Dolo sat on the edge of her seat, watching the projection on the glass panel with bated breath as Herb Mask walked slowly towards the exit point. Many Returned near him moved away from his path.

The cooling wards rendered this viewing booth uncomfortably cold, but she couldn’t spare the attention to adjust it.

Medi was screaming in glee and shoving Ayula, who still wore shock plainly on his face. Ayula’s jaw had dropped and continued to hang open from the moment Herb Mask had eliminated Pahanai.

Below, in the arena seats, cries of “Stormsinger”, “Blight-eater”, or “Son of Adversity” could be heard.

“We are witnessing history before our eyes today,” Gerpshan, the commentator, cried over the sound enchantments that broadcast his voice all over the arena. “The son of adversity has not only humbled Humility and slain the Star Killer, he is moments away from breaking a record that has remained unbeaten for nearly two centuries!”

“Four hundred and fifteen points,” echoed Kulios, another commentator. “That’s eighty-five points higher than Oirick.”

“Oh, I’m sure Etnei would be very proud.”

“Indeed! I must say, this round has witnessed some very shocking events. Everything from—”

Herb Mask suddenly lunged the rest of the way towards the exit point, but there was no one hostile nearby.

“Ah, he’s impatient!”

“Ha! Can’t blame him,”

Gerpshan said. “I’d definitely—”

Herb Mask vanished, not in a pillar of light. He just simply… disappeared. Dolo blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Uh…” the commentator trailed off eloquently.

“It looks like we’re having a bit of a… um—”

“What in the dark realms just happened?” Medi asked, jumping to his feet from where he sat beside Ayula. “Where did he go?”

In the arena below, many spectators rose from their seats, gawking.

“Please, do not be alarmed,” Gerpshan said. “It seems there might have been some sort of… er… mix-up. The trial coordinators are looking into this.”

***

Caen found himself in the most palatial ballroom he’d ever seen in his life. The walls were completely made of transparent glass, which revealed the sprawling sights and terrain features of the island. And before him rose an elevated platform with a long, ornate table. Six individuals with powerful presences sat there, looking down at him. He could feel the immense weight of their collective souls.

The grand elders.

This was not supposed to happen so soon. And what did this even mean? He’d been transported out of the arena before he reached the exit point.

“My mother,” Stormsong said quietly. “The one who created me. She is here.”

Still panting and in immense pain, Caen rose shakily to his feet. His heart was thudding in his chest as he tried to organize his thoughts.

A woman with prominent cheekbones and dressed in several layers of East Vedul attire, scrutinized him with striking gray eyes. She was the only person here whom Caen did not recognize. This had to be Hera-Lienixur.

“Fenendis, you dolt!” sighed Grand Elder Franzoa, a dark-skinned woman with white hair and golden decorations on her forehead. “He wasn’t done with the trial yet.”

Grand Elder Fenendis, a monocled man with a great brown beard, frowned. “What do you mean? The boy had to have been a few steps away from the end. He was going to go through the gate, anyway.”

“Yes, but what would the children think?” a reedy man asked in a whisper that echoed strangely through Caen’s mind. Grand Elder Dowdn. “As usual, you’ve sullied the standard way of things with your over-eagerness.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Fine! I’ll just send him back then,” Fenendis grumbled, waving a hand.

The dark-skinned woman’s eyes widened. “Wait! At least—”

Caen was suddenly wrenched through space again.

He reappeared on the trial grounds, right in front of the archway, and with a sheathed Stormsong in his hand. He doubled over from the pain of his injuries and the violent transit. His identifier necklace began to buzz furiously.

Just as he rejected yet another emergency transit, an Aspirant in huform with feathers for hair ran past him, screaming, “Ha ha! Suck it, Bloodbirds!”

A Returned with the emblem of the Bloodbirds etched on his scuffed armor lunged at Caen, while another hung back and lashed out with a water whip.

Channeling the dregs of his mana into Stormsong, he smacked aside the Body-enhancer and ignored the Liquid practician. The water whip slapped against Chasma with little effect. The Body-enhancer scrabbled off the ground onto which he’d been flung and ran away. His companion followed him.

