Matabar

The days stretched into a series of unhurried copies of each other. In the morning, Ardan would wake up, wash himself, then exercise by lifting a block of ice made from snow taken off the roof instead of a stone. Afterward, he would dress, exchange greetings with Tess, who was usually hurrying off to work (after the Festival of Light, she had returned home alone, and, what’s more, at only ten in the evening. For some reason, this made Ardi feel happy), and trade a few words with Arkar. Though their previous warm relationship had not been restored, at least they were on speaking terms again. Then he’d ride the tram. Ardi had even splurged on a monthly pass.

For four exes and seventy kso, he could take an unlimited number of rides. Naturally, Ardan was trying not to waste money, and had withdrawn only ten exes for his immediate needs.

He’d bought himself a couple of new socks and another shirt. He could have sewn one himself, but he’d wanted to allow himself the luxury of a new item while freeing up time for work on seals. And yet, no matter how hard he struggled to understand the essence of the Staff of Demons’ seals, he hadn’t even managed to figure out the contours.

Speaking of seals. And the Second Chancery, and the rest…

The medallion issued to him by Milar stubbornly refused to heat up, so Ardi didn’t worry too much about tasks from the Cloaks or anything else related to them. On the other hand, his first session with Aversky was set to take place this week, and his questions… kept piling up.

Ardi wasn’t rushing to spend money on books or practice spaces for Star Magic yet because he didn’t know what his lessons with the Grand Magister would look like. Perhaps he would recommend specific literature or… something.

As for his classes at the Grand, they had become a lot more demanding, more intricate, and far less forgiving toward the minds of young students. That seemed to be the tradition at the start of every month — harder and harder classes. Even now, Ardan was hurrying up the stairs to the sixteenth floor of the main building, where it seemed like the General Theory lecture had already started.

Adjusting the red cloak his mother had lengthened for him (for which he was immensely grateful) and nearly tripping over it, Ardi sped down the corridor. Along the way, he passed a few other latecomers, then stopped before the lecture hall door, steadied his breathing, and knocked politely.

Without waiting for permission, Ardi cautiously opened the door and slipped inside. In the small, even cramped amphitheater, the entirety of the first-year cohort from their faculty was gathered… and missing three students since the exams.

In the dim room, which smelled faintly of book dust and cheap ink, rows of ascending benches housed several dozen girls, among whom two boys were scattered. Ardan hadn’t remembered their names — he saw no need for it.

Confirming that Professor Listov had just begun the lecture, Ardi climbed the stairs. After nodding a greeting to Elena, who had taken a convenient seat in the front row, he perched at the very top, in a corner where few liked to sit.

Settling in and pulling out his notebook, Ardan armed himself with a pencil. His toes, which had been poorly protected from the cold by his overly-light autumn boots despite the fact that he was wearing two pairs of socks, gradually warmed back up after the outdoor frost. The cold kept trying to creep into the lecture hall, nibbling awkwardly at the edges of the frost-covered window. Its efforts were futile.

Inside, warmth reigned, even carrying a hint of comfort with it, despite the hard benches, slightly wobbly desks, the graphite board that had yellowed with time, and the wide lectern piled high with papers, notebooks, and books that were being supported by a few empty boxes.

Even Professor Listov himself matched the spirit of his domain, which bore a hint of neglect that was resonant with the echo of a theoretical science few cared about. After half a year, Ardan still had no idea what his own faculty was meant to study. It seemed like the answer was: “everything at once and nothing at all.”

Listov, at seventy years old, possessed three Stars with three, two and two rays respectively and almost never appeared in public with a staff. Even that staff, throughout the scholar’s long life, had not acquired a single seal engraved on its surface.

Once, judging by lingering indicators, Tiun Listov had been an athletic man. But with the years, he had relaxed, and so had his belt, now barely containing his round, protruding belly. His hair, too, seemed to have abandoned its post, leaving behind a shiny, bald head that reflected the light of the few Ley-lamps hanging from the lecture hall ceiling.

