Crafting magic wasn't dissimilar to cooking, Adom had always thought. It required precision, patience, and a willingness to burn your fingers at least twice before getting it right.

He arranged the components Cass had acquired in a semicircle on his workbench. Each piece had been chosen with methodical care: three brass rings of different diameters, carved with minute notches along their inner edges; a handful of silver pins no thicker than sewing needles; a small leather pouch containing scraps of rare metals; and most importantly, a jar of alchemical solution that had cost nearly as much as everything else combined.

The crystals he'd obtained from the merfolk sat in a shallow dish of purified water, their glow muted but constant. Even in this dormant state, they pulsed with potential.

"Step one," Adom muttered to himself, reaching for the smallest of the glowing stones.

He lifted it carefully, examining it against the light. A perfect specimen--no inclusions, no fractures, just pure crystalline potential waiting to be awakened. This was where most enchanters would immediately start carving runes, eager to impose their will on the raw material.

That was also where most enchanters failed.

Adom did the opposite. He closed his eyes and rested the crystal in his palm, feeling its natural resonance. Each Deepglow Crystal had its own signature frequency--a unique vibrational pattern that distinguished it from all others. Understanding that pattern was crucial; fighting against it was futile.

After several minutes of concentration, Adom opened his eyes and reached for his logbook. He recorded the crystal's resonance as a series of numerical values—a seven-digit sequence that represented its unique vibrational pattern.

"Frequency code 3-8-2-5-1-9-7," he muttered as he wrote. Each digit corresponded to a specific vibrational harmonic within the crystal's structure.

He then picked up a thin silver stylus and made a series of precise marks on the crystal's surface—not imposing arbitrary runes, but enhancing the natural flow lines in a pattern that encoded this numerical signature permanently into the stone's structure.

He set that crystal aside and repeated the process with a second one, this time feeling for a complementary frequency that would naturally harmonize with the first. When he found it, he recorded its unique seven-digit code: 4-2-7-6-3-5-8. Again, he marked the crystal with the same encoding pattern.

Now came the more technical phase. Adom mixed a paste from the alchemical solution, adding precise amounts of powdered silver and gold from the leather pouch. The mixture began to emit a faint humming sound as he stirred--a good sign.

One by one, he applied the paste to specific points on both crystals, creating a conductive network that followed their natural energy flows. As the mixture dried, it sank into the crystal structure, becoming part of it rather than merely sitting on the surface.

The real challenge came next: awakening the stones.

Adom placed both crystals in a small ceramic bowl and covered them with the remainder of the alchemical solution. Then he began a slow, steady infusion of mana--not forcing it in, but letting it seep gradually into the crystals' lattice structure.

For three minutes, he maintained perfect concentration, feeling the stones gradually accept his offering. Their glow intensified, shifting from blue-green to a deeper blue with pulsating undertones.

When the awakening was complete, he removed the crystals from the solution. They were transformed--no longer just pretty trinkets, but active conduits of magical energy. Even without further enchantment, they would now perpetually draw small amounts of ambient mana from their surroundings, self-sustaining their new awakened state.

Next came rune construction.

Adom pulled a small notebook from his pocket, flipping to a page of diagrams he'd sketched earlier. The rune sequences were his own design--a hybrid of classical patterns modified with innovations that wouldn't be discovered for decades.

He began carving the first crystal with a diamond-tipped etching tool, his movements precise and unhurried. These weren't just decorative markings--each line, curve, and intersection served a specific purpose in the magical circuit he was creating.

The primary rune cluster handled voice conversion--transforming sound vibrations into mana pulses that could be transmitted. A secondary array managed reception and reconversion. A third, more complex pattern--this one entirely his own invention--created what he mentally called a "frequency lock."

This was the real breakthrough: a runic sequence that permanently encoded the crystal's numerical frequency signature, allowing it to be "dialed" by another stone. Most modern mages would have used a binding spell for this purpose, but binding spells required maintenance. Adom's approach was structural--once established, it would work indefinitely without further magical input.

When both crystals were fully inscribed, he fitted them into the brass rings, which would serve as both protection and amplification chambers.

The smallest, innermost ring was positioned to directly contact the crystal.

The middle ring, slightly larger, contained the input runes.

