“Isn’t what just a little more fun? Jan?”

  A crowd circled a caged corpse as Jan walked by. The body seemed distorted with green ooze pooling from its twisted flesh. It swayed in the putrid air. It was a husk of the former self, with half of the face molting into strips of flesh and the other a pale reflection. Two guards flanked it as the changing was on display. Jan could sense the nervous streaks within their hearts.

  For six months the plague had grown throughout Kag’s streets. Uncurable parasitic creatures latched into bodies and took control of their lives. They were monsters unseen, living, pulsing, allowing the victim to be completely oblivious of their presence. There were tests to see if one was infected and Irwain had done much to keep their effect under control, however numbers were rising. What had occurred seldom once a year rose to once a month and people lived in constant fear at the thought of a stolen fate.

  Most recently, a young nobleman’s son had been infected. Each day he would spend days indoors, shutters drawn, as his servants stalked a husk of their former lives. Lavish parties had been replaced by haunting screams. The entire house was ordered to be kept dark at all times. Each candle seemed to make it wither, cower, twitch in fear. Doctors had been sent first along with guards to check for the manor’s tepid smell. They returned after three days after having been denied at every turn.

  It wasn’t until intervention by the magistrate themselves in which twenty guards had been sent that the nobleman was brought to justice. They had spent countless weeks pooling resources to build a series of interworking roads that seemingly led nowhere, only to drop dead upon their target. Some called it induced psychosis, and others pondered a different fate. The official report was insanity, but Jan had overheard guards talking to Irwain that a change had occurred. A guard six days prior had been found deliberately changing channel gates in the city's sewers, redirecting waste and ordering tunnel excavations at spurred intervals.

  For a moment, Sill buzzed to life. Those around them didn’t question the device. Magic was common in these parts and the rock talked differently. Almost animatronic, and exactly like what one would expect from a puppet machine. It took great interest in the changeling—a little too much—detailing an extraordinary amount about the corpse's anatomy. Laura and Jan cast glances at each other. It seemed like sixteen years of study had left Sill with much more than common knowledge. It wasn’t long before the two continued past the local garrison. Countless imperial troops were posted out front as missing and wanted posters sat pasted to the outside walls.

  “Stop. Stop!” Sill shouted.

  Jan held his breath, hoping no one else had heard as they edged forward.

  “How can it see so well, Jan?’ Laura asked. She seemed nervous at this and a little scared by the creature's power. The two had wrapped it in a scarf as a measly attempt to shield it from the world around.

  “Crous must have done some dark magic,” he replied as they turned to the rock’s attention.

  They were looming over a group of missing posters, with eyes glazing over frayed edges and thin scribble-like writing.

  “Don’t you see it, Commander?” Sill said enthusiastically.

  “What?” Jan replied.

  “All of these changing reports circulate in a tri-star pattern.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. I thought it was a cool fact, Commander!” the rock replied.

  “That’s…uh…great, Sill,” Laura said, before clearing her throat.

  “Yeah, good work.” Jan almost rolled his eyes.

  The two were halfway through the city square by then, small coins and littered scraps clinging to the chiselled brick floor as market vendors tried to make a closing for the night. A blacksmith battered three more strokes into a glinting sword. Smoke rose from the forge-ashen chimney. Carriages sped past the narrow lane, tracking streams of dirt to weave through the open street. Jan pressed a coin into his palm, feeling the cold iron brush against his flesh. They seemed to connect for a moment, metal against skin, a pulse streaking through his veins. Laura stopped talking, and for a moment the magistrate's face glinted back. Its circular rim folded as tiny metal notches brushed against his skin. Slowly, he placed the tiny rock in a nearby pot and carried it in his arms. They hoped to hide their speech to no avail. Regardless, Sill kept talking, even insulting a few doctors who passed for apparently "failing to wash their hands", whatever that meant. The two shrugged. Jan found it strange that the rock would subscribe to taboo, wasn't the ground after all, the source of all magic? disease was just an imbalance in the magical humours.

