Gahairis smiled as she watched Ar’Caen carefully word his request.

Parthra, she knew, was an excellent judge of character. And from what little she’d seen of this boy, he was respectful and very diligent. Very much like that stubborn descendant of hers.

“Youths these days are quite unimaginative,” Fenendis said with a chuckle. “Just higher education, as well as funding for your studies, academic projects, and advancement? Boy, are you sure?”

“Yes, Grand Elder.”

“At least, he’s studious,” Qobesh muttered with a frown. There was a hint of irritation in his aura.

Gahairis gave him a sidelong look. He seemed to be in a bad mood, but then again, Qobesh was a grumpy sort.

“Votes?” Fenendis inquired by pulsing his aura.

Gahairis signalled her approval through her aura, as did the others. It was unanimous.

“Well, this panel finds your request reasonable,” Fenendis said with needless pomp. “Consider it done.”

Ar’Caen bowed deeply again. “This child of the family thanks his esteemed grand elders immensely—”

“Yes, yes,” Qobesh said, waving a dismissive hand. “We can see that you are grateful. Out of… respect for Gevrid and the years he spent handling your magical illness, I will hold off on examining you until he comes out of his seclusion. But till then, I’ll be keeping an eye on your progress.”

Gahairis chuckled while Franzoa placed a hand on her mouth and began shaking with mirth.

“Thank you, Grand Elder. If I might be so bold… will Grand Elder Gevrid be present at the next celebration?”

“That’s when he’s expected to return from his endeavors, but he might very well return as much as a year and a half ahead of schedule,” Qobesh said, his aura roiling in open annoyance.

Ar’Caen bowed deeply at this, offering his thanks again, and Qobesh’s expression darkened further.

“So that’s why you’ve been sulking,” Franzoa said in hastened speech, now laughing.

“He is sad that he missed out on taking an interest in the boy all those years ago,” Dowdn goaded just as quickly, a smile on his face as he twiddled his mustache.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Fenendis said, patting the horned man’s shoulder.

“Encroaching on Gev’s research is a sure way to get us all in trouble,” Gahairis said seriously.

“Once he kills you, that is,” Franzoa added, wearing an irksome smile on her face as she watched Qobesh.

Qobesh folded his arms. “We don’t know if Gevrid will successfully advance. But… I suppose there’s no sense in testing the Mother’s mercy.”

Ar’Caen was still straightening from his bow.

Gahairis turned her attention to him and adopted a grave tone. “Young one, I must warn you very sternly about the current path you seem to have chosen for yourself. Surfeitism is not a viable outlook for anyone who hopes to advance through the stages of magic, as I assume you intend to.”

“Thank you for your wisdom, Grand Elder Gahairis,” the boy said, bowing deeply once more. “I will take your words to heart and let them guide me.”

Gahairis huffed in exasperation, but couldn’t help but smile. He was a foolish boy. Just like that foolish girl who didn’t visit enough. He reminded her of Etnei in many ways. She shook her head.

“An institution as sterling as the Citadel would soundly beat that attitude out of him,” Qobesh said, sniffing.

“Well, if we’re done here,” Fenendis said, “I suppose it is time for your oaths.”

“If I may trouble you for one more thing, Grand Elder,” Ar’Caen hurried to say.

“Speak.”

“I am very concerned about my immediate safety, Grand Elder, and would prefer that my identity remain hidden for as long as possible. I—”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“You are only delaying the inevitable, young Ar’Caen,” Fenendis cut in. “We will take all necessary measures to keep it concealed. But someone will discover your identity eventually. Performing so well in the trials comes with a cost.”

“I understand this, Grand Elder. But my concern is about the award ceremony tomorrow. I have consistently attended these events over the years, and the head of the Faithful Descent faction, who is my great-grandmother, will be expecting me to be there. I need to create distance between myself and this Herb Mask persona.”

Fenendis tilted his head in consideration.

“You’re asking to be absent from the ceremony,” Qobesh said.

“Yes, Grand Elder.”

“That is not the proper way of things,” Dowdn said, frowning thoughtfully.

“But we do have precedent for it, however,” Gahairis spoke up.

The others turned to her.