The outermost ring housed the frequency controls—a series of precisely spaced notches marked with tiny numerical indicators from 0 to 9.

Users would align these numbers in sequence with a reference point on the casing to input the seven-digit code of any crystal they wished to contact.

He assembled the first device methodically, securing each component with the silver pins and sealing the junctions with drops of the remaining paste. When completed, it resembled a small brass compass with a glowing blue stone at its center, surrounded by numbered dials.

The second device he assembled with identical care, though the rune pattern was mirrored to complement rather than duplicate the first.

With both devices complete, Adom positioned them on opposite sides of his workbench. This was the moment of truth--either they would connect, or he'd wasted hours of preparation and a small fortune in materials.

He picked up the first device and rotated the outermost ring, carefully aligning the sequence 4-2-7-6-3-5-8—the unique frequency code of the second crystal. A tiny click confirmed the sequence had been fully entered, the mechanism locking into its final position.

"Testing," Adom said quietly, speaking directly into the crystal.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, from the second device across the workbench, his own voice emerged--clear as if he were standing next to it: "Testing."

A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Phase one, successful.

He repeated the test from different positions in the room, noting signal clarity and volume. The devices performed flawlessly regardless of distance or obstacles. Even when he placed one inside a metal box, the connection remained unbroken.

The final step was housing the devices in something more practical than exposed brass rings. From a drawer, he retrieved two custom wooden cases Cass brought earlier--palm-sized ovals with hollowed centers perfectly sized to hold the assemblies.

The casings weren't merely decorative. The wood had been soaked in a preservation solution that would protect against moisture and impact damage. More importantly, thin channels carved into the inner surface would help focus sound waves toward the crystal core, improving both transmission and reception quality.

Adom fitted the devices into their housings, secured them with tiny brass clasps, and gave each a final inspection. From the outside, they looked like nothing more remarkable than polished wooden eggs with a small glass window showing the crystal within, a small dial with numerical markings visible along one edge.

Simple. Elegant. Revolutionary.

He heard footsteps approaching and quickly cleared away the excess materials, leaving only the completed devices on the workbench.

Cass appeared in the doorway, her expression shifting from mild annoyance to curiosity as she spotted the glowing objects on the workbench.

"Could you please not scare off my neighbors with your late-night wandering?" she said, walking into the room. She balanced a small waxed paper package in one hand and two steaming mugs in the other. "Mrs. Halden from downstairs came knocking just now. Apparently, you were seen mumbling to yourself all over the neighborhood, laughing maniacally, and mumbling 'it works' at yourself."

The warm, buttery scent of fresh khazbun bread—a flaky, layered pastry unique to Arkhos' bakeries—filled the room as she set everything down on the one clear corner of the workbench.

"I brought you breakfast," she added, looking Adom over critically. "You should eat."

Adom ran a hand through his disheveled hair, dark circles under his eyes contrasting with the satisfied gleam in them. He reached for one of the mugs of hot chocolate gratefully.

"Lost track of time," he admitted savoring the hot drink. "But it was worth it."

"So I step out for half an hour to get us breakfast, and you decide to terrorize the whole neighborhood?" she said, eyeing the glowing objects. "What exactly have you been working on all night?"

Adom picked up one of the devices and held it out to her. "This is what's going to put the Wangara Guild on the map."

She took it cautiously, turning it over in her hands. "It's... pretty? What exactly am I looking at here?"

"The answer to your question about what would make us stand out," Adom replied. He picked up the second device and gestured for her to step back. "Walk over to the other side of the room."

Cass raised an eyebrow but complied, moving to the far corner.

"Now hold it up to your ear, like this." Adom demonstrated with his own device. "And notice the numbered dial on the edge? That's how you select which crystal to contact. Each crystal has its own unique seven-digit code."

She mimicked his position, her expression skeptical. "What is this supposed to--"

"Can you hear me?" Adom spoke softly into his device.

Cass nearly dropped hers, eyes widening as his voice emerged clearly from the stone she held to her ear.

"What in the world?" She stared at the device, then back at Adom across the room.

"That's just the beginning," he said, both directly and through the connection.

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Cass lowered the device slowly, her eyes never leaving Adom's face. The skepticism had vanished, replaced by a sharp, calculating look.