  They passed more parks as they walked, botanical gardens and lush green forests that still managed to impress Jan through their grandeur. More than once, they stopped for food, using their meagre allowances to purchase goods from the local markets. At last, they reached one of the store's tables and talked over the nearby crowd. A waiter stopped infront. They glanced at Laura, still clutching the flowerpot containing Sill. He shrugged for a moment before taking out their order.

  Stranger things happened these days.

  In a few moments, two steaming bowls of soup landed on the oaken table. Jan stuck out his finger and used magic to twist the mushy broth. A few carrots and peas floated to the surface like driftwood in a wavy sea. One piece of broccoli stuck to spoon, causing him to shake it vigorously and Laura to roll her eyes.

  Jan could tell by their size they were magically grown but almost everything was; only in certain parts of Weii did crops still rely on the older methods. Yet it was important to note that some foods were far more easily replicable than others. Pender Waslin, a general for the Machulin army had famously been denied a purser on his North-Eastern campaign. After triumphing over a smearling invasion, he had killed over 20,000 enemy troops with only a loss of a thousand of his own. It should have been an utter victory, an ecstasy of glory to be heralded throughout the empire. However fate had other plans. Soon after the first battle, they quickly faced starvation when their rations ran out. Having lost all of his mages in the initial fight, Waslin was forced to make a choice: either push on with only replicated tuftweed or turn back and gather resources from the nearby cities, letting the remaining smearlings escape. He chose to push, won the battle and led to the creation of tuftweed stew, now better known as Waslin's gruel.

  Sometimes things tasted a little better with history, but at least not what Jan was eating. Three thousand years of war couldn't make up for its paltry taste and putrid composure.

  "Ahem" Laura coughed.

  The sound startled him awake. In a moment, Jan looked up to see a waiter asking for payment. He shrugged his shoulders for Laura to place a few coins into the server's palm. She raised her eyebrows as he explained that her would pay her back later.

  "Sorry, what was this plan of yours again?" Laura asked.

  “It’s simple. You and I break into the garrison and steal Crous’s file,” Jan said in between chews on a baguette.

  “What?” Laura laughed, spilling food from her mouth.

  “Steal file? Commander, I’m sorry, but unless this is vital I don’t think…”

  Jan ignored the tiny rock’s static pleas and turned to Laura for a response.

  “Don’t you think this is a bit much? Can’t you just show them the rock? There could be a whole soul in there. They need help Jan.” She pointed at Sill, pity glazing her features.

  The young scribe walked forward, finally flinging back her hood to reveal long brown hair and dark eyes. She was shorter than Jan, but not by much, with a scribe’s kit tucked neatly beneath her shoulder. They had quickly become friends through their studies and close proximity through Kag’s academic rigors. She bore scars on her right arm. They were wounds from Crous’s attack, with both her parents perishing in the crossfire that had torn the city's heart. Unlike Jan, she could remember them and still had grandparents, a sister, and uncles for which to hold dear.

  “Yes, but you’ve seen Irwain’s chambers. The moment we tell him, the rock will become part of his personal collection. You don’t understand, Laura. He owns inanimate. To him it’s not an atrocity, it’s a tool. If we can find Crous and bring him to justice then the rock will have to be rewarded, and we can get revenge for us—for everyone,” Jan spoke.

  “That’s paltry logic,”

  “I agree,” Sill added.

  Really? Even the rock was against him?

  “Well, it’ll have to do!” he replied.

  Suddenly, Laura laughed before turning to the rock once more. “Are you sure it’s happy being a rock? This could set its psychological recovery back months, even years.”

  “YES, AND FOR THE LAST TIME I AM NOT A ROCK COMMANDER, I AM A BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF TE…..” it seemed to shout for a short moment, causing Jan to cringe. The two ignored him.

  “It’s a little bit brainwashed right now, but it doesn’t mind it deep down either,” Jan replied.

