The clock marked a quarter of solar-arc past sundown – too soon. Mistress Anya's words were to be taken by the precision of each letter pronounced. He was to be in front of the academy by deepnight. Not sooner, not later.

Lucion slowed his steps, pushed the gadget inside his pocket, and walked along the dark cobbles of the avenue of the Third Monarch, cornered by two straight lines of buildings with windows alight. He wasn't short on prestige, being the Academy's best student. Still, it was a pity his efficiency with time would yet go unnoticed by all his classmates.

Lucion abandoned the avenue once he arrived at the height of address C-D.2nd-B.2nd/67, engaging a narrow downward slant uncorking into a path just as thin. Behind him, the trotting of horses running along the avenue faded progressively, white lights diluting in darkness as he marched deeper into the isolated path. Shoulders almost brushing each wall, Lucion walked steadily to reach the heart of the borough.

The façades of the buildings in the first borough of the capital were splendorous. Square and layered with straight geometric forms sculpted on dark rocks mined in the plains. Sometimes even coming from as far as the former Ceri colony in the Bacias Sea. But the architects had given less thought to the back of the buildings, like the ones forming the path Lucion trailed. The walls were flat, straight, and gave off dust that stained one's tunic.

His shoulder pads suffered the most. They would be ruined with stains and scratches once he reached the Academy, but he would be a fool to sweat it when his shoes had caught dirt enough to sculpt an Anutehi sand doll. He needn't worry, if one of the instructors and guards bothered enough, he had the stamp of approval from Mistress Anya herself. She had sent him to heal the forest girl.

His technique had improved immensely since he had been reading the books he'd stolen – borrowed – from Master Fanou's library. He could have done away with the scarring, dissimulated it under the girl's skin, not exactly by healing it the traditional way yet: by creating new living matter and perfectly layering it to already existing flesh – that, he had still to master. But by progressively creating new skin on top of the wound, like a cork of sorts. But The Mistress had been adamant about leaving a scar.

Lucion asked no questions and executed the task with precision. Again, what a pity he couldn't flaunt that to the instructors who would be there to ask more than they should know. As insistent as The Mistress had been about him leaving a scar, Mistress Anya had shown the same determination about keeping the mission a secret.

She needn't raise her voice. She was always collected. But Lucion understood the weight in each word. The result: she had been trusting him with more tasks: getting the body parts for their healing lessons in the mortuaries of the sickhouses in the third borough, sending him for healing missions. Soon, he'd be trusted his first children of the New Galeda to instruct into the arts of grasping flesh. And later, healing, if they showed an affinity for it.

In two years, at eighteen years old, Lucion would be the youngest teacher in the history of the Academy. Like The Father. Or even The Great Betrayer of Geleda. Her power had been immense but Lucion shouldn't take pride in resembling her in any way. Still, he did.

Lucion was smiling when his heels turned to halt at the location of the Academy. Protocol demanded he looked to the sides, up, down. Then he crouched. Tapped twice gently against the bulkhead door on the ground. And he waited while performing his second inspection before tapping the door once this time. The area was free. In the darkness, the door opened to the underground galleries. Lucion descended the stairs.

Two guards stood at the entrance of the galleries, both Gulgra, former students and offspring of New Galeda. Lucion scanned the crests clinging at the height of their chests, sunk onto body-fitting matte leather coats: one carried the sign of a mindhandler, a crest of metal wielded into a perfect circle with two arrows bent into arcs, points up, beyond the limits of the circle. The matterhandler's sign was simpler, an inverted triangle, the arrow that cut the shape diagonally pointing to his strongest side denoted a metal affinity.

Lucion recognized the mindhandler from shared anatomy classes, despite him being at least three years Lucion's senior. He shared other traits with Lucion, an impeccable memory for body components – superior to most of those with any flesh affinity– and a complexion darker than that of most Ceri that perhaps denounced an eastern ancestry.

The mindhandler's extended to Lucion's mind subtly, the threads of his shadows almost imperceptible to Lucion. Impressive. Lucion gave in, a well-trained mindhandler gets into your mind one way or another, even if he had to enter from undue places

The more one resisted the more painful the process was.

Lucion had nothing to hide, his thoughts were clean and his heart set where it should be – building Galeda from the ruins, like all students in the Academy. Soon the intrusive threads were out of Lucion's mind, percolating outside, beyond the smallest slits on the sides of the door's frame to scan for potential observers. It was of utmost importance to keep the Academy's anonymity to the average noble folks of the first borough of the capital.

With imprecise precision, the matterhandler – a swarthy-skinned girl, older than the mindhandler– extended energy from her vessel, grasping heavy chains hung at hooks on the wall. With a swing of hands, the chains shook, levitated, became taut and moved quickly in intricate patterns, in and out the gaps of the metallic handles running the length of door's edge. The chinks were incessant until the work was finished.