"Range?" she asked, her voice measured despite the intensity in her gaze.

"Citywide at minimum. With proper setup, potentially across provinces."

She turned the device over in her hands, examining it with new appreciation. "How difficult to reproduce?"

"The crystals are rare, but obtainable. The crafting requires precision, but it's a process I can teach to others." Adom took a sip of his chocolate. "I've designed templates for the rune sequences."

"Security?"

"Each crystal pair has a unique frequency. No one can listen in without the matching stone."

Cass paced three steps, then stopped. "Cost per unit?"

"High initially, but scalable once we establish supply lines for the materials."

Her fingers traced the dial. "And the numbering system—this means..."

"Any stone can contact any other stone in the network, provided you know the correct code."

She set the device down carefully, as if it might suddenly increase in value before her eyes. "Military applications?"

"Immediate battlefield coordination. Instant communications between outposts. Strategic advantage to whoever deploys it first."

"Merchant houses?"

"Real-time market information. Trade coordination across provinces. No more waiting weeks for messages to arrive by courier."

A hint of a smile played at the corner of her mouth. "The Imperial Court?"

"Governance without delay. Immediate response to crises. Power projection."

Cass leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "And we control the entire production."

"We do."

She closed her eyes briefly, calculating.

"Hmm. Where did you buy these? It's really good." Asked Adom, biting into the khazbun bread.

When Cass opened her eyes, Adom recognized something he rarely saw there—excitement, carefully contained but unmistakable.

"This isn't just a product, Adom. This is..." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "This is the beginning of an entirely new world."

"I know."

She picked up the device again, holding it with newfound reverence. "The House of Merchants won't just give us a seat at their table. They'll rebuild the entire table around us."

"That's the idea."

Cass laughed—a short, rare sound from her. "God, we're creating an entirely new field of commerce. One that every kingdom, every army, every merchant house will soon find themselves unable to function without."

Adom nodded, allowing himself a small smile. "And the Wangara Guild will hold the keys to it all."

"A monopoly," she murmured, "on the future itself."

"...Seriously though, where did you buy these?"

*****

A little more than a day later...

"You look like death warmed over," Sam remarked, not looking up from the notebook where he was sketching what appeared to be formation diagrams.

"Thanks. Always nice to be noticed," Adom replied, rubbing his eyes.

Sam glanced up, brow furrowing. "Where's your quillick? Zuni's always perched on your shoulder by now."

"Still sleeping in our dorm." Adom's second yawn threatened to dislocate his jaw. "He refused to move this morning. Just hissed and burrowed deeper under the pillow."

"I didn't know he could hiss."

"Yeah. Me neither."

Sam closed his notebook. "Are you alright? You slept all day yesterday. Missed Professor Orlaf's lecture on ward penetration. He specifically mentioned your absence, by the way. Twice."

Adom winced. "Yeah, I was... working on something."

"Something?"

"Guild-related. The one I'm forming with Cass." Adom straightened his uniform collar, which was askew. "I'll show you later."

"Ah, speaking of guild." Sam's expression brightened. He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, corners crisp and sealed with a wax impression that caught the light. "Couldn't tell you yesterday since you were hibernating, but my father agreed to be one of the sponsors for the..." He paused. "What is your guild's name, by the way?"

"The Wangara."

"Wangara?" Sam's eyebrows rose slightly. "Nice. Some of the first human merchants, weren't they? Crossed the Great Desert with just camels and star charts."

"Yeah, Cass told me," Adom replied, eyeing the paper Sam was still holding. "Your father actually agreed?"

"Said your father asked for it." Sam extended the paper with a smile. "That, and he was quite eager to hear your guild's plans."

Adom stared at the paper for a moment before taking it. His eyes scanned the elegant script, widening slightly at the seal and signature.

"This is—" He broke off, suddenly throwing his arms around Sam in an unexpected hug. "This is huge! Do you know what this means?"

How... out of character to be acting that way. An hormonal change perhaps? Adom thought.

Well, whatever.

"All right, all right," Sam laughed, awkwardly patting Adom's back while trying to extricate himself. "Just take the paper before you wrinkle it. Father would kill us both."

Adom released him, clutching the sponsorship document like it might vanish. "House Harbinsky's backing—this gets us one sponsor."

He was still staring at it when the double doors at the far end of the arena swung open with deliberate force. Conversation died instantly, replaced by the scrape of benches as students straightened their postures.

Professor Crowley strode into the room. His deep blue battle-mage robes billowed slightly despite the absence of any breeze—a subtle display of mana control that wasn't lost on the more observant students.

"Good morning," he said, voice carrying effortlessly to the farthest corners. "I see most of you managed to find your way here despite the schedule changes."

Sam nudged Adom, who reluctantly folded the precious document and tucked it into his inner pocket.

Crowley reached the center of the arena and turned to face them, hands clasped behind his back. "For those who haven't had the pleasure, I am Professor Crowley. This is Advanced Combat Applications, and as I understand it, this is the first meeting for all of you due to the recent administrative... adjustments."

A few students exchanged glances. Details remained deliberately vague.

"Unlike your previous combat classes," Crowley continued, "this arena operates under different protocols. Here, you will engage in authentic dueling conditions against your peers." His eyes scanned the room, settling briefly on each face. "The limitations and safety measures you've grown accustomed to have been significantly reduced."

A quiet murmur rippled through the room.

"That doesn't mean there are no rules," he added, his tone sharpening. "It means the consequences for your actions are more immediate. Like reality itself."

He gestured toward the ceiling, where a complex array of runes glowed with subdued golden light. "This monitoring system will assess your performance, track damage potentials, and—most importantly—intervene only when absolutely necessary."

Crowley paced a measured circuit in front of them. "The purpose of this class is simple: to prepare you for combat outside these walls, where your opponents won't politely wait their turn, where defensive failure means actual injury, and where creative application of your abilities often means the difference between victory and defeat."

He stopped and conjured a small, swirling orb of densely packed mana between his palms. "You will use everything in your arsenal. Every spell, every technique, every advantage you can create." The orb pulsed once before dissipating. "Your objective isn't merely to win—it's to understand why you won. Or why you lost."

A few students murmured.

"Each of you will participate in a minimum of three official duels this semester," Crowley explained. "The matchups will be determined partly by my assessment and partly by challenge system. The results will account for thirty percent of your final—"

The arena doors swung open again, cutting him off mid-sentence.

All heads turned toward the interruption. A collective intake of breath followed.

"Oh, they're done for," someone whispered from a few rows back.

"Crowley hates lateness worse than incompetence," another muttered.

Sam raised his eyebrows at Adom, who was already craning his neck to see the late arrival.

Standing in the doorway was a figure who didn't seem particularly concerned with the stir she'd caused.

She was tall—taller than most of the male students—with skin the deep crimson of sunset. Dark, intricate patterns that might have been tattoos or might have been natural markings traced across her visible skin in abstract whorls. When she spoke, apologizing for her tardiness, two delicate fangs caught the light. A pair of small, polished horns curved up from her forehead, and behind her, a small tufted tail—not unlike a rabbit's, but with the same crimson hue as her skin—flicked once in apparent nervousness.

"Ah, Miss Lazarai," Crowley said, his tone unexpectedly neutral. "I was informed you might be joining us."

The whispers intensified immediately.

"Is that a—"

"—Tirajin, has to be—"

"—thought they never left their islands—"

"—heard their magic is all blood-based—"

"I apologize for my tardiness, Professor," she said. "The shifting buildings... I'm afraid I'm still learning my way around."

A group of boys in the front row were already leaning toward each other, whispering and casting glances her way.

Even Sam looked surprised. "A Tirajin," he breathed. "Here?"

Adom said nothing, simply observing. He'd read about the Tirajin people—an ancient race from the volcanic archipelago in the Southern Seas—but seeing one in person was another matter entirely. This never happened before.

"Quite understandable," Crowley replied. "It's your first day, after all." He turned to address the class. "Everyone, this is Naia Lazarai, daughter of Ambassador Korek Lazarai of the Tirajin Sovereignty. She will be joining our class for this semester, and possibly longer, depending on her father's diplomatic assignment."

The room erupted into excited conversation.

"—heard their diplomats can breathe fire—"

"—supposedly they can see magic itself—"

"—my cousin said they only eat things that are still moving—"

"—just here because of the treaty negotiations—"

"—wonder if she'll duel—"

Naia Lazarai stood perfectly still amid the commotion, her expression unreadable. Her eyes—a startling amber with vertical pupils—briefly scanned the room before settling on Crowley again.