  Laura looked at him with an inquisitive glance before turning ahead once more. “Here let’s get inside”

  The two had finally reached Jennle Street, which was a close collection of narrow townhouses that had been converted into Kag’s main scholarly residences. A few young mages and apprentices hung around chiselled streetcorners as academics bustled through the foggy night. Stray cats sprinted past Jan’s feet as he brushed forward toward their home, a two-story stone compartment they shared with six other scribes. Rent was paid out to Kag’s imperial academy, which was an extension of the civil body. However, it was often covered by Irwain. There had been times in which Irwain forced Jan to pay rent as a form of punishment.

  Slowly, Jan pushed the door open, slipping upstairs toward his chamber, with Laura trailing behind. The hallway was damp and ill-lit. Meagre candles and a few enchanted light strips gleamed among scary wooden boards.

  Once inside they pored over a few scrolls of parchment, developing their newest plan of attack. The room was small, containing only the barest implements a scholar would need. Straw mattresses, cleaned by magic, with an oak desk and dresser complimenting the room in the corner, he had few personal possessions draped on his walls. A fireplace quietly crackled. Over the years, Jan simply hadn’t collected too much. Strangely, his parents had left him with no articles, possessions, or money of any kind. Even the most ragged blanket, bent sword. or tiniest scrawl of their handwriting would have made a difference. Irwain had blamed it on the fires that followed Crous’s wake. That night, not just their lives but their presence vanished from Kag’s streets forever. Often, when he was little, Jan would interview guards and other staff asking questions about their roles, personalities, and duties.

  He would be lucky if he found anyone who could even remember their names. In the beginning, it seemed like not even Kag’s most experienced or longest-serving soldiers knew of their presence. At last, after three weeks of searching—and with Irwain’s help—Jan had been able to find their former commander and a few of their neighbours. It was always the same stories: meagre unpolished descriptions of their faces and mannerisms, and a reflection that they had been quiet people who served without question. Irwain had always lamented that they loved Jan and had friends, just none who anyone knew. It wasn’t much help but was comforting at least. Sometimes he thought he would search for them and find out they were never really dead. He had siblings, a house, and a home, and they were people with lives and souls, passion and hate. For a moment, Jan bent over to stoke the fireplace. He let the flames flicker in his eyes reflection as he patted the embers. It was getting cold lately, colder than normal.

  “This isn’t like your standard ‘steal exam answers from Damnu’s closet.’ We’ve got actual work to do,” Jan muttered.

  “Yes, espionage! Continue your mission infiltrating these Jannics, Commander!” the rock seemed to scream in delight.

  “Well, not espionage, Sill. Can I call you that?” Laura asked.

  “Yes, I like the name Sill,” it replied.

  A few moments passed, and the two walked toward Jan’s desk. The young scribe bent over. He used magic to trace scratchy lines into the yellow parchment.

  “Paper? Ooh, old school!” Sill replied.

  Perhaps the inanimate had a scribe or was the subject of a wealthy upbringing. The two ignored it as they continued drawing.

  “The garrison’s library houses over twenty-two thousand complete scrolls and is protected by seventy soldiers and two hundred librarians—not to mention it’s in the outer garrison, meaning…” Laura pointed at the etched map, relaying directions as the two sprang into motion. Her finger ran with his, tracing into the parchment. Magic coursed within her eyes, yet they didn’t change colour and only twinkled in the night.

  “Access to the six thousand war veterans ready to rush in at a moment's notice,” Jan added.

  “Yes. This doesn’t even include the enchantment’s protection spells and various implements. What do you suggest?” Laura asked.

  “I think our best course of action involves this,” Jan slowly lifted a coin. The faded bronze flickered in the air as a smile sprouted across his face.

  “Bribery?” She laughed.

  "Good idea, Commander!!! Your internal software is nearly 20-30,000 years old with an activation date of sixteen years!! This means your soldier pay and pension through CORE would be close to 111893583.3 credits!!!! That would surely be enough to bribe some Jannics!!!"