"I was sent by Mistress Anya," Lucion said proudly. He hoped to entice jealousy. To his surprise, the guards kept their silence, their hands resting on the matt leather of the uniforms, tucked to their chests.

"The Mistress waits for you in the dining room," the matterhandler said simply.

Keeping his disappointment at check, Lucion scanned their faces, nodded, and turned away. He plunged into the darkness, cut only once he was out of the sinuous and intricate gallery, when he set foot on the first floor. At the extremity of the corridor, one small lantern of white-crystal dust shone, casting a narrow glare towards the path leading to the dining room. A smile already outlined on his face, Lucion paced forward, excited with the prospect of confirming he'd accomplished the task with which The Mistress had entrusted him.

Normally, this late the dining room was already closed. The Mistress had called for an exception. She sat there on the central table, hands resting on the slick, spanning dark surface standing on twelve robust and curvedly polished legs. The table was cornered on all sides by four perfect replicas, the whole bathed in complete, soothing darkness. After being used to withstand even the most hostile of firelights, sometimes Lucion only realized the need for such darkness and the calm it brought forth once it had caught him by surprise.

Lucion bowed. "Mistress," he said.

She regarded Lucion intently with a blank expression, holding her round clock hoisted at the tip of her pendant. She never smiled. The absence of her anger was enough to rule out discontentment. "Perfect timing," The Mistress said, letting her clock pendant swing towards her chest. "Never expected less from you."

"I did as you asked, Mistress," Lucion said, head down. "Healed her arm and reminded her of your convocation for tomorrow morning."

"Well you must be tired then," The Mistress said. "That girl you healed, she's a good girl. Has been helping us make ties with the popular revolution. You know Lucion, in fact, Mister Fanou, and I believe it would be suitable to join forces with the popular uprising. We share grievances towards the Monarchy. We should be stronger together."

Lucion flinched. Hoped the Mistress didn't realize it. He trusted her judgment, but joining forces with a historical enemy was a crumb of meatbread too think to swallow.

"Unfortunately, she has had a terrible accident and broke her arm."

He tensed further. Sometimes Lucion regretted that he couldn't extend to brain tissues. Because he knew The Mistress was lying.

The girl's bones hadn't broken in an accident. Accidents cracked bone from the exterior, leaving irregular fissures that could extend palms away from the injury, while other parts could remain intact. The forest girl had perfect injuries, with pressure points on the bone applied with a precision that only a fleshhandler with impressive affinity to bone tissues could master.

The Mistress ignored how much Lucion had evolved in his skills, he realized. Of course, she could have completely withheld that information. But Lucion wondered why she had resorted to a lie badly so thought out.

The Mistress' hand brushed his chin, and lightly directed his gaze to hers, her grey eyes, which Lucion had always found so beautiful, scarred him now. "Yes, Mistress. Healing the wound took a tool on me," he lied. He was glad The Mistress couldn't extend to brain tissues too, and that Mister Fanou wasn't to be aware of his mission outside the academy. "Still, I accomplished the task."

"Good," she said. "Did she speak to you?"

"Not a word, Mistress," Lucion lied again. He had kept his silence, as the Mistress had asked from him, of course. But the forest girl had spoken. That would amount to less than a perfect score. He preferred to have the Mistress think he'd done a perfect job.

"I'll ask Mirela to fix you something to eat."

"Please, don't bother, Mistress," Lucion said. "It's late and it could raise questions from people who shouldn't know about the mission."

"I'm aware," The Mistress said. "I've thought that through, although you're very pertinent. You healers have a kind of curse in your hands, unlike the rest of us, the energy you take from the vessel never really returns there; in a way you are killing yourselves. Nourishing your body is the least you could do. I am impressed by your talents, Lucion, you are brilliant." She leaned down to look Lucion's eyes from up close. "But I'd rather preserve your health. Mirela will come to your room to bring you your evening meal."

"Yes, Mistress."

"And don't mention anything to anyone." She was almost whispering. "Avoid being alone with Mister Fanou without me at all costs. And remember that if you stay out of trouble, he'll have no reason to read your thoughts. But I don't expect you to disappoint me on that."

"Of course not."

Then The Mistress did something terrible. She smiled. In its brevity, the skin folds creasing her cheeks and brows still managed to be utterly terrible.

"Go."

Lucion did.

Even as he reached the third floor of the academy which harbored the rooms of the advanced students, Lucion couldn't properly shake The Mistress' image from his thoughts. Lucion had always admired her capacity to keep her composure. It was disappointing to catch her in a lie without intending to do so. The Mistress had to know what she risked. She had to know that the forest girl could have revealed things Lucion wasn't supposed to know. And she had to be sure Lucion would tell the truth and most of all that she could trust him – or not. The realization hit Lucion like an arrow to his chest. Mirela could extend and grasp brain tissues. That was why The Mistress was sending her to his room. The food was bait.