"SILENCE!" Crowley didn't shout so much as project, his voice cutting through the chatter like a blade. The room went instantly quiet. "Miss Lazarai, please take any available seat. We were just discussing the parameters of this course."

Crowley cleared his throat and resumed as if there had been no interruption.

"As I was saying, the monitoring system will track your performance statistics. These will factor into your final evaluation alongside written assessments of your strategic choices." He gestured toward the walls, where rune-inscribed plates hummed with contained energy. "The arena barriers will contain most spellwork, but be aware that certain high-level techniques may trigger additional safeguards."

He reached into his robe pocket and withdrew what appeared to be a handful of small crystals, each about the size of a thumbnail and etched with intricate runic patterns.

"These are protection amulets," he explained, letting one dangle from his fingers where the entire class could see it. "You will wear them during all duels. They contain specialized barrier runes that activate automatically when detecting potentially lethal damage. After all, the goal here is not to have you kill each other." His tone suggested this was both a reassurance and a mild disappointment.

"They will not protect you from pain, minor injuries, or the humiliation of poor performance," he added with a thin smile. "Merely from permanent harm."

He paused, scanning the attentive faces.

"Questions so far?"

No one moved. Either they understood perfectly or—more likely—they were too intimidated to speak up first.

"Excellent," Crowley said, clapping his hands together once. "Since today is our first session, I see no reason to delay practical application. Who here would like to participate in our inaugural duel?"

Hands shot up immediately—mostly from the usual suspects. Karion Dimitri, heir to the Dimitri Barony in the northern reaches of Sundar. Lucia Wei, who'd never met a challenge she wouldn't accept. Many others Adom was familiar with.

And of course, Damus.

Crowley nodded approvingly. "Good. Enthusiasm is—"

Another hand rose, more deliberately than the others. Naia Lazarai, still standing near the entrance, had raised her arm with the casual confidence of someone who didn't expect to be refused.

The room went quiet again.

Even Crowley seemed momentarily caught off guard. He recovered quickly. "Miss Lazarai, perhaps you misunderstood. These duels involve actual combat magic, not the demonstration exercises you might be accustomed to from your previous institution. Given that you missed the initial explanation, I suppose you should be briefed first."

"I heard your voice from the third corridor, Professor," Naia replied. "Something about authentic dueling conditions and consequences being more immediate. It sounds not dissimilar to our training methods at home."

Someone whispered "Holy shit, they heard that?" loud enough for half the room to hear.

"Did she just say—"

"—enhanced hearing is definitely a Tirajin trait—"

"—bet she can smell fear too—"

Crowley's lips twitched into what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Well, it seems you're integrating more quickly than anticipated." He turned to address the other volunteers. "The protocol is simple. Those willing to duel may challenge any student present. The challenged may refuse three consecutive times without penalty. A fourth refusal results in automatic grade reduction."

He paused to let this sink in. "This system prevents both forced participation and excessive avoidance."

The room went still again, dozens of eyes tracking Naia as she surveyed the assembled students.

She began to walk, moving not toward the arena floor but along the tiered seating, her gaze sweeping across the students.

"She's looking at us," Sam muttered, slouching lower in his seat.

Adom followed her gaze. "She is."

"Why is she looking at us?" Sam's whisper had taken on a panicked edge.

"I have no idea," Adom replied, watching with growing curiosity as Naia continued her approach.

She ascended the steps toward their row with unhurried grace. The buzz of whispers intensified.

"—heading straight for them—"

"—isn't that Sylla?—"

"—must have some reason—"

Sam made a small, distressed noise as she stopped directly in front of their bench. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," he whispered.

Naia smiled, revealing just the tips of those delicate fangs. "Hello," she said. "You're Adom Sylla, aren't you?"

Adom straightened slightly, surprised at being addressed by name. "Yes," he answered, aware of just how many people were watching this exchange. "I am."

Her amber eyes studied him for a moment, then she extended a hand—palm up, fingers slightly curled in what seemed like a formal gesture rather than a typical handshake.

"Would you like to duel, Adom Sylla?"