The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Phin knocked quietly at his sister's door. She opened it immediately, as if she'd been waiting just on the other side. "Oh, good," she sighed, keeping her voice low. "I was beginning to worry you'd forgotten."

"And miss a day with my best girl?" Phin whispered, rubbing his eyes. "Never."

Fiona chuckled. "Well, I don't imagine her day will start for a few hours more." She patted her short, dark hair, combed perfectly flat. Her dark robe, of finer fabric than Phin's rough white linen one, looked new, though Phin knew for a fact she'd had it since before Robin's birth. He didn't know how she kept it so pristine, but she'd always been that way: Fiona never left the house looking less than her best, even on those days that her spells required her to begin before sunrise. "I've made up the couch for you," Fiona said, waving toward the thickly padded couch she'd already moved to the middle of the room. Half of the year, it stayed against the wall by the window, but in autumn and winter, Fiona kept it closer to the hearth. It made the entire room feel crowded and cozy.

"Bless you, sis," Phin said, yawning and stretching before he settled in among the stacks of old knitted blankets that his sister collected.

"Bless yourself," she said, laughing softly at him. "I could never do this spell without your help. I'd never be able to focus and watch her at the same time."

Phin nodded, waving her away. "It's no trouble at all. Really."

"Well, I'm grateful all the same. These sunrise-to-sunset castings are not my favorite." She paused by a vase near the door where her collection of wands made a rather plain bouquet and seemed to debate with herself before choosing a short length of rowanwood and slipping it into her robe. She turned back before she left. "Speaking of favorites, I had Mistress Randell bake some of that bread you like - it's in the larder. Help yourself."

Bless you, sis, Phin thought again to himself. He chuckled. "You can believe I will. Go, before you miss your window."

"You two have fun today," she said, closing the door behind her.

Phin laid back against the nest of blankets, some as old as he was, their wool gone soft and pliant from years of use. Later, he and Robin would eat Miss Dahlia's lemon bread, and then maybe he'd take her to the greenhouse. They'd pick a few lemons to take to Miss Dahlia in thanks, and Phin could raid her garden for dock leaves. Robin was probably old enough to help him brew another batch of Antidote, and then they could deliver it to the farm. He didn't want Robin to see the old ram in that condition, but he'd seen some baby goats at Steffan's place the other day, which should serve as an adequate distraction.

Planning his day, he closed his eyes, drifting off in the predawn dark. He was nearly asleep when the noise jolted him awake, a crash of breaking glass and splintering wood. In the little bedroom she shared with her mother, Robin screamed. Phin leaped from the couch, his aether sight snapping into being at his will. Through it, he could see that Robin was still in her bed in the corner, uninjured, but someone else was in the room. Phin flew through the open doorway, a ball of fire springing to life in his hand. He nearly lost his hold on it as his shin slammed into something hard and unyielding. He tripped.

Someone grabbed his forearm, held him up. By the light of the flames he held, Phin saw the face of the intruder, the one they called Sarda, the prophet the apprentices had been searching for these past few days. He stood where the dresser should have been - the massive item of furniture had toppled over, the source of the crash, the thing Phin had tripped on - and Sarda's eyes were bright with both aether and fear. "There's no time!" he said, as Robin continued to scream. "No time! It needs four! Black and white, dark and light! You have to tell them!"

"Who?" Phin asked, half dazed.

"Everyone!" Sarda hissed. "All of them, together! Equal and opposite! But the light! It ends with the light!"

And then he was gone. Phin fell, hitting the heavy wooden dresser elbow first. Pain shot through his already bruised leg as that same knee came down hard on a shard of glass, the remains of the lamp that normally rested atop the dresser, broken now, scattered over the floor. Phin cried out, and Robin called, "Uncle Phin!" as she started to scramble out of the bed.

Phin moved without thinking, crossing the room in one bound, sweeping her up to prevent her from stepping on the glass. His knee screamed at him, but he ignored it. "I'm here, sweetling. Uncle's here." The child wept into his chest. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

Robin shook her head. "There was a man in my room!"

"He's gone now," Phin said, hugging her close. He sat on the bed, shifting her weight off his wounded leg. "Hold tight a moment. I just need to heal-"

"But where did he go, uncle? Where did he go?"

Phin shook his head, too focused on his Cures to consider the question. "I don't know."

"Is he going to come back?" Robin asked, eyes wide with worry as she looked around the room. She gasped. "There's blood! Uncle! You're bleeding!"

Phin shushed her, lifting his glowing hands as his spell resolved, showing her the tear in his trouser leg and the unmarred skin underneath. "No, no, sweetling. I've fixed it. I've fixed it."

"Where did he go?" she asked again.

"He-" Phin began. He shook his head. "I don't know."

Robin curled against him and cried.

"We're alright," Phin told her. "Shh, sweetling. He only scared us a little. We're alright." But as he patted his young niece's head, his hand was shaking more than a little.

'Dine hurried to the clinic, silently berating herself. Late again. Not that the big lug needed someone by his side at all times, but, well, she wouldn't want a patient getting lonely. She didn't care to keep them company herself, but she was better than no one at all. And it was clinic policy. And it was her turn.

She was somewhat relieved, therefore, when she turned up at last and found that Kane wasn't alone after all. He was sitting up in his bed, propped up on a stack of pillows, smiling and laughing with Tylen Stokely. Kane held a tray of machina parts and small tools in his lap, a stack of books on the bed beside him. Stokely held another book up for Kane, pointing out something within its pages. They both looked up as 'Dine stepped in, and though Kane's smile never faltered, 'Dine was satisfied to see that Stokely's did. In fact, there was a glimmer of fear in the young man's eyes, if 'Dine wasn't mistaken. Good, she thought. That one needs to show more respect.

"Nice to see you're sitting up. Saves me the trouble of putting you there," 'Dine said.

Kane shrugged. "Moira said it was good for the lungs."

"That it is. Comfortable?"

"Not at all."

She shrugged. "Can't fix that." At least he wasn't complaining about it. She went to the counter, found that Moira or Wrede or the girl had left the ingredients for the morning tonic lined up near the smallest cauldron, their labeled jars making a tidy row. She warmed the cauldron with a quick spell, began to measure out the herbs into a base of cod liver oil. "I won't be a minute with this brew."

"Take your time," Kane said. He motioned to the tray full of cogs and metal bits. "As you can see, I've been plenty entertained."

'Dine snorted. "Yes, I see. Literally a minute, though."

"Tylen here says I'll be building my own boat in no time."

"Most amusing," 'Dine said dryly. She finished the tonic, poured it into a shallow bowl. "We've a regimen to follow here, Stokely. Get out."

Kane sighed. "Would you excuse us, Tylen?"

"Sure," Stokely said, seeming abashed by 'Dine's rudeness. "I, uh, was just leaving. I'll bring you that engine to poke at tomorrow." He left, never once making eye contact with 'Dine.

"Hmm," Kane said, his smile shrinking down to a sarcastic grin. "You white mages have such a way with people."