  The two ignored the rock and continued talking.

  “Hey, I have more of a plan than that!” Jan pressed his finger against the map, letting the freshly drawn ink smudge. “We arrive as official researchers,” he said smugly.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  At this Laura gestured an all-knowing, ‘why are you always incompetent’ stare. “How?”

  “Look, it’s simple. Since Longsa’s in control, it’s very unlikely any of the new guards will recognize us. We can slip in, talk to the librarians, then grab the document and slip out.” Jan laughed for a moment as the two paused to catch their breath.

  His companion paced for a moment, lips pursed as she supposedly thought out their next course of action. “I like it, but that vault is uncrackable, they’ll bust us before we even take a step inside. I think I have a better idea. How much money do you think you can duplicate?”

  “What?” Shock glazed over the young scribe's eyes. He had taken suggestions before but nothing this dangerous. Duplicating money would result in capital punishment, or at the very least, a stern reprimand by Irwain. “You know that’s very illegal?” he remarked.

  “Legality doesn’t apply to alien scum!” Sill screamed.

  Jan was starting to become concerned. The little rock was harmless, but it might not have the best intentions.

  “Fine,” Laura said. “How much do you think we can make legally in a single night?”

  “What are you planning Laura? We hire someone?”

  “No, no. I’m thinking much better. How would you like to start our very own university?” she asked.

  * * *

  The next morning the two rose early, with Jan having spent several hours finishing a recount for Damnu. His hand pulsed in agony as he lay down the first quill, neatly decorated ink splattered against the parchment’s wiry frame. He had done better than usual, only sixty spelling mistakes and good enough prose to make Damnu only cough once instead of twice and give him half a scornful glance instead of the usual three. Yet this time, they had renewed vigour, a common goal. Sunlight trickled through the thin glass as Jan slipped on his coat. Research assistants ran past, holding various crates and the newest collections of specimens from excursions to the outer reaches.

  Jan had once marveled at the creatures beyond even the shortest borders. There were monsters rumoured to swallow entire ships, trees that would ensnare and chew their victims, and societies of humanoid creatures that dwelled in scarred jungles. Most recently, explorers had returned with centipedes over ten feet long, and even ferns which would spit tiny globs of harmless projectiles at passing prey. He was barely toward the dining hall when Laura caught up to him. It was a prearranged meeting for the two to continue their plans. Classes had resumed for the most part, while a steady stream of students began to streak down the winding roads. Jan could barely remember the last time he had attended anything. Irwain had tried to give him a standard education, but the scribe had shown too much promise. He passed exams with ease and was able to fast-track subjects. There were, of course, a few classes Jan was still required to attend, such as history, mathematics and the philosophy of magic.

  Steel doors parted as the young scribe entered. They walked slowly down the oddly dark cobble halls of St. Kaoe. He could still make out monastic runes on the various pillars and half-winded gargoyles. It was a remnant from two hundred years ago, when academics from the Lang-East company had first landed in Kag. An explosion rang out in the hall above, fire sprouting from the windows as Laura and Jan kept forward. Often, the sound of lab work would riddle the campus. Academics paid to experiment in hopes of deriving stronger magic. Its essence came from the planet itself—an aura implemented into the ground, and trees to make a weaving lattice of power, a brushstroke across all living things. Skill depended solely on how much one was attuned to the planet and the practice they had, morphing its simplistic ways.

  In one single turn, they entered the lecture hall. It was a room more suited to a church than an amphitheatre. Dark oak benches collected into a series of thin rows. The class was sparsely attended but had a few keen students leaning forward and eager to hear the professor's remarks. Jan squinted at the blackboard. Despite having a world of magic, sometimes his vision could be quite bad.

  They took seats near the front, with Laura scribbling notes as Jan yawned. Often, students would try to take notes through channeling, yet it was a long and laborious process. It took great skill to give something autonomy, let alone the ability to dictate.