“Since we are all gathered,” he croaked in a slightly rasping voice, taking up a piece of chalk, “today, we will touch on a topic that, incidentally, is not typically discussed with first-year students. But, alas, I seem to have misplaced my notes for the lecture we need… Perhaps they covered the evolution of seal construction… or was that a lecture for the historians? Hm…”

“Professor,” Elena called out softly.

“Yes, Miss Promyslov?”

“What is today’s topic?” She asked politely and even with a hint of concern.

Professor Listov had a peculiar trait — he was incredibly easy to derail. A single careless question or word spoken out of turn could set off a chain of irreversible events, leading the professor into such remote theoretical tangents that he himself seemed to get lost within them. ȒᴀＮȯΒĘṧ

“Ah… right. Thank you, Elena,” Listov replied gratefully. Listov had honestly thanked her, and with a kind smile to boot. He was equally gentle and even affectionate toward everyone, without exception, even those who spoke unkindly behind his back about the meager number of rays or Stars possessed by the “Professor and Grand Magister of General Knowledge.” Moreover, no one knew why Listov had received his honorary title.

It was precisely because of the professor’s kind heart that the more reasonable students tried not to disrupt his lectures. Even Eveless — who had a habit of challenging professors — never bickered with Listov, despite often engaging in debates with others. Perhaps it would have been easier to accept her antagonism if Eveless had been an unpleasant Firstborn, but no. She simply hated Ardan, and that was the extent of it.

“Today, we will discuss the phenomenon of Stars, their evolution, and how a mage ignites their rays and, by extension, the Stars themselves,” Listov began as the chalk danced deftly in his hands. Despite his age, he wielded it with surprising agility, writing quick and precise text on the board.

“Drawing from the conclusions of Grand Magister Naakraatad, who left our world in the year 376 after the Fall of Ectassus, the Stars within a mage are not merely physical objects, such as the crystallized Ley found in creatures poisoned by it. Rather, they are specific connections within our gray matter. Here, we must make a detour into the realm of ordinary science rather than Star Science. As you know, the Ley affects the electromagnetic field, which prevents us from using the knowledge of our fellow scholars regarding radio waves and electricity. Their complex experiments, conducted in chambers isolated from the Ley, prove the existence of phenomena that could fundamentally change even our daily lives. For example, in the absence of Ley, water in our part of the world would spin in the opposite direction, and the seasons of winter and summer would switch places.”

Listov’s lectures had a peculiar rhythm: he would deliver monologues, write on the board, erase it, and then launch into more sprawling musings, jotting down further words on the board.

All the students could do was try to keep up with the professor, then later, armed with their library cards and notes, attempt to untangle what they had heard and written down.

“Thus, Grand Magister Naakraatad, a native of Kargaam, came to the conclusion that the Ley also influences the functioning of our brains, whose connections also consist of electrical impulses. And he arrived at this conclusion in quite an amusing way. He discovered that, in chambers isolated from the Ley, if one rubs paper against their hair for a long time, their hair acquires amusing properties — a phenomenon that doesn’t occur under normal circumstances.”

The chalk continued to dance across the board, forming beautifully precise and legible letters.

“This suggests that when we form Stars, we are merely forming new connections in our brain, leading to the conclusion that the Ley is more of a physical phenomenon than a metaphysical one. Or perhaps it possesses some intermediate property, given that Ley Lines themselves have yet to be discovered. One might assume, of course, that-”

“Professor,” Elena interrupted softly.

“Ah? Oh yes… Thank you, dear Elena,” Listov said, clearing his throat and resuming.

“The formation of Stars is linked to our interaction with the Ley. The more Stars a mage has, the stronger their connection to this type of energy. But considering that a Star is essentially a pseudo-electrical circuit within our brain, it becomes clear why the process of igniting each additional Star becomes increasingly difficult. Ultimately, the capacity of our minds is quite limited, and far smaller than that of the dragons who created this form of magic.” He paused for a second here.