'Dine snorted. "Good to know I haven't lost my touch." Carefully, she carried the bowl to Kane's bed and passed it to him. "You'll drink this down, and I'll have none of your..." She trailed off, watching in surprise as Kane raised the bowl to his lips and gulped the greasy concoction down. "...sass," she finished lamely.

Kane grimaced, suppressing a shudder. "Done," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. "What next?"

"Um," 'Dine said. She had expected arguments, had been prepared for a fight. She wasn't sure how to react to complete compliance. "You'll be needing your breakfast, I expect."

Kane frowned. "Going to be that bitter oat mash again?"

"With the dandelion greens in, yes."

Kane sighed. "Alright. But can I have some of that tea with it to dull the taste?"

'Dine started to ask which tea, then saw a jar of black snakeroot near the kettle. "Moira's been sharing that with you?"

Kane nodded.

"Hmph," 'Dine said. Well, clearly Moira hadn't told him what the tea was for. "A whole pot, sure. You need to keep hydrated anyway."

"Great," Kane said, picking up the book Stokely had left behind. "Don't hurry on my account. I'm good here."

'Dine grunted. She turned her back to him, facing the counter as she assembled the simple, curative meal. No arguments? Not a single complaint? If all she had to do to keep him pliable was tolerate those childish machina books, it was a small price to pay.

Alistair wove through the stacks toward his office where Orin had set up shop. The monk had a map of the lake spread out on the desk, lines of red ink showing the places where the black mage apprentices had been able to follow Sarda's aura trail, and little stone markers showing spots where they had actually sighted him. The apprentices had noted the dates and times of the sightings, their written reports making a clutter of the normally ordered office. Orin thought some pattern could be found in the randomness.

Alistair found Orin right where he expected him to be, in the office along with Thad and Jack, deep in discussion. "I just think the more time we can give him between now and the solstice-" Jack was saying, though he cut off abruptly when Alistair came in.

Orin and Thad looked up at the doorway. Orin smiled despite the interruption. "What news, my friend?"

"I've had a message from one of the apprentices," he said. "It seems Sarda appeared near Steffan's farm only a short while ago."

"Oh?" Orin said. He turned to the map, his hand hovering over it, tracing some line of thought, before he stabbed his finger downward. "This farm, would it perhaps be located in this area?"

Alistair nearly gasped in surprise. "Almost precisely. I take it this only supports your theories, then?"

"I told you!" the boy said. "I told you I could figure it out!"

Orin winked. "I believe it was I who told you." He turned to Jack. "Do you see how useful he has been? We could not have come to these conclusions without him."

"But Orin-!" Thad whined.

"Hush," Orin said. "I was speaking to Jack."

The boy grumbled.

Orin faced Jack again. "I can spare him at night. He is needed here during the day."

Jack nodded. "That will be enough." He dipped his head respectfully to Orin, then slid past Alistair toward the library stacks without so much as an acknowledgement.

Alistair couldn't stifle an undignified "harrumph". The lack of respect! Just limit his access to the collections, he thought. See how he fares in his studies then.

"Master Pearl?" a voice spoke up from just outside the office door. Alistair turned to find Patrice Aurum, one of Brend's apprentices.

"Ah, Miss Aurum! What can I do for you?"

"These artifacts you lent us? None of them are quite what I needed. I wondered if I could trouble you for another batch."

"Of course. It's no trouble." He stepped forward, patting his robes for the key to the stairwell door that led to the archives, but then he hesitated. Patrice was very much a prodigy. A little special treatment, perhaps? "Would you like to come downstairs and choose the artifacts yourself?"

The girl blushed slightly. "Oh, but I'm only an apprentice! I'm not allowed-"

"Nonsense," said Alistair, waving her concerns away. "You're certainly allowed if I accompany you." He eyed the wooden box she carried, considering. "Boy, come and carry this box for Miss Aurum."

Thad scoffed at the command. "I'm Orin's apprentice! Not yours!"

"Young master Shipman!" Orin said, his tone scolding. "You may be my apprentice, but I am most certainly willing to lend you to other great masters, even if only to do their heavy lifting!"

Patrice smiled apologetically. "It's not that heavy! I can carry it myself!"

Orin chuckled. "Only a figure of speech, Miss Aurum. My apprentice will, of course, carry this box for you simply because you are a lady and it is the polite thing to do. Is that not right, Thadius?"

Thad grumbled, but he took the box willingly enough and followed at a respectful distance when Alistair said, "Right this way," motioning the young woman along.

After unlocking the door, he lit the mage lamps in the stairwell with a wave of his hand, noting with some satisfaction Patrice's small gasp of surprise. "Have you never visited the archives before?" Alistair asked, knowing the answer already - no one visited the archives without his permission.

"No, never!" Patrice said, eyeing the depth of the stairwell. "But I've heard so much about them from Master Brend. I didn't realize they were so far down!"

"And how is your master faring? I've not seen much of him these days." A lie. Alistair had been around for tea with Brend only a fortnight ago, but he prided himself on his ability to make polite conversation, particularly with any clever young mages to whom he might be beholden one day.

Patrice smiled, still blushing. "Oh, he's well! Thank you for asking. I'll tell him you inquired after him."

So polite. So nervous. Alistair smiled back, trying to put her at ease. No doubt she knew what a privilege it was to visit the archives at her age. He saw the way her eyes widened as they descended the stairs, as Alistair lit the lamps at the bottom showing the expansive space. The high-ceilinged chamber ran the length and breadth of the entire library, but had been dug deeply. Spells kept the air circulating, its temperature cooled as much by magic as by the depth of the stone walls and floor. Along the walls, high, deep shelves held an assortment of trunks and crates, each labeled with an inscribed metal plate bespelled to glow slightly in the reflected light of the mage lamps. In the open floor space at the room's center, flanked by load bearing pillars, were a number of raised daises displaying larger artifacts, among them a defunct airship engine, a near complete fossilized behemoth skeleton, and a carefully preserved set of white mage robes that were more than two thousand years old.

"Oh, my!" the girl said wonderingly. She raised a hand toward the behemoth skull - people did have an almost irrepressible urge to touch these things! - but Alistair saw her lower it again without being asked. He liked her more already. "My master told me about the skeleton, but he never mentioned how big it was! The teeth! These creatures really still exist?"

"On some of the northern continents, yes," Alistair said. He looked back at Orin's apprentice, searching the boy's face for any of the awe apparent in the girl's, but the child seemed almost bored, almost as if he had seen it all before. I knew he had been sneaking in here. I knew it. Alistair schooled his features - plenty of time to have a word with the boy later - and kept his polite smile firmly fixed. "The Leifenish focus objects are just here," he said, gently steering the girl toward one of the rows of shelves. "They're ordered more or less by type, and by age after that, though many of the ages are only estimations."

"How do you figure the ages? Is it the degradation of the spells?"

"Yes, very good. That, and the style of the objects. The Leifenish were a very fashion-conscious people. We can often guess an object's age within a few decades if it was something a mage could wear rather than a simple tool." He lit another mage lamp overhead before he opened one of the long, shallow drawers that took up many of the shelves in this aisle. "Here we are. This is where I selected some of the artifacts I sent with you before."