Franzoa smiled and said in hastened speech, “The boy siddles in here with a Parthran fragment and you suddenly start treating him like he’s your favorite child.”

“My children died eons ago,” Gahairis scoffed. Then she spoke slowly enough for Ar’Caen to follow. “What did you have in mind, Child?”

***

After he had explained his plan to them and sworn the oaths, the grand elders dismissed him.

He was suddenly wrenched through space, appearing in another neatly decorated room with three window walls and a large warp gate taking up the regular wall. It was thoroughly clear to him that he was on the third stratum.

The second and first strata of the island were laid out far, far below. This was most certainly a tower of some kind. Caen didn’t stop to take in the sights, however.

He’d shaped Chasma to cover his face again, and his helmet was back on. An attendant sat by the warp gate, and Caen left Vai’s Grat coordinates with the man just as he’d been instructed by the grand elders. Someone, they'd said, would contact him to work out all the remaining details.

Caen warped into Vai’s basement. He hurried into his room and began to strip off the terribly damaged armor. Glancing at the empty stand by the wall caused him to let out a sad sigh. He hoped that he would get another chance to meet with Stormsong soon.

Chasma slipped into one of the restitched bags of holding and began feeding on the paraphernalia of meats and rich soil within that Caen had prepared ahead of time for the fragment.

Caen washed out the dye from his hair, took a quick bath, put on fresh clothes, and helped himself to some food before heading out to run some errands for Uncle Vai. He still had to keep up appearances.

At the Records Office, projections on the wall displayed highlights from the ongoing trial. It was a little bizarre to be done, and still be watching it happen in real time. A great deal of the highlights cycled between scenes of him and scenes of Anomis.

“I heard Herb Mask was summoned for a quick chat with the Spirit Mother herself,” said a middle-aged man sitting nearby.

“He was barely gone for thirty seconds,” the woman beside him replied. “Maybe it was just a forced emergency teleportation.”

“Actually, there’s some evidence that Herb Mask might be a Space mage,” another fellow said. “He might even have a bloodline that allows him to—”

They began bickering good-naturedly.

Caen snorted.

On the scoreboards, Anomis, unsurprisingly, was in second place. A lanky young man named ‘Eshanafi’ was in third place. Soza was in fourth. Yeishi had dropped to fifth place. And Fahptis was in ninth, just three positions below the Corona Witch.

Caen was ranked in first place. His points were displayed beside his alias. Four hundred and fifteen points.

He felt… as though he were dreaming. He’d been watching this competition for most of his life, and now, he’d not just been a participant in the Patronage trials; he’d completed them. And had even gotten a Patronage slot to boot. He caught himself shaking his head in disbelief.

Three hours later, he returned to his room very tired. He’d gotten some more food from street vendors, completely satiating his hunger.

Between the magical and physical exertion, as well as several bouts of healing, Caen had used up all his stored sleep. He fell into bed and dozed off halfway through casting a spell.

***

The first thing Caen noticed when he woke up was the strong weight of presences in the dark room with him. For a brief instant, he feared that he was in the midst of peak Attuners.

Then he sat up and saw his family members sleeping on couches and padded mats on the floor around him. He could feel the weight of their existences so distinctly. And, strangely, even though he wasn’t connected to any of them, there were cords of connection linking him to every single person here. From his grandparents to Zeris. Orissa, too.

The strongest and most stable cord of connection was between him and Chasma, and it felt so much stronger than before.

That wasn’t all.

The black cords of connection ran between him and various items in the room as well. His bed, the armor sitting in a sack, the bag of holding Zeris had lent him, and the box within which he stored the remains of his goggles.

Caen’s own soul felt much more vibrant to his senses. He was inundated by new sensations; more visual, auditory, spiritual, and emotional elements. There was such a palpable note of unity to it all, a much stronger harmony of self. His aura was far more comprehensible to him now.

On a much less important note, he could feel the weight of impositions upon him. And without even casting spells, he was cognizant of all the ongoing contracts he was bound by. A sharp awareness of duty and necessitation.

The time was 3 in the morning, and it was clear to Caen that something fundamental had changed about him.

He smiled.

His Binding magic affinity had finally risen out of abjection.