  The professor was a short, thin, scrubby-looking fellow with balding brown hair and long black robes. A thin streak of purple shot through the high-collared cloak. It was an insignia toward his rank in academia, along with his last name, Filt. Often a silver star would mark those of prominent stature, yet few existed in Kag’s streets apart from Irwain, the professor of ground, and the professor of dark.

  It wasn’t long before Filt traced a single circle with blackboard chalk and began to have magic project the wispy image. It seemed like a cylindrical container with metal bolts latched on either side, with a smooth exterior populated by streaks of golden wire. On the top sat two dials to read, charged with fine articulated instruments that seemed almost alien to the surrounding world.

  “Does anyone know what this is?”

  “Do you know what it is, Commander?!” Sill asked quietly.

  “Yes, now be quiet!” Jan almost shouted.

  He missed his opportunity and silence echoed across the room until a student raised their hand. Aloat Barka. Jan seethed for a moment with hatred imbuing his soul. She was the daughter of an upper nobleman, an upstart and as ambitious as cruel.

  “A Setra.”

  “Very good. And it’s purpose?”

  Jan’s hand shot up. He had often spent hours poring over Kag’s history books. His time spent searching for Crous had led him down intricate paths. His memory fluttered over a particular expert, his mind recalling in intimate detail every scratch, blot and line that had marred the ancient page. It was backwater science, a development that had happened no more than twenty years ago, yet Filt would often try to make his class seem relevant.

  Filt nodded to Jan who instantly spoke, turning to goad his colleague, Aloat.

  “To isolate primordial essence and find the source of magical power.”

  Laura sat back, mulling in boredom as the two repeated known historical facts.

  “Believing in the works of Sir Arthur Corey, Professor of Ground Quintix Lastrum had run lightning for two hours through this setra. A wired copper container that held a quartile of sand and was specifically defined for energy retention. Eight researchers cast spells of lightning toward the pile of small rocks to create what Corey had considered the purest element. He had tried with water, to no avail, you see.”

  Jan eyed the hologram before him. It seemed to twist in purity. Hundreds had tried to replicate Lastrum’s experiment, a trial leading that had led to nothing but needless harm. Filt nodded, impressed as he pulled out a pencil and began to twirl it between his spindly fingers.

  “He attempted to overload the planet’s structure and break down elements to the small source of magic’s power. The result was a sizable explosion, the death of Quintix Lastrum, six others and a short pause on geofulminology,” Filt explained. The professor continued to draw on the chalkboard, grimy dust sticking to his fingers as his expression changed to a wry smile. “Does anyone know why?”

  Silence echoed through the small classroom. A few muffled grunts and murmurs came from the half-asleep class.

  “Many theorize that the setra was simply not strong enough. Others state that the wrong type of lightning was used. Yet some believe no results would yield entirely. Your task is relatively simple. The first one to give me a suitable reason for its failure will be exempt from this week’s assignment.”

  At this, the class seemed to perk up as this time the homework might actually be fun. Jan glanced at his notes. They were a scratchy conglomerate of blocked-up letters. Primordial essence was something the world only hinted at, and a whisper at the edges of foremost research. Yet Kag was renowned for its scholars. Irwain was supposedly one of the most powerful mages in the country, with skill falling short only of the capital itself.

  It seemed like such an easy task, yet Jan didn’t see the point in raising his hand. He didn’t need eyes drawn toward him, an apprentice who received special treatment, a commoner who had placed himself among royal blood.

  What’s Filt trying to pull here Jan mused.

  It was only a moment before Aloat raised her hand. Beady eyes seemed to glow beneath her perfect black hair and pale, aristocratic features. This caused Jan to take notice. Laura scoffed as she continued working on the regular assignment, seemingly unbothered as the two continued speaking. Aloat seemed to unfurl her robe, smiling as she raised her hand.

  “May I make use of the projector Professor?”

  Filt seemed surprised at this yet nodded as Aloat used her magic to warp the setra’s hologram. Instead, Jan soon saw perfect figures dancing among the hall’s scattered walls. They were moving shadows which the student had sprung to life.

  “The setra was without doubt an invalid theory. Corey’s theories had been under certain review, especially in light of the four elemental theorems. Fire, water, air, and ground are all manipulatable under magical duress, and react heavily in Fourie and Dewall’s experiments. To state that the planet Jaul could be broken down into a single magical component of ludicrous power is, as one says, ludicrous”. Aloat used her skill with the projector to manipulate the scholarly crowd. Meticulous figures and wispy shapes played out in perfect detail as she presented a chronological etching of history.

  Filt stood, black robes draped along the cold marble floors. “A subscription to a more recognizable theory, I see, Aloat.”

  “Tradition is often rooted professor,” Aloat said with a smile on her lips. She seemed to stare at Jan as she said this, almost provoking attack.

  The scribe then raised his hand, mind clicking as he felt something pang. He cast a glance toward his arm and saw it shake for a moment. Veins glowed and he lowered his hand to hide it under his robe. For a moment Jan seemed to seize, rasping for breath while mind wandered. He could feel it, hear it talking to him. A presence, warmth, comfort—

  “Jan?” A hand reached out to sit on the scribe’s shoulder. “Jan?”

  It had only been a few seconds, but Jan could barely remember the past hour. Sweat streaked his face as he stuttered. What the hell’s happening to me? Attacks like this had marred his past. Every time he would use magic he would feel it. A torrent of lightning screamed through his veins. A streak of darkness assaulted his mind. It seemed to know him, tear through the fabric of his heart—and then it stopped.

  “Are you okay Jan?” Filt gently asked. His wispy gray hair was matted in an expression of concern. He knew Jan on a personal level—or at least knew him because of his position as consul.

  “Sorry, one moment.”

  "Commander, are you okay!! Don't worry I too am suffering from Memory breaks!! Just now I forgot that there __________ zh zh.... zhzh" Sill whispered.

  Aloat snickered, followed by a few of her classmates from the lecture's upper halls.

  “Manipulated wrought steel, combined with rubber into a sterile coating… This would increase the device's energy capacity, with the wrought steel acting as a conduit for the respective copper chassis. Instead of lightning, the researchers should have used two direct source wires stretching in and out of the machine. This would mitigate the idea of counter-current and simply make it easier than blasting it from all directions. On top of this, the most important addition of lightning could be swapped for soul-power.”

  “Impressive, Commander!” Sill replied.

  At least he had a hype squad, even if its closest relative was a slab of granite.

  “Soul-power?” Filt’s mouth gaped for a moment, taking the time to digest what Jan had just said. He seemed to tense at the word, making a guttural sound as he almost felt its texture. Those around him seemed to shudder. The whispers stopped as a mixture of impressed faces and confused glances spread silently through their ranks.

  “I asked you to disprove it, not add to the madness. You would say the researchers should expose themselves, channel their very essence into the machine?” Filt responded.

  Those who still listened in the class leaned forward. Intrigue passed over scattered faces. “It would be the strongest and rawest form of energy,” Jan insisted.

  “Then you’re an idiot and you’d die just like Lastrum,” Aloat mused.

  At this, the entire class seemed to burst out laughing. There was something about the way she’d said it, so clear and direct, yet also filled with a kind of haphazard boredom.

  Yet at the same time, Filt seemed to stand for a moment, his mind sifting over vacant thought. Something resonated within the professor's mind, a half-truth which clung to the edge of every waking word.

  “It could work, but there should be no difference in expected results. Why would more power change the result?” Filt asked.

  Suddenly, Jan’s posture seemed to straighten as he spoke. “It wouldn’t.”

  “What?” Filt questioned. A few others looked up in shock. Even Aloat seemed confused, uncertain of what unbridled stunt Jan was trying to pull.