A calculated move on his part, but one that paid off. Patrice gasped again. The light of the mage lamp glittered most impressively over a trio of pendants resting in the velvet-lined drawer. Their focus spells were degraded beyond usability, but the wards that preserved their beauty were very much intact. "So beautiful!" Patrice said. She reached out, but pulled back just shy of touching the objects.

"Go ahead, young woman," Alistair said. "You'll do no harm. Pick one up for a closer look if you wish. I'll be just a moment putting these other ones away." He waved Orin's bored-looking apprentice forward. The boy hardly even glanced at the ancient pendants as he held out the box for Alistair to empty. "You seem remarkably unimpressed," Alistair whispered.

The boy shrugged. "Don't know much about fashion."

Alistair snorted, making sure his smile was back in place as he faced the girl.

"These wards!" Patrice said. "They're so intricate! I've never seen anything like them!"

"Haven't you? They were fairly common back then. Not much practical use, but I could show you more samples if you wish. They're worth a casual study, at least."

"I would love to see them!"

"Of course," said Alistair. "A couple of these pieces you borrowed need to be put away over there at any rate. Shall we?" He turned and bumped squarely into Thad - the boy was so close behind him - but he recovered quickly, steering the boy forward while keeping the polite smile on his face. "As I said, the spells aren't practical. Difficult to cast, improportional to the benefits they grant. Why preserve an amulet in perpetuity when a simple protective ward will already outlast not only your focus spells but you yourself? But the Leifenish were ostentatious in some ways."

He guided them into an aisle with more shallow drawers. He opened the first one, which contained a selection of bracelets. "Only the wards remain on many of these pieces. The focus spells on some of them are completely undetectable by now, but look how well-preserved they are!"

The girl gasped - women often did in the presence of jewelry, and this was the finest Alistair had in his collection - but he knew immediately that it was the wards rather than the gems that impressed her. Patrice ran a finger over a gold cuff set with emeralds. It was a fine piece, but far from the finest; its wards, however, were the most exquisite. "This spell!" Patrice said, voice heavy with awe. "Even Master Brend's work pales in comparison!"

Alistair chuckled. "I shan't tell him you said so. But you've a good eye, my dear. That piece belonged to Saint Ffamran himself!"

She drew her hand back quickly, as though she feared her touch would somehow break the sturdy old relic. "Goodness! It's so- How is this done? Is there a diagram?"

"There is, actually! Ffamran left meticulous notes, in fact, and we've many of them here. Copies for the most part, of course, though we do have one original. I'd be happy to show you if it helps with your research. Right this way." He crossed the archive, the girl at his side, though he looked back occasionally to be sure Orin's boy was still with them. The boy looked interested now, eager and impressed. Alistair seemed to recall Orin saying the boy liked the Ffamran tales.

Good, Alistair thought, satisfied that the boy was showing an interest at last. He led them toward document storage, a set of flat-stacked thin file drawers lining the archive's back wall, each drawer holding a single precious page. These were the maps and diagrams of ancient empires, the source material for any modern spell book worth its salt. The knowledge existed in other books now, copies of copies of copies after long years, but these were the oldest examples. He pulled out one of the large drawers near the bottom of the first case, revealing an aether diagram under a protective glass pane.

Patrice and Thad both gasped, and Alistair smiled. Even with as many times as he'd seen it, this diagram still made his heart flutter. It was that beautiful. Ffamran hadn't just been a warrior, but an aspiring artist. He was no David, but his aether diagrams ran toward the whimsical, taking strange shapes. One might look like Leviathan swimming through kelp, another the branches of a tree. Here, the design of the protective ward was drawn to look like an airship, the strange cogs and levers of the machina engine forming the curves of the spell. The drawing itself was simple - only charcoal lines, no color at all - but the true beauty rested in the complexity of the diagram.

"That's the Redwing!" Thad said.

"Ffamran's ship, yes." Alistair chuckled. "Well spotted, boy! But it's the spell we're meant to focus on."

"Oh my goodness! It's like in Teulle's book!" Patrice said.

"Yes," Alistair said, pleased she'd made the connection. "And can I just say I'm so glad your master has you studying Teulle's work? Too many mages ignore it as frivolity given that it's overshadowed by Talcott's more recent discoveries."

Thad leaned in, studying the diagram intently. "Did Ffamran study Teulle?"

Alistair shrugged. "Unlikely. This diagram predates Teulle's Scientia by at least half a century. We believe they were contemporaries, but we've no evidence the two ever met."

"It's amazing!" Patrice said. "Simply amazing! Oh, I wish I could stay all day, but I've lingered too long already. My master will surely wonder why I've taken so long. I should go."

"Of course, my dear," Alistair said. "We have let ourselves get distracted by trinkets, haven't we? It's so easy to do here. Let us select a few artifacts for your research and see you on your way." He motioned her back toward the place they'd been looking before. "I could probably have a word with Master Brend about expanding your studies, if you like? I know you're very busy with your tasks in the lab, but if you thought you were up to more intense scholarship, I'm sure I could point you toward the relevant research. A few days each month, perhaps?"

"Oh, could I really?" Patrice said, smiling brightly in the lamp-lit room. "I would like that ever so much."

I'm sure you would, Alistair thought. And when you take your place as a sage, you'll remember your days in the archives and the kindly archivist who aided your studies. Yes, it was always a good idea to ingratiate oneself with the prodigies. He smiled warmly. "No trouble at all, child. Always a pleasure to help with the great works." He opened another drawer. "I believe these pieces are what you need for yours. Boy, bring the box! Boy?"

"That's odd," said Patrice. "I could have sworn he was right behind me."

There was something to be said for reading in bed. Thad propped himself up on a small mountain of pillows and read by the gentle glow of a pair of candles. The wind chime behind the clinic clanged softly in the night breeze, the only sound besides the turning of the pages in the book of machina designs Thad had stolen from the library. He got a lot of reading done now: instead of speeding up the nights, he went the other way, slowing them to a crawl. He rested, he read, he studied, he prepared.

In the next bed over, Kane stirred. Rubbing his eyes, he reached for the water glass on the side table and drank it down.

"Sleep well?" Thad asked.

Kane nodded. "How long was I out?"

Thad looked at the stack of books beside him. How many had he gone through? "Probably eight or ten hours," Thad assessed.

"Gods!" Kane said, looking at the darkness outside the window. "And we still have the whole night ahead of us?"

"Yup," Thad said, inspecting an engine schematic.

"But that's..." Kane sighed. "I'll still have to lay here for two months, won't I? It just won't feel that way to everyone else."

"Yup." Thad nodded.

"I suppose I'll have to take up reading for pleasure like the rest of you."

Thad used the book's ribbon bookmark to note his page, then set the book aside. "How are you at Onion Knight?"

At his desk in his workshop, Master Randell rubbed at the spot where his shoulder met his neck, but the tension remained. Fiona's voice, shrill in her anger, didn't help. Sometimes, he hated being the head of the Circle. He spent more time engaged in settling petty squabbles than in leading the Sages in noble scholarship.

"I'll not have it!" she said. "I've slaved away in that lab, enchanting the aetherite on his account, while that layabout catches up on his reading?"