He had lied to The Mistress. And she would know now. If The Mistress had indeed gone this far to make sure she controls everything, he needed to ensure Mirela's reading of his mind was as inaccurate as possible. Lucion rushed his walk to his bedchambers. She wasn't an experienced extender. A few tricks should work and if they did not, he was screwed. As soon as he was inside his chambers– a windowless square five strides long on all sides with one bed, one desk, and drawers sculpted on the wall facing the bed– he locked the door, sprang to his drawers to retrieve three fire lanterns that he set ablaze. He let out a grunt of pain at the sight of the lights. His vessel appeared to rip his chest apart, aching to spill into the room. He'd been training for a long time to withstand the light and tame his vessels. He'd done it several times with one lantern. He could do it with three. He screamed in agony. He could not. It felt as if even his skin wanted to rip itself out of his body.

He imagined Mirela feeling that same pain. That could be efficient to distract her. He either withstood the pain or he took the risk of being expelled from the academy – was that even possible? He'd known of one single expelled student. Although the rumors said he had fled.

Knocks sounded from the door. "Putrid venom."

Lucion realized his forehead was already clammy with sweat. He took off his coat and cleaned his forehead then crouched and lifted the double layer of sheets to rip cotton from his mattress. He made small balls of it and used it to clog his ears and nose to further deter Mirela's shadow threads from reaching his brain.

He wouldn't speak. And internally he repeated the words: I am very hungry; this came at the perfect moment." Incessantly, although aching to get rid of the cotton making it hard to breathe and the firelight.

As soon as he opened the door, the same glare of fire that seemed bent on burning him from within flashed outside the room, casting a spot of light toward Mirela. She recoiled three steps. "Why do you have fire burning this late?" threads of shadows dissipated in the air. Mirela had already been extending. "It's against the rules."

It took a moment for Lucion to process The Mistress betrayal — was it one despite feeling so?

"It's against the rules to do it on the corridors. I'm training in my room," Lucion said finally. The Mistress didn't trust him after all. The realization seemed to erode something inside him, although he didn't know what it was exactly. Mirela's strategy had been the surprise. Lucion hadn't affinity for brain matter, but he had a better knowledge of the body than most students in the academy. If Mirela reached into her vessel at his sight, Lucion would know. Knowing The Mistress, Mirela was to keep her discretion. Lucion didn't make the task any easier, he stared at Mirela as if ready to challenge her for a whitecircle battle. It would take some scruples for her to attempt grasp his brain.

He continued: I am very hungry... He stepped towards Mirela, heels clipping on the ground. He took the bawl out of her hands. I am very hungry. "Ancients and Late Galedeans pay you." Mirela kept her silence. She stood there, disconcerted. "You need help?" Lucion asked. "Some kind of healing?"

She shook her head. Now she didn't look so sure of herself. A fleshgrasper like him, but with affinity to brain tissue, Mirela had secured a spot among the best students of the academy. New Galeda would soon rise. Like Lucion, she knew earning the Mistress trust was the first step to secure a position in the new society.

Lucion almost pitied her. Because the only choice she had now was to lie to The Mistress. He turned away and re-entered his chamber. The door shut behind him; he extinguished the lanterns with trembling hands and flumped back-first onto his bed, tired as if he'd walked around the first borough of the domain thrice.

If Mirela opted to avoid The Mistress's wrath, he would be out of The Mistress' shot. If unexpectedly, Mirela chose honesty and confessed she'd failed to read Lucion's thoughts, The Mistress was bound to enter his room at any moment. Either way, Lucion knew he was too exposed and with too little information at his hands. He remembered the words of the forest girl: she had a sister in the academy, Una.

Lucion had given up asking questions about his origins long ago. Like all students, the first memories he had were of him entering the academy as a child, around seven years-old, Mister Fanou holding his hand. He'd been younger than that, surely. Gulgra aged differently but still were born like regular humans. The few books on Gulgra mentioned nothing about them only becoming conscious at eight years-old. Still, none of the students rembered their lives before New Galeda.

If the forest girl had been right, it means they had been abducted from their families. Despite himself, his breathing quickened. Suddenly, The Mistress' lies made sense. The forest girl was reclaiming her sister and The Mistress broke her bones – why had she not killed her? Lucion shook his head at the thought — stop now Lucion.

He was destined for success and everything favored him. New Galeda would rise within seasons. He had a position of prestige waiting for him. Perhaps even in the government. He was brilliant. The Mistress had said. But could he trust her?

He would soon be trusted with his first pupil to instruct, and with some luck, he could tutor Una.

As if to prepare himself for the pain that was to come, or perhaps to keep his thoughts away from where they were leading him, he gathered his lanterns again, set them ablaze, and agonized. But this time he didn't allow himself to let out even a grunt.