Luckily, he managed to keep going without a reminder. “Speaking of variations… In addition to the art of the Aean’Hane, we know for certain that the Shamanism of orcs, as well as that of trolls, ogres, and giants, is a distinct form of influencing the Ley in the surrounding reality. And yet, they deny this rather obvious fact recognized by the scientific community, instead claiming to practice Aean’Hane — in common terms, Naming. I will remind you that the magic of Names and Words is essentially the same thing. Those called ‘Speakers’ are individuals who have not yet mastered Names, and instead use their echoes, referred to as Words. Though, here, one could-”

Elena cleared her throat. In every group, there was always someone responsible for steering Listov back on track. In their group, that someone was Elena.

“Stars… Stars… oh yes,” Listov returned to the beginning of the board and erased everything he had written down, only to start scribbling anew with the chalk.

“This also explains the varied number of rays. If we once again consider the brain’s limited capacity and envision a Ley Star as a new node within it, it becomes absolutely — dare I say, axiomatically — clear that this node cannot expand indefinitely. This, again, explains the pain a mage experiences when igniting each individual ray, or each Star as a whole.”

He paused again for a second or two, but then kept going. “You might ask whether dissections of the gray matter of mages have been performed, and yes, of course they have. Such experiments have indirectly confirmed this theory, making it the prevailing one for now. In the brains of Star Mages who have passed away, small, almost microscopic, damaged areas were found. They were so tiny that they looked as if they’d been burned through by the thinnest of needles. And in one hundred percent of cases, their number matches the number of Stars. From this, we can reasonably conclude that Stars indeed possess a physical embodiment that dissipates after the mage’s death. It just doesn’t happen in the same way as it does with beasts. When it comes to beasts, their mental capacity is even more limited than ours, and therefore-”

Elena coughed once more, bringing Listov back on track. This time, it was a subject that genuinely intrigued Ardan.

“Could we assume that if humanity, or the Firstborn, were to encounter another evolutionary leap, and our gray matter became more resilient, the number of potential rays in a Star would increase? It’s possible. But for now, this is purely speculative, with no scientific foundation. Advocates for legalizing human chimerization, which is legal in the Brotherhood of Tazidahian, often argue precisely along these lines.”

Listov didn’t even glance at his notes. As Ardan had come to understand, the more complex and convoluted the topic, the better the professor grasped it. Rumor had it that for advanced courses, he didn’t even provide reading lists, relying entirely on his own knowledge.

“Thus, we arrive at one of the central theses: the number of Stars a mage can ignite directly correlates with the extent to which their mind is trained in sensing and controlling everything adjacent to the Ley. This is why mages typically spend several years practicing between igniting Stars — to strengthen their minds and make them more… intertwined, let’s say, with the Ley’s influence.”

The professor erased the chalkboard again and began writing anew. If a student didn’t manage to jot down his words in time or from the graphite board, that was their problem.

“One could even argue that the number of Stars they possess directly represents the degree of a mage’s connection with the natural phenomenon of the Ley. As for rays, their quantity is determined more by the elasticity of a mage’s mind. While anyone can learn to drive a car or shoot a revolver, not everyone can achieve virtuosity in these skills, no matter how much effort they expend.”

He took a breath and kept going. “This points to a similarity between the art of the Aean’Hane and Star Magic. In both cases, a mage’s innate characteristics impose limitations. The difference lies in when these constraints manifest. In Star Magic, they appear at much later stages than in Naming. Again, this makes sense, given that Star Magic was born from a dragon’s attempts to teach humans the art of the Aean’Hane. This is precisely why a hunt for the last surviving dragons has persisted for decades. The scientific community believes that by dissecting their brains, we might uncover answers or clues to key questions about Star Magic. Imagine if we could, for example, overcome the ‘nine by nine’ barrier. That is to say, the limitation of nine Stars and nine rays.”

Listov stepped away from the board, poured himself a glass of water from a decanter, and drank. After a couple of noisy gulps, he set the glass down on top of some submitted assignments and surveyed the room with a slightly lost expression.