"Your commitment to the project hasn't gone unnoticed," Randell said soothingly. She had slaved away. At least half of her anger now, Randell was sure, was due to the fact that she had been sequestered away in her lab on a dawn-to-dusk ritual when Sarda had appeared in her house some days before, frightening her daughter and Phin out of their wits. The ritual had been successful - she had created a focus object from the aetherite sample unlike anything the village had ever seen - but her guilt that she hadn't been there when her daughter needed her clearly outweighed any pride she might have taken in the accomplishment. "And while I agree with you that Jack should be more involved, I believe your assessment of his activities is unfair," Randell pointed out. "I would remind you he's hardly reading for pleasure. He's a talented scholar. If he feels that his time is better spent on research right now, I'm sure he has his reasons."

Fiona scoffed. "Research? Alistair tells me he's been scouring the fiction section! It's ridiculous, Liam! He should be in the lab! He's the only one who can make the orbs work. We can't test our theories without him!"

Randell sighed. That much was true. "And I'll certainly discuss that with him when I see him. Now if you would-" He cursed at the light knock on his door that signaled Jack's early arrival. He had hoped to have Fiona sent off before the boy arrived to avoid a confrontation. "Enter," he called.

Jack slipped in, expression unreadable in eyes that glinted slightly above a dark scarf. The boy had grown stronger in his powers over his months of absence, and seemed to be holding the aether more often than not anymore. He acknowledged Fiona with a respectful nod as he set a high stack of books on Randell's desk. Randell saw Fiona's eyes narrow as she scanned the titles on the books' spines - mostly fiction - and he felt his neck tightening further.

"You have some nerve-" Fiona began.

"If you would excuse us, Fi," Randell said, cutting her off.

Her mouth snapped shut. She cut Randell a glare that clearly said he would hear more about this later, then she whirled away without a word of farewell for either of them. Jack watched impassively as she closed the door with a sharp tug that sent a slam reverberating through the workshop.

Randell flinched as the force of the slam caused something to fall off a shelf behind him and clatter to the floor. He resisted the urge to search the messy workshop and see what it was. Instead, he tried to look stern as he held Jack's gaze. "She's expecting me to give you a thorough dressing-down, you know. And she's one of the only people in this village who isn't entirely against you! I hope you know what you're about."

Jack said nothing. Randell was finding those aether-tinged eyes unsettling for some reason.

Randell shook his head. "Nothing? Really? Do you even know why I've called you here today?"

Jack cocked an eyebrow. Gods, but that calm demeanor could be infuriating! "I wasn't aware that you had," he said flatly.

"Wasn't-?" Randell almost sputtered, stopping himself just short of it. "Boy, I sent three different messengers!"

"Never saw them," Jack said.

"So you really have been hiding from us all!"

Jack shrugged. "The library has been rather loud lately. I sometimes take my work into the forest. The fresh air-"

Randell scoffed. "Master Graham thinks you literally Teleported away to avoid him when he came looking for you."

"Nonsense. He must have just missed me," said Jack, eyes expressionless, face unreadable beneath his scarf.

Randell sighed, rubbing his neck again. "You make it hard to defend you, young man."

Jack looked away, his gaze falling to the floor in front of the desk. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to be difficult, truly. It's just... I think I've found something. It weighs heavily on my mind."

"Something in the fiction section?" Randell asked, waving his hand toward Jack's stack of books.

"Sort of."

"Something worth squandering Fiona's good will away?"

Jack nodded, then sat in the chair across from him. Then Jack looked him in the eye. "If my research is correct, I need to go to Mysidia."

Randell choked on his astonishment. "Be serious, boy!"

Jack didn't look away. "I am."

"Jack, I can't sanction a trip to Mysidia!"

"I know," Jack said."It has to go before the Circle."

"Not just the Circle! Gods, Mysidia? That's... That's the High Circle, for sure! A public hearing, a public vote..."

"I know that too," said Jack. He pulled a few papers from his pile of books and began to spread them out on the desktop. "That's why I'll need your help to convince them I'm right."

Kane wasn't alone when Wrede arrived for the afternoon shift. Thad was with him - unsurprising, as the boy had been at Kane's side most of a week now - but so too was Lena. She and Thad sat near Kane's bed, the three of them talking in hushed whispers despite the fact they were alone in the clinic. They quieted instantly when Wrede came in. Well, that's hardly suspicious, Wrede thought, frowning. He focused on Lena, the guiltiest-looking of the three. "I thought you were supposed to be resting?"

"Yes, I plan to," she said, blushing slightly.

"Elsewhere," Wrede added, motioning toward the door.

"Oh! Um, yes. Yes." She stood, straightening her white robe. "I'll be back to check on you later," she said to Kane.

"Sure," Kane said, smiling as he and Thad put their heads together over a device on a tray they were very obviously only pretending to study as they continued their whispered conversation.

Lena tried to shuffle past Wrede, but he grabbed her arm. "Were you healing him again?"

"No!" Lena said, blushing further. She looked as red as a tomato. "No, not just now."

Wrede sighed. "Lena, we've talked about this. You do no good to anyone if you overwork yourself. That leg will heal on its own time."

"I know!" Lena said, though she continued to look guilty.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"We were... we were just discussing Kane's treatment plan," she said, eyes on the floor.

"Hmm." Wrede knew she was telling the truth - Lena was a very traditional white mage - but her eyes wouldn't meet his. "And the boy?"

"Thad, um, wanted to know more about... our timeline? How long it will take, and so on. You know he's been interested in white magic lately."

Wrede sighed. He would just have to question the boy about that. Maybe he would let their secrets slip. "Fine. Go and rest. My mother has a meal prepared for you."

"Alright," she said, nodding.

She grabbed a scarf from the back of a chair - one of Jack's, Wrede thought - and wrapped it around her neck as she prepared to wander out into the brisk autumn air. For an instant, the blue cloth against the white hood reminded Wrede of Iris, but then the girl pulled her bright red hair out from beneath the scarf and the image faded. She loved color, Wrede remembered. Iris had been his friend. And she had died too young, working herself to death.

"Lena," he said as she reached for the door handle. "We can't focus on Kane if we end up having to treat both of you. Take care of yourself."

She nodded again, her eyes fixed on the ground as she left.

Wrede sighed. He didn't like using her guilt against her - guilt was a blunt weapon, in his opinion - but by all the gods, he just couldn't seem to keep the poor girl from overdoing it. Well, he would just appeal to Kane on her behalf. Maybe she'd stop Curing him all the time if Kane himself told her to stop?

He turned to the bed, calling up his aether sight as he did so, and focused on the leg. He didn't know why the girl fretted over it so, as it was recovering remarkably well; Wrede and the other white mages hardly had to check on Kane anymore. They'd unhooked the support harness two days before, allowing him to move his leg in its cast, but Kane hadn't tried to move from the bed, as was evident by the notes and papers everywhere, mostly machina designs he and Thad had copied from their books as they learned how things worked, interspersed with a few playing cards.

Kane nodded at Wrede in greeting but remained intent on the device he was assembling on the tray in his lap. "How's it looking today?" he asked.