Caen took a deep, shaky breath and walked through the archway. He was once again teleported before the grand elders.

***

A few days before the fourth trial, Caen sat with Hshnol, Uncle Teiro, and Uncle Vai in the Astral Realm. He was currently Mimicking Vai’s Contract affinity as one portion of his mind constructed a geas.

“Intentions can be sensed in the Weave,” Sh’kteiro said. “Even by Percipients who are not Diviners. A goal is an intention, so your goal cannot be to mislead the grand elders.”

Vai hovered nearby, aiding and overseeing a separate portion of Caen’s mind. They were trying to reframe his mentality with Dream-guarding. It was subtle work that would result in only slight changes, the effects of which would redefine his core objective when meeting the elders: not hiding information, not fearing discovery, but needing to prioritize his safety.

Caen did not want the grand elders to know that he was a Xihx or that he had more than two bloodlines. The only way to keep this knowledge from them was by lying.

However, the desire to withhold information and to lie was a strong intention that Teiro believed could be perceived in the Weave; thus, the need to reframe his mindset.

“I will tell them no falsehoods,” Caen muttered as he worked slowly on the geas. “I will not lie to the grand elders.”

He’d found that it helped his focus to vocalize core terms whenever he was casting Binding magic spell chains as complex as this.

A commitment to tell no lies could be misinterpreted as sincerity, but that was only half of the work.

“Distracting truths, not misleading ones,” Uncle Teiro said.

Vai nodded. “You have to shock them with new information at every turn. New but truthful information. Directing the flow of conversation with fascinating details is an art form.”

“Won’t that be perceived in the Weave?” Caen asked. “Attempting to shock them, I mean. They’d have to know that there’s an element of deceit to all this.”

“Yes,” Sh’kteiro said, “But that element of deceit is precisely what we’re trying to mask with all these measures. Without inspection, it can be misinterpreted as an attempt to commend yourself. An attempt to ‘impress’ them.”

“A desire to earn their approval is something the grand elders would overlook,” Vai mused. “It’s natural behavior for successful participants. Everyone on that panel would be at the very height of Percipient—unless the rumors about Grand Elder Gahairis are true, that is. These people are used to deference and high regard. They won’t expect anything but that from you, unless you give them a reason to doubt your sincerity.”

Vai and Hshnol could have enacted these workings on Caen within mere moments, but Sh’kteiro insisted that it needed to register in the Weave that Caen’s mindset was mostly of his own making. External interference might leave behind obvious indicators.

A few minutes later, Caen halted his Contract magic spell chain. “I think I might have a problem here,” he said to Hshnol.

Hshnol’s brows creased softly as he inspected the spell imprint. “You just need to use stronger conditionals.”

Caen nodded and resumed his casting. Being truthful to the grand elders was in his best interest, so he would tell them no lies.

Hshnol examined the spell imprint again and nodded once.

Caen continued to work silently, with the occasional prompt from Vai, Sh’kteiro, and Hshnol.

***

The instant Caen appeared before the grand elders a second time, he dropped to his knees and bowed so deeply that his forehead touched the lush carpet. “This child of the family greets his esteemed grand elders,” he said with effort.

A tingle spread over his entire body, and immediately, all his pain eased. He could breathe more easily. He still felt hungry, but it was no longer a ravenous thing, and his desire to sleep abated. “Thank you, Grand Elders, for your care.”

“You are welcome, Child,” a gentle voice said. “Now rise.”

Caen complied quickly.

There were six people seated at the elevated table. Vai had mentioned that grand panels like these always constituted three or five members. The fact that there were six of them implied that something was perhaps different.

“I am deeply honored to be—” Caen began.

“Yes, yes,” Fenendis said, his monocle glinting under the decorative hanging lights within the room. He sat at the center of the group. This had been the elder responsible for confirming Zeris’s eligibility for a Patronage slot some years back. “Now take off your mask. We are curious. Very curious indeed.”