically an improved version of Akari’s story. But while she looked cocky and impatient for applying early, Kalden looked brave and determined.

“It will work,” Elend said. “But not forever. That’s the thing about training—there’s always another challenge ahead. Too many Mana Artists look forward to that ultimate goal of immortality, and they forget that most of them will die first. They forget to live along the way.”

She actually liked how Kalden kept looking ahead as opposed to settling for less—she was the same way. A month ago, she wouldn’t have even seen the problem with endless training.

Now, the problem was clear as glass. Kalden’s life was a three-legged table that would eventually collapse, and he was too focused on the future to realize it.

And so Akari kept training by day and resting in the evening. To her surprise, the rest actually helped. Sometimes, she would get stuck on an alchemy equation, only for the answer to strike her later on the patio. Almost as if her brain were chipping away in the background.

And it was the same with her Mana Arts. Mental breakthroughs had been a rare thing before—emerging only in moments of true desperation. Now, her mind and body flowed easier than ever. She’d mastered more than a dozen new shaping techniques, and her pre-Cloak was strong enough to lift three times her bodyweight.

Even her mana count increased more than seventy points since she’d started. That pace wouldn’t get her to Apprentice before her admissions, but she might make it before midterms.

Despite her progress, she waged a daily war with her ever-present doubts. What if Elend was wrong about all this? What if this balanced path was a recipe for mediocrity, and she’d never rank among the best Artists in the world?

But then she remembered what Elend had said that day in the gym. Her parents had lived balanced lives too. They’d only been in their late thirties when Last Haven fell. But in their final hour, they’d taken on a Mystic.