"Well," Wrede said. "Very well. The girl hasn't been Curing it, has she?"

"No," Kane said, too quickly. "Not recently. Not in - how long would you say it's been, Thad?"

"At least a day," the boy said with a firm nod.

Wrede stared at him, but the boy stared right back, bold as anything. Wrede sighed. Unlikely as it was, perhaps the boy was telling the truth. "Fine," he said, bending over the leg again, infusing it with a Cure of his own through the cast. "Just don't let her overwork herself. I keep telling you, Cures work best with-"

"'Hours between spells,'" Kane and Thad recited together. "We know," said Kane.

"Hmph," Wrede grunted. "You have to let your body recover on its own."

"Yes, sir," said Kane.

Wrede sighed. "Fine." He stood up again, straightened his robe. "Moira will check on you later. I won't be back today."

Kane raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was your turn today?"

Wrede shook his head. "Jack's called a meeting of the sages later. Know anything about that?"

Kane and Thad exchanged wary glances. Both of them looked at Wrede, their faces carefully blank. "No," Kane said at last.

"Really?" Wrede pressed. "It's the High Circle. Very serious."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Kane said, failing to look casual as he focused on his machina device.

Wrede turned to Thad. "And I suppose if I ask you what Jack's up to...?"

"No idea," said Thad with a casual shrug.

Wrede nodded toward the playing cards. "I bet you win more hands than he does."

"Definitely," Thad said, smiling.

Wrede sighed and headed toward the Circle Chamber. He would learn Jack's plans soon enough.

Alphi had never seen the Circle Chamber so crowded before. It wasn't his first time in the Chamber - as apprentice to a sage, he was sometimes allowed to be present for their meetings if Master Randell needed a scribe or a page - but this was his first High Circle meeting, and the High Circle was something else entirely, open to every thaumaturge of skill. That meant half the mages in the village, along with their apprentices.

"They could at least have provided us seats," Marcus grumbled, shifting from foot to foot. The two of them stood together with the other apprentices along the edge of the room, shoved toward the wall by the press of the crowd.

"Yeah, but where would they put them?" Alphi said, trying to see over the people in front of him. He'd had a growth spurt this year, but was still short for his age. He could barely make out the table at the room's center where Jack and the men with him - the monk and the red mage - prepared to address the Circle. Thad Shipman, the monk's apprentice, was there as well; Alphi knew him from the library. "I hope it's a short meeting."

Marcus snorted. "Not likely. Don't you know about High Circles? We'll be here all night."

Patrice, who stood in front of them holding little Robin in her arms, rolled her eyes. "You didn't have to come, you know. It's optional."

Marcus blushed - as he tended to do every time Patrice so much as looked at him. "Yeah, but, well... Everyone else is here. How could I miss it?"

"Will we really be here all night?" Robin asked.

"No, darling. He's exaggerating. Look over there. Do you see your mama?" She pointed toward the high-backed chairs that held the Circle of Sages, where Robin's mother Fiona sat with the other leaders of the village, some of the most powerful mages in the world.

Marcus sighed. "That Ashward would hardly have come before the High Circle for anything easy. Whatever this is, it's got to be huge."

"Yeah, but he's supposed to be a genius, right?" Alphi asked. "If he's confident enough in his research to call a meeting like this-"

"Confident?" Marcus laughed. "He was throwing up behind the Chamber before the meeting started. I saw him."

Alphi shrugged. "If I was going before the whole Circle? I would be too."

But that was the way of things in Crescent Lake, the way it had been since the days of the Empire. The Circle of Sages voted on most matters in private, but big decisions required the High Circle. When the High Circle was called, the Sages cast their votes publicly. They didn't all have to vote immediately, but the Circle would meet every three days until all votes were cast. It was a way to force decisions in a timely fashion, as dithering publicly was usually frowned upon. Of course, what wasn't usually public was the arguing in between.

Alphi looked toward the side of the room where the village's more experienced mages stood, searching the crowd for his mother, but he hadn't found her yet when Master Randell raised his voice above the murmurs that filled the air. "I call this meeting of the Circle to order." The murmurs lessened, then quieted altogether. Alphi was shocked at the silence that followed; it hardly seemed possible that so many people gathered in one place could be so quiet.

"You are all aware of the guests who have been staying in our village lately," Randell went on, his voice seeming to echo through the tightly-packed chamber. "For the past few weeks now, we have been engaged in the diligent study of the artifacts they brought here with them, four orbs of aetherite laced with spells beyond anything we have ever seen before. At our behest, these visitors even journeyed north to Dagmar's Landing, to search the mines there for more aetherite samples. In this, they succeeded. I'm sure I don't need to explain what an achievement that was, nor what advancements may yet be achieved through their contributions to our efforts."

There were murmurs of agreement, quickly shushed as Randell continued. "And now our guests would like to request the aid of the Circle as they-"

"We all know what drives these guests," someone interrupted.

Alphi stood on his toes, trying to glimpse the speaker. "Who is that?" he whispered.

"I think it's Lukahn," said Marcus.

The speaker continued, "You needn't pretend that it wasn't Jack who called this meeting."

At the table at the room's center, Jack stood up, and he was tall enough that Alphi had no trouble seeing him clearly over the huddled apprentices in front of him. "Yes," Jack said. "I did call the meeting. I would like to discuss my findings thus far, and present for your consideration the next steps my friends and I intend to take."

"Oh, yes?" said old man Myron. Of all the sages, Alphi and Marcus stood closest to him, given that he was Marcus's teacher, but even standing behind him, Alphi had no trouble recognizing the sneer in that man's voice. "And what have you been finding? Bedtime stories?" Laughs and jeers followed.

"He's been in the fiction section this whole time," Marcus whispered. "We've all seen him."

"Not the whole time," Alphi said, for he'd seen Jack in other parts of the library more than once.

"Near enough," Marcus said.

"Yes, actually," Jack said, and the laughter stopped instantly. He selected one of the books from the table in front of him and opened it to a marked page. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that some of those stories were based on documented fact. Take the stories of Titus, for example." He handed the book to the red mage, and the white-haired man carried the book over to Myron.

"Can you see it?" Alphi whispered, standing on the tips of his toes.

Marcus, taller than Alphi by several inches, nodded. "Looks like a picture of King Titus aboard his airship."

"Documented fact?" Myron scoffed. "If I recall correctly, this illustration is from the Lion's fabled voyage to the moon."

"You're not wrong," Jack said, nodding. He pulled a loose page from the top of a stack in front of him and handed it off to Thad. Thad carried it around the room, holding it up for the crowd to see as Jack continued. "But this is one of Sarda's drawings, an illustration of Titus with Griever at his side. Note the similarities."

Myron held the book up beside the drawing, giving Alphi an excellent view of the two figures. The men in each picture wore different expressions, but they were doubtless the same man.

Myron, though, seemed unimpressed. He shoved his book into Thad's arms and waved a dismissive hand. "An excellent likeness. Still, we know what Titus looked like."

