Zeris bought herself and Caen some roasted meat at the train stop since he'd wasted his money yesterday on crappy bicycles that they'd ended up abandoning somewhere around Redshadow. She also paid for his train fare.

At this time of day, there weren't a lot of people looking to head into Drenlin, so the stop was mostly empty. The train, however, was stuffed full of people.

The fingers on Caen’s hands were restricted by several elastic bands as he slowly moved through casting gestures. He was far too exhausted to use his whorl-gem or do anything with his mana for that matter. Avolition was a nasty experience that had taught him to moderate himself over the years. He’d taken a vial of Rien stimulant just before leaving the house.

“I spoke with my mom and your parents last night in Grat-line,” Zeris said in Code while doodling in her tome.

His parents and Aunt Grena, Zeris's mom, had traveled down to Odaton about a week ago to serve as non-combat support in the reclamation efforts that took place after Planar breaks. “I meant to spend some time with them in Grat-line last night, after seeing Uncle Vai.”

“Oh? You mean before your whole ‘ah! I have far too many bloodlines and a weird, existence-sight abilitythat makes me oversleep’.”

Caen laughed. “If you hadn't come to get me to see Magister Fermien, none of that would have happened. So, in a way, it's technically all your fault.”

“You run your mouth now,” she said, sniffing imperiously, “but when you need help finding your sixth bloodline, you'll be humbled.”

“Zeris, Zeris, Zeris,” he said, shaking his head. “You overestimate your worth. I have other cousins who can help me locate my remaining bloodlines, and once I locate the tenth one, I will be unstoppable.”

“Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised,” she said, laughing.

The fact that he'd even had four was as ridiculous as it was horrifying. He shuddered thinking about a situation where he'd have had as many as five. Before yesterday, he’d considered it impossible for someone to have that many, but now he wasn't so sure. What would even be the odds of that? And just how lucky would he have needed to be to awaken them all? Caen shuddered again.

* * *

When they reached the Drenlin train station, Caen and Zeris disembarked quickly and took a rickshaw to their destination.

The phrontistery was a three-story building close to the center of the city. It consisted of a large public library on the top floor as well as classrooms for open lectures and rudimentary magical training on the lower floors.

The brick building was painted a faded peach, with curly motifs of Erudition on the tall windows. Caen volunteered here as a teaching assistant once a week, helping with newly awakened children. And whenever he wasn't at home or at the tri-clinic, he did much of his studying in the library up top. Zeris, though, volunteered as a library assistant whenever she could make the time for it.

There were a few youths around their age and older already flocking towards the phrontistery by the time they got there.

Inside, the largest lecture hall had been commandeered for Fermien's lecture, and some teaching assistants were helping manage the small crowd. Caen saw several familiar faces amongst the assistants and exchanged polite nods with them.

The lecture hall could seat about eighty students. The stage opposite the entrance held a long desk with chairs for preceptors, as well as a podium and a large chalkboard taking up a portion of the wall.

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Caen and Zeris made their way to the third row of benches as the first two were already filled up. All the accompanying desks had been removed earlier, as was often done during open lectures. There hadn't been any one of those worth attending in Drenlin since Healer naMoon had given a talk on Favored Bone-mending Techniques of the Century a few months ago. Caen was very excited to be here. Being able to speak with Magister Fermien afterwards was sure to be an experience that would stick with him for life, but Caen also looked forward to the open lecture.

People of all ages began to flock into the hall, and most of them seemed curious to hear what the quirky, dancing Magister had to say. As far as Caen knew, mages—true experts in the arcane—were regarded with esteem world over. However, those who taught them, those who trained them, were ascribed even more weighty regard. This was reflected in a fair amount of the trashy stories Caen liked to read, which often employed tropes of a powerful figure whose words of wisdom could grant great insights into the arcane. It was partly elitist ideology, but a lot of people subscribed to it.

Ten minutes after the hall was filled up, a door beside the stage opened, and four people walked out. Two of them were preceptors here at the phrontistery that Caen recognized, one of them was Magister Fermien, and the last, surprisingly enough, was Healer naMoon: a prestigious and positively ancient werelizard who visited the tri-clinic on occasion. Much like Fermien, he had a presence about him, a magnetism that made it difficult not to stare.

They all took their places at the table on the stage. Healer naMoon sat beside Fermien, discussing quietly with him.

The surrounding hubbub of excitement in the hall continued to swell and barely even faltered when Preceptor Wijin came up to the podium. He was a stout, severe-looking man in flowing robes and a scarf tied around his head.

“Please, remember that this is a venue for learning and reflection,” Wijin said. “Be quiet at all times, and do not disturb the atmosphere.”

At his words, the din in the hall quieted significantly.

“We are very honored to have a distinguished magister from the Imperial Citadel of Magic with us today.” He glanced to his left, where the table sat. “He will be speaking to us very briefly about the influence of desert topology on crystallized mana formation.”

A light wave of chuckles spread across the crowd. Wijin was one of the oldest preceptors in Drenlin, and everyone in the know understood that when he said ‘very briefly’, he meant nothing less than two hours.

“If your bladder is weak or if you might have reason to not stay the course, I strongly advise that you pick an edge seat or stand at the back of the hall. We will not have anyone disrespect the magister with distractions once the lecture has begun.” After saying this, he waited a moment.

A boy some years younger than Caen sheepishly stood up from his seat and hurried to the back. There were a few more sounds of people excusing themselves or switching seats before Preceptor Wijin cleared his throat.

“Now, children, please, join me as we welcome Magister Fermien Aialda!”

The hall erupted in claps and a few daring hoots, many of which Preceptor Wijin's cold stare dissuaded.

Fermien clasped Wijin's shoulder and shook his hand. He took the podium, and the hall descended into perfect silence. Some people were still clapping, but no sounds came from them. Caen and Zeris, beaming like children, exchanged a look. The Magister had just cast a Vibration spell. Caen had never seen this discipline of magic used so skillfully by one person.

“Greetings, all,” Fermien said.

The spell effect fell away to reveal the willing silence of an awed audience.

An intrusive thought slipped quietly into Caen's mind. His migraine had abated, and while he still felt the early signs of will fatigue, it shouldn't impede Soul-sense.

Caen rubbed his temple. A loss of inhibition was a symptom of will fatigue. But even if his will wasn’t depleted right now, he would have been too cautious to try this. Using Soul-sense on Zeris had alerted her to the fact that ‘something’ was happening. While Caen didn't know what Fermien's stage of advancement in magic was, he was fairly certain that the magister was at least at the Percipient stage. Caen, and almost everyone he knew personally, were at the Attuner stage, which was just a level below Percipient.

He was very curious, of course, but it was far more prudent to avoid doing anything that even remotely seemed rash to him right now.

Sighing, he sank into his seat and began taking notes as Fermien lectured.