It seemed like he had forgotten what he was talking about.

“Rays and Stars,” Elena whispered.

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” Listov said brightly and returned to the board. “The concept of rays can be expanded a bit. Since the electrical connections of a Ley node in the brain — or, to use a shorter term, a Star — are not biologically inherent to us, expanding them afterward appears, at least at our current level of scientific progress, impossible. You are born with two hands, and no matter how hard you try, you won’t grow a third by sheer force of will. Similarly, a Ley node — a Star in your mind — is born during the process. However much you initially expand it, that’s how it will remain until your encounter with the Eternal Angels.”

Despite his scientific expertise, Tiun Listov was a deeply devout man, though his office bore no symbols of faith. The professor always stated that his belief was internal, and sufficient for himself. He wasn’t a missionary seeking to convert anyone to the Light.

“Is it currently possible to break through the nine by nine limitation, even just for rays?” Listov cleared his throat and drank some more water. The class fell silent, waiting, but it seemed the professor was determined to stick to the topic.

“There’s a theory that this task would be much simpler to accomplish than increasing the number of Stars themselves. This assumption is based on the knowledge that failing to ignite a Star halts a mage’s progress entirely. Why? It’s actually much simpler than you might think. It’s about the brain — a complex yet fragile instrument. Failing to ignite a Star leaves irreversible damage in the brain’s tissues and connections, preventing the mage from creating new Stars in the future. It’s quite straightforward and simple, really. Of course, research is ongoing — both among Grand Magisters specializing in the healing arts and ordinary doctors and surgeons — on whether such damage can be repaired. But so far, there’s been no success. By the way, my good friend at the Hospital of Heroes, he-”

“Professor, you were telling us about the number of rays,” Elena gently reminded him.

“Oh? Was I? Oh, yes, I was!” Listov exclaimed. “Let’s continue, then. The number of rays itself is a simpler limitation. Expanding the brain’s capacity to form more than nine unique connections separate from our biologically similar, but distinct species, is one question. But increasing the capacity of such a node is an entirely different matter. Again, scholars agree that without the process of chimerization, such attempts are doomed to fail. Fifty years ago, in the Guild, under the highest sanction of the government, an experiment was conducted on a volunteer. He underwent long and extraordinarily complex preparations to ignite ten rays in his Blue Star. Various drugs, stimulants, and even exposure to pure Ertaline crystals submerged in chemical reagents were used, but it was unsuccessful. The test subject completely burned out his brain in the transition from the ninth to the tenth ray and ended up in a vegetative state. He was studied for a time before mercy was shown, and he was sent to meet the Eternal Angels.”

Listov concluded his explanation with a heavy sigh. Ardi noticed subtle nuances in the professor’s posture and tone that suggested why this particular theoretician had earned the medallion of a Grand Magister.

Listov had held it for about forty years, which meant… he may well have been involved in the very experiment he was now recalling with such tenderness, as if speaking of a beloved child.

“As for the process of ignition itself, it is quite trivial,” the professor composed himself and continued. “The Ley is not a homogenous phenomenon but a spectrum, likely far broader than the nine gradients it is typically divided into. If you’re wondering whether the gradients or the Stars’ colors came first, also consider which preceded the other — the chicken or the egg. The usefulness and efficiency of such musings are comparable. It’s a dilemma for which the scientific community has no answer.”

“Professor,” Elena whispered again. “The process of creating Stars.”

“The process… process… Oh yes, the process is indeed trivial,” Listov snapped back to attention. “Each gradient of the Ley spectrum differs in saturation. The transition, in turn, always equals a threefold increase in energy density. Thus, three rays of a Red Star equal one ray of a Green Star, and three rays of a Green Star equal one ray of a Blue Star, and so on. The process of igniting a Star is essentially the brain adapting to a new level of density and saturation. This is why it requires preliminary preparation. Its duration, of course, depends heavily on the mage