  Then with utmost confidence, the mage stood, taking pride in what little statements he had. “It did work. Records show that only six of the researchers were killed in the initial explosion. The remaining two, Lanstrum and his head assistant, were maimed. They were eaten a—”

  “Conspiracies?” Filt shouted. “Is that the best you can do, Jan?”

  At this, the entire class seemed to laugh. Aloat gloated as Jan attempted to shout over the crowd’s jeering taunts.

  “Conspiracies?” he continued to remark. “I would expect more from a child who is supposedly the Consul to the Archmage.” Filt almost snarled.

  It wasn’t long before class ended. Aloat had gained more points, sharing her personal views to corroborate Filt’s version and earned the credit. Laura laughed as Jan shuddered more and more in complaint. It felt cruel that her complacency would be rewarded, yet sometimes even he had to accept dealing in conspiracies was a stretch too far.

  Outside, the other students seemed to regard him as a plague, with some steering clear, while others talked in hushed whispers behind his back. They were cautious to encourage Irwain’s displeasure yet regarded Jan as either an upstart commoner or an audacious prick.

  Grass matted Jan’s boots as they crossed the university’s open field. Jan spotted it. His stomach rumbled, and times like these were only solved by food. He squinted for a moment to see a food stall up ahead. They had freshly crafted sandwiches whose flavour was enhanced by magic. Jan could almost smell the wafting lettuce, salivating as he and Laura approached the wooden desk. He reached into his pocket, his hand grasping loose coins. They were so close, the merchant only a few feet away.

  Suddenly, Aloat approached the group, a few of her lackeys strung behind her. They were simplistic mages and rune students that would serve her every baited whim. It was times like these where Jan would often wonder what made her so popular. Yet when confronted by the sheer mix of both familial power and effervescent perfection it was hard to see why not.

  “Irwain looking for a new apprentice yet?” she sneered. They were really driving this in.

  “Really? That’s the best you can come up with?” Laura retorted.

  The two continued walking, feet skidding to a halt as Aloat’s group blocked their path. They all wore the same scholarly robes, slightly cleaner and far less scorched than the usual academic. Jan cast a glance toward the canopy above, hoping to avoid their gaze. She seemed to gloat as her hands were clasped over a series of textbooks.

  “I really don’t see why he likes you. A failure and fraud at almost every menial task.” She really liked hearing herself talk. “It’s a wonder you even pass,” She snickered.

  Jan stayed silent, attempting to walk forward to be blocked by more of Aloat’s friends. It was Fennek, a short blond blond-haired mage from the north reaches. They seemed to all have the same expression plastered over shrewd faces, one that was both a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. They knew of the consul’s status but would risk repercussions if it meant gaining Aloat’s favour.

  And they also hate me, Jan thought.

  “You know, all these years, outside of tests, I’ve never actually seen you use magic.”

  Her fellow students jeered at this. A few even paused as if to test their memories. Idiots.

  “I keep my tasks reserved. You wouldn’t know,” Jan muttered.

  “What was that?” she countered. She edged forward, punching Jan in the gut. He collapsed into the scattered foliage. Two students strutted forward, others glancing around in case of guards. They held him down, hands pressed against his shoulders while he squirmed in the dirt. He didn’t really need to squirm but sometimes he felt if he did, they would punch him less.

  “The apprentices of archmages are supposed to be unrelenting, and amazing, yet I’ve only heard you get into trouble. Where are your deeds? Where are your great tasks of merit, Jan? Who have you served but yourself?”

  Silence followed. For a moment, his entire body seemed to pang. Jan felt his insides twist, thoughts and emotions intertwined into a proverbial knot. Sweat slicked his forehead as he prepared to stand his ground.

  “Where are yours?”

  She seemed to pause for a moment. “My family paved this city with their sweat and blood. Surely Jan, you would know that you live on a street dedicated to my very own name. Last month, I served on the smearling front itself. I’ve killed, Jan. Watched friends die in a battle you were exempt from.”

  He shuddered for a moment. Jan really should have seen that coming. It wasn’t his fault he escaped the draft, but he’d never escape it, no matter how hard he tried. They’d never understand. He was useful to Irwain, beyond valuable, a fact those outside the archmage’s inner circle would always fail to realize. His every accomplishment and simplistic task was shrouded in secrecy. His entire life lay within the palm of Irwain’s hand.

  “At least my parents had the decency to die with honour. Records barely show yours exist,” she hissed.

  At this, Jan seemed to fume. It would have stung more if he remembered them, but not a single glimpse of his tattered past held their warmth. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or a curse, but it felt the same both ways. Irwain had told him it was simply too long ago, but he could still defend their memory. He felt his ears go red for a moment as his eyes seemed to become cloudy white. He shrugged off the two students holding his arms and stood toe to toe with Aloat as she continued to gloat. Jan seethed in anger, yet no fear struck Aloat’s eyes… Only a faint smile.

  “Liar!” Jan screamed.

  “Attack me, do it. Prove you’re not weak. Prove you’re not a coward.”

  “Don’t worry, Commander, I know you’re not weak! If we weren’t undercover, we’d splay them on a steak!” the rock whispered in his ear.

  Well, that was morbid. For some reason Sill’s remarks didn’t seem to help, only made Jan feel more like a fraud.

  The others laughed and a few turned to leave. They had enough of Jan’s squirming. In moments, the crowd dispersed to leave them both alone on the grassy field. Clouds passed overhead, tiny wisps cascading against the midday sun as Jan stood, feet firmly planted in the ground. He was fighting back tears, trying anything to make sure Aloat didn’t see him cry. She seemed to smell his fear, feed on his despair as she leaned over to whisper something in his ear.

  “You took my place, Jan. Remember that. It was my parents’ service, my skill which secured my birth as consul. It was my birthright, my honour.” Her voice ran like poison, a thick, etching, guttural tone that seeped with a mixture of both pity and disgust. Jan could tell this was more than mere bullying. She meant every word she said, and her heart believed it to be true.

  A few seconds later Laura slinked forward to put a hand on Jan’s shoulder, which he quickly brushed off. Her eyes lit up with concern, yet the two didn’t talk about it. They never did. Silence consumed them as they continued to walk down the gravel path. Just as was Jan’s luck, as they passed the library it started to rain. Grey wispy clouds had dotted the horizon ever since the morning, so it was by no means a surprise, yet this still affected Jan’s mood. He stood for a moment, letting the droplets patter his feet as his hands felt the misty air.

  “Your parents weren’t cowards, Jan,” Laura whispered.

  “I know,” Jan replied, just as quietly.

  “Then why don’t you fight back?” Laura asked as kindly as she could.

  It wasn’t the first time she had questioned things. Jan breathed in slowly. Normally he wouldn’t respond and just leave his intentions under interpretation. He closed his eyes, to usher out a series of quick words. “Irwain prevents me from doing any heavy magic outside of assignments.”

  “What? That's ridiculous,” she argued.

  “He doesn’t want anyone to know my power, so he hides it. I can do strong magic so long as no one knows.”

  “You disobey everything? Why not this?” She turned, confused.

  “This one is there for a reason,” Jan remarked.

  Laura nodded for a moment. She seemed to understand this. As she considered it, her thin black hair was pattered by the passing rain. She gripped the scrolls under her arm more tightly, almost as one would a baby, before starting down the gravel path. Jan followed behind, skin rubbing against his cloak’s rough hide as he walked.

  “Are you any good?” she asked.

  Careful not to raise attention, Jan’s eyes glazed over, and the sky above began to part. The storm clouds streaked back, to have sunlight flicker through the wet grass.

  “Very,” Jan whispered.

  Laura couldn’t hide her expression, clearly impressed by his abilities. She shook her head, though, reaching into her bag.

  “Oh, and Jan.” She stopped, holding out a sandwich for her friend.

  “I got this for you,” she muttered, before turning around.