"But not his fiend," said Jack. "You know my friends and I believe that Lord Eldieme of Melmond was Titus's fiend. Our only real proof is, again, illustrations from old books." He opened another, passing it to the red mage to take around the room. Even without looking at it, Alphi knew which picture it would be: the image of Diemetrius had caused quite a stir in the village the day Jack found it. "Whether it was Titus's fiend or not, we seem to be agreed that Eldieme was a fiend. He had all the traits that we know of from fiends of history. Like this one." He grabbed another paper, held it up, and began to walk the room with it himself rather than handing it off to the old monk who still sat at the table. When Jack stopped in front of Myron, Alphi saw that the paper showed an illustration of a demonic figure wreathed in flame, a woman with a serpent's tail.

"Another of Sarda's drawings?" Myron asked, that sneer still in his voice.

Jack nodded. "He said it was the Sisters' Bane."

"Hmph," Myron said. "An intriguing representation. But no one knows what the Bane looked like."

"No," Randell said. "We've seen Sarda's other drawings. If he says that's the Bane, I'm inclined to believe him."

Other sages nodded while a few voiced their agreement. Even Lukahn seemed to concede the point, saying, "Sarda's drawings are true to life."

Alphi saw Myron's shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "Still, we don't know that the Bane was a fiend."

"No, but what I do know is that this," Jack said, jabbing a finger at the woman's face on the page, "is the thing that killed my mother."

The whispers started immediately. Myron sat up a little straighter. "Come again?"

"You heard me," Jack said. "If Sarda's drawings are to be believed - and the Circle has already conceded that they are - then the creature my mother died fighting - the thing that burned me - was the same creature that killed the Sisters."

On the other side of the room, Wrede shook his head. "Jack, you were young. You were traumatized. Whatever you saw-"

"I know what I saw," Jack said, speaking with more conviction than Alphi had known he possessed. Turning his back on Myron, Jack returned to the table. He pulled another page from the pile, held it aloft, but Alphi couldn't see it through the shifting crowd. "My mother was a priestess of Ramuh," Jack went on, pointing at that page.

"There hasn't been a church of Ramuh since Mysidia fell," someone said.

"I know," Jack nodded. "Believe me, I've scoured the library for a trace of one, trying to figure out where I came from. But there are - or there were - still priestesses. We know the youngest Sister escaped with the Flame. What if the priestesses passed it down over the centuries, over the generations? Holding it safe until the Bane came for it again?" He opened three books to pre-marked pages, handing them to his friends. The two men and the apprentice carried the books around the room, giving the sages and the crowd a glimpse of their contents. Alphi only got a good look at two of them, both depicting Ramuh's Ever Burning Flame in more or less the same way: a bright fire in a metal cage on its altar in the Magisterium.

Then Jack walked the room again. He held another of Sarda's charcoal drawings, an image of Ramuh holding the flame aloft, a raw, bright light with no cage around it. Small, Alphi thought. Small enough to be carried. It would have to have been, for Hildegarde to escape with it. A chill crept up his spine.

Jack returned to the table and set the image of Ramuh aside. He fished something from his pocket. His eyes glinted as he raised his fist, the red orb dangling beneath it from a thin chain. "This is Ramuh's Flame. This is why the beast came for her."

The crowd began talking in hushed whispers. Alphi heard someone mutter the Sisters' Prayer. The Flame was sacred to Sisterists; for Jack to claim he held it bordered on miraculous. Alphi had never been religious himself, but nevertheless he felt the weight of awe filling his chest.

But some in the crowd disagreed. "Heresy!" one shouted, and others took up the cry only to be shushed by others.

"How is it heresy?" Wrede asked. "The Flame was lost! Who's to say it can't be found again?"

Alphi felt himself nodding at the idea.

He stopped when Marcus elbowed him. "Jack's lying," Marcus whispered. "Got to be."

Lukahn seemed to think the same. He stood from his chair, pointing a finger at Jack, and spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted, "This is ridiculous! Conjecture! You have no proof!"

Jack nodded. "True. Which is why I propose we go to the Magisterium and look for some."

The room erupted, all of the sages talking at once, many of the older mages as well. Lukahn staggered as though he'd been gut-punched and all but fell back into his seat. Alphi looked around at his fellow apprentices, satisfied to note that, judging from their expressions, he wasn't the only one who didn't seem to know what was going on.

"Order!" Master Randell shouted above the tumult. "Order!"

Myron spoke as the crowd settled again. "Have you gone mad, boy?" he snapped. "No one goes to Mysidia! It's forbidden!"

"But if that's really the Flame-" Wrede said.

Brend interrupted. "And what good would proof be if they die getting it?"

"Proof? The proof could be the return of Ramuh himself!"

"If they return the Flame to the the altar, then-"

"We don't know that that's-"

"Order!" Randell shouted again. "Order, I said! Fiona, you were saying something?"

Fiona nodded. "How do you plan to address the aether storm that surrounds the ruins?"

"I believe I can get through it," Jack said. "The same way the four of us pierced that Brotherhood ward on the temple north of Cornelia. At any rate, I believe we have to try."

"It's not a question of you getting through," Fiona said. "The aether storm isn't only dangerous to those who cross it."

Her brother, another sage, nodded. "That storm is connected to the rest of the world like a spider's web. The wrong spells in Mysidia can cause hurricanes, earthquakes, as far away as the Stone Coast!"

"The records show that Black Hall successfully sent an expedition to the city only forty years ago," Jack said.

"Yes! And the harbor north of Pravoka paid the price for that!" shouted someone from the back of the room.

Alphi thought back to his geography lessons. "There's no harbor north of Pravoka," he said.

"I sort of think that's the point," Marcus whispered.

"And did those records happen to mention how many mages returned from that 'successful' expedition?" Lukahn said, looking haggard in his chair.

"Yes," Jack said, meeting his guardian's eyes. "The records-"

"Nine," Lukahn snapped. "I served Black Hall then. I remember it well. Nine returned. And one of those had been crippled by the storm as they made their escape. Do you know how many they started out with?"

Jack and Lukahn stared each other down. The whispers started again. Finally Jack said, "Thirty."

"Thirty! Down to nine! Less than a third!" Lukahn said. "Some of the brightest minds in Black Hall, lost to this folly!"

"Pravoka's losses were greater still," Brend said, to a chorus of "aye"s.

"Lord Redden, how do you suppose the war would have gone if those mages had still been alive for it?" Lukahn asked.

The red mage shrugged. "That depends. Can you be sure they would have been fighting on our side?"

"How dare you?" the prophet screamed, leaping to his feet again. "How dare you?" He bore down on the table, reaching for Lord Redden, but Jack stepped around the table and came between them. Jack only stood there, but Lukahn stopped short of him, and Alphi could see that the old man was terrified.

"How would the war have gone if Ramuh himself had been present in this world?" Jack said, and Alphi felt that awe in his chest again as another person whispered the Sisters' Prayer. Ramuh hadn't appeared to mankind since his daughters' deaths. All the stories said he would return someday, when humanity proved their worth. Could it be so simple? Could returning the Flame call the lightning god back to this plane?

Lukahn shook his head. "Fools!" he shouted at the murmuring crowd. "Have you all forgotten?" He turned, facing Master Randell. "This is it, Liam. Don't you see it? The prophecy!" He stabbed a finger behind him, pointing at Jack. "'Our death will come from the mountain.' I told you! You think he'll find a god in Mysidia? He'll destroy us!"

"Silas," Randell said. "That's enough."

"But Ramuh himself-" Wrede said.

"If you let him near the aether storm, he'll kill us all!" Lukahn screamed.

"Your prophecy is what got me into this!" Jack shouted. "'When the world is in darkness, the Light Warriors will come.' That was you! And this," he shook the red orb on its chain, "this is the sign. I come to you," he said, turning to look at each of the sages one by one, "to tell you that the Warriors of Light are here. And one of them is me. And I'm going to Mysidia, with or without your permission. You have a month to decide." Then he turned and strode toward the doors, his friends following him.

When he was gone, no one spoke. It seemed to Alphi that no one dared breathe. On the one hand, a prophecy of death and destruction. On the other, a prophecy of hope and the possibility of gods.

Master Randell's voice filled the silent room. "The High Circle has been called, and we sages will answer. The vote will take place in three days."

Lukahn waited a day, gave himself a chance to cool off, to try to approach this with a level head. Still, he was frustrated, near shaking with fury, when he set out at last to find Jack. The boy was a blight, but he wasn't cruel. If Lukahn could just make Jack see reason, could talk him out of this madness... If Jack recanted, called off his request to go to Mysidia, the prophecy might yet be averted.

He walked the long way to the clinic, practicing his arguments. Jack could be logical. If he could just keep from fighting...

He found Moira in the clinic's front garden. "Thought you'd turn up," she said, her thick-gloved hands harvesting the spiky seed heads of some echinacea. "You'll not get anywhere with him, you know. He's quite determined."

"I have to try," Lukahn said.

Moira shrugged. "He's around back. But I shouldn't get my hopes up if I were you."

He let himself into the clinic, which was empty. Even after all these years, he still expected to see his daughter in there, working at the counter, chopping herbs for potions. She had been so good at potions. He passed through quickly, eyes down, not looking up again until he'd stepped out the clinic's back door.

He saw Jack and his friends at the far end of the garden. It was a pleasant day, cool with a light breeze, and it seemed they'd sent Kane out for some fresh air. They had Kane in a wheelchair, and the four so-called Warriors of Light were gathered around a small folding table, playing a round of cards. None of them looked up as Lukahn arrived; they were far enough away that they wouldn't have heard the door.

Be logical, Lukahn reminded himself. Keep calm. Appeal to his intellect. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"I would ask that you not disturb my son. Conflict isn't good for his recovery, I'm sure."

Lukahn stifled a shout, nearly jumping out of his skin. He turned toward the speaker, Lord Redden, who sat on one of the benches that lined the clinic's back wall. Redden eyed him curiously, puffing away on his pipe.

"Come and sit," Redden said.

Lukahn shook his head. "I need to speak with Jack."

"I don't think so," Redden said, blowing smoke. "You've said about all you're going to say to Jack. Whatever you were planning to say to him, you can say to me." He patted the bench beside him, spoke firmly. "Come. Sit."

Lukahn sighed, settling onto the bench. "You haven't changed much in twenty years."

"Nonsense," said Redden. "I like to think I'm scarier."

"Hmm," said Lukahn. "Perhaps." Lord Redden had always been a serious man, having arrived in Cornelia just before the wars started. Lukahn had never known him in better times. I don't even remember myself from back then, he thought. Before he'd come to Crescent Lake, before he'd lost his children, before he'd lost Cornelia... It all seemed a century ago.

Across the garden, the young people played cards in silence. Lukahn watched them curiously. "I wasn't aware that Jack knew how to play," he said.

"He didn't," Redden said. "Kane's been teaching him. Gives Kane something to do while he's laid up."

"I see," said Lukahn. "And why, may I ask, is your son wearing a scarf?"

Redden shrugged. "Kane says Jack's covered face gives him an unfair advantage. Says it's more even this way. Easier to bluff."

"Is it?"

Redden shook his head. "Kane couldn't lie his way out of a bad dinner."

"And Lena? The girl is a soul reader, isn't she? She can tell when they're lying."

Redden shrugged. "She can't lie about her own hands so it all evens out. Besides, Thadius is winning. Again."

"What's his advantage?"

"He cheats. I think half the fun of their game is trying to catch him in it."

Silent and solemn, Jack laid his cards down. Then Lena, then Kane. Finally, Thadius, grinning like a fool. Jack said something, picking the cards up again, inspecting them, but the other two laughed, Kane's laugh a deep bellow, Lena's high and clear as a little bell. Thad laughed too, laughed uncontrollably, falling out of his chair. Jack, though, only ducked his head, raising a hand to his already covered face, stoic even in that moment of joy. Like Cedric, Lukahn thought. Too much like Cedric.

"You know what he is?" Lukahn asked.

"I do," said Redden. "But that doesn't change who he is."

"Doesn't it? I lost everything to his kind. Good gods, man, you were there for the wars."

"Jack had nothing to do with that." Redden leaned back against the clinic wall, crossing his legs at the ankles as he stretched out and puffed on his pipe. "Jack is nothing like them, you know. He's smart. Strong. He's an exceptional young man. I don't know how you could have passed all these years with him without seeing that. You could have been a father to that boy."

Lukahn shook his head. "Only a fool would leap at that chance."

Redden shrugged. "Guess I'm a fool then."

"But he's one of them, Redden. A dark mage."

"That he is," said Redden. "But he's a dark mage that my son calls 'brother'. That's good enough for me."

"If you care for them, you have to talk them out of this. It's folly."

Redden shrugged again. "It's their destiny. I care for them enough to help them meet it."

Lukahn stood. "I'll speak to them myself."

He hadn't taken a single step before Redden's hand came down hard on his shoulder. "No. You won't." He turned, sharply steering Lukahn back to the clinic door. "I told you not to disturb my son. Either of them. I won't tell you again."

The door closed behind him with a soft but definite click.

Days. He thought it was days. Sarda didn't know anymore. There were things in the aether, animals. They could see him, and he'd been running from them. Wild beasts in the untamed wilderness that would become a village one day, but now... whenever now was, it was still wild. He ran. He cried. His feet were bleeding. He couldn't remember what had happened to his boots.

It was right behind him, that animal growl, but when he looked back, there was nothing there. He kept running, running between the trees until - was that a path? Was the ground here more smooth and open than a forest floor should be? And was that a light?

He ran. "Hello?" he cried. "Is anyone there?" He ran and, yes, there was a light. And a sign... The clinic! He'd found the clinic! And the people standing at the door, he recognized them! Two of the white mages. He was back. He was home, back in his own time.

He ran to them. "Help me! Oh, help me!" he cried.

But they didn't look up, didn't seem to hear him. He ran to them, tried to touch them, and his hands went right through them as if they weren't there - as if he weren't really there. "No!" he cried, his voice breaking on a sob. And he stood beside them, weeping. His feet hurt so much.

He didn't know how long it had been - did it matter anyway? - before he stopped crying enough to listen to their words.

"You have to talk to her," said the man, the white mage, and Sarda did recognize him, but he was much younger here.

"And say what?" said the blonde woman, her own white robe starched and severe.

The man sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I don't know! You lost people in the war, didn't you? You know what she's going through."

The woman shook her head. "A mother, a sister. Nothing like a lover."

"They weren't lovers!"

"I know love when I see it, Wrede. I don't know why other people are so bad at that."

"Please, 'Dine. She's not handling it well. Just talk to her, would you?"

"No," said 'Dine. "You can't talk her out of grief. She'll snap out of it on her own. Or she won't."

"Useless witch!" Wrede spat, turning his back on her as he pushed through the clinic door.

Sarda followed him inside, followed him to the woman on the sickbed. He recognized Iris Lukahn, though she was pale and staring. Tears flowed from her eyes but she didn't sob, didn't move. That blank face, Sarda thought, was far more frightening than any show of emotion would be. Sarda kept a few steps behind as Wrede went to her, as he sat on the bed beside her and lifted her head. "Here. Drink some water." He held the cup to her lips, but she didn't drink. "Please, Iris. Come back to us."

She whispered something. Wrede set the cup aside. "What?" he asked. "What did you say?"

She spoke louder, but still barely above a whisper, her voice dry and cracking. But her eyes met Sarda's as she spoke, and she seemed to be talking right to him. "I should have followed him."

"Are you certain of your calculations?"

Sarda whipped around. That voice... that was Jack. But where-?

"What? Of course I'm not certain! I've never done this before!"

That was the boy - what was his name again? - and he sounded close. Almost as if he were standing right...

Right here, Sarda thought. They're here in the clinic, in the present. He tried to focus on their voices, tried to will himself home. See them! he ordered himself, focusing on his aether sight with every fiber of his being, looking through time at every permutation of this place, this moment, over years, centuries.

"Look," said the boy. "I've drawn it out on the map. The path goes around the lake. A straight path, just not in the right order. It's like he's bobbing through the aether, up and down, and sometimes he comes to the surface."

"You know they don't mean the term 'lifestream' literally, right?"

That was Kane. He was there too, in the bed where Iris had been. Sarda could... he could almost see...

Light. Golden, strong. Kane's aura. And Jack's too, a brilliant blue, growing brighter. Sarda reached for that light with his mind. "I'm here!" he shouted. "Hey! I'm here! Help me!"

He could almost see Jack turn his head. "Shh... Do you hear something?"

Sarda stumbled toward him, bloody feet slipping on the tiled floor. The auras flickered and began to fade.

No! Sarda told himself. Focus! He reached for Jack's aura again, reached-

It was behind him now. A child was crying. Sarda looked down at a floor now streaked with blood. Is that mine? Feet stepped past him. He looked up. Mages - white mages - gathered around the operating table, around a child with a blue aura. The child was naked but for the bandages - bandages everywhere, and blood soaking through them. Two of the mages held the boy down as a third worked on the child's hand. Through the blackened flesh, Sarda could see the white of finger bones. The fingers had no aura anymore.

"Hold him still," the mage said, and Sarda recognized the blonde woman from outside the clinic as she plucked a small silver knife from a tray.

"No!" Sarda said, closing his eyes tight. "No! I don't want to see!"

The child screamed. Sarda screamed with him. The scent of blood filled his nose.

"Sarda!" a voice shouted. Someone held him, shaking him. "Sarda! Come back."

The boy - what was his name? - his green aura filled Sarda's vision even through his closed eyelids. "Help me!" he whimpered. "Oh, gods! Help me!" So much blood. He could smell it, the smell growing stronger as the green aura began to recede.

"Hold onto him!"

"I'm trying!"

He struggled for the surface. It was just like they had said: swimming, drowning in the lifestream. He could feel home - the present - miles above him, impossible to reach. The boy was there, and the boy was right in front of him. Even as the boy grabbed Sarda around the middle, Sarda could feel himself slipping. He could feel the boy's grip loosening as he began to sink.

"No!" the boy said. "No, Sarda, hold on!"

That grip tightened. Not just on Sarda's body, but on his aura. He gasped. He could feel the boy holding him in the present, an anchor on his soul. He could feel the weight of his soul pulling him down again. The boy wouldn't be strong enough to hold it. "Let go!" he shouted. "No! Let go! You'll break!"

The boy grunted, squeezed. Sarda could feel the arms around his middle cracking his ribs, but that was nothing to the pain of his soul, like being dragged backward through a mesh sieve. For a moment, he was sure he would die of it, the boy would die of it, they both would, and then the world cracked open, an audible sound, like a thunderclap. The boy screamed, and let go, and both of them fell hard against the tile floor.

The aether burst to violent life and color. Home. He was home. He was back in the present, on solid ground again. People - auras - so many people: his friends, the white mages, the old sage and his wife.

"Sarda!" Lena's voice. "Shh, don't cry. I'm here. Where are you hurt? Redden, help me."

"I've got you," Redden said, hauling him off the floor. Wrede took his other side. As they shoved him toward one of the empty beds, Sarda had a good view of the boy still kneeling where he'd landed, clutching his head as the monk fussed over him.

"Check him," Sarda said, pushing his helpers away. "Check him!"

"Thad?" Lena said.

"What happened?" said Randell. "What did you do?"

"I don't know," the boy croaked. "I felt... I felt something in him slipping and I pulled it back."

"Why did you do that?" Sarda asked. "Why would you do that?"

"Are you hurt?" Lena asked.

"I can't tell."

"Sit still," Wrede said, casting a Cure on Sarda's wounded feet, the spell blinding in his aether sight. He could see the brightness of Wrede's aura, the presentness of it. Redden and Jack and Lena and the other mages in the room, the white mages, their spells, Kane...

And the boy. Thad. Fading into the lifestream at the edges.

Author's Note: 9/3/21 - I didn't know if I was going to get this out on time. Last week, my grandparents had a house fire and they'll be staying with me until their home is repaired. We're still having insurance adjusters and contractors look at the damage, so I don't know how long it will be. Could be weeks, could be months. But the hours I usually spend at home alone (writing) are now being spent with them. If I hadn't had today off from work, I never would have got through my final edit and got this posted. All that to say, if I don't post on time in October, assume I'm still hanging out with them.

Despite Covid being everywhere in my part of the world, I did manage to go to a symphony this month, the Final Fantasy 7 Remake tribute concert in Fort Worth. I had bought the tickets before Delta Variant started closing everything down, and I'd spent too much on them to cancel the trip by the time things started getting bad. A friend and I made a road trip of it and we had a wonderful time, though parts of downtown Fort Worth were completely empty on a Friday night and it was genuinely creepy. It was like a post-apocalyptic landscape.

Got a bunch of friends playing FF14 now, trying to get me into it. They're like drug dealers, I swear, and the first hit is free. Apparently, you can play the first couple of expansions of content without paying for it. I'm so tempted. But I know it's a bad idea. I've done MMOs before. I know that for me it's an addiction waiting to happen. Maybe spending all my time caring for my grandparents will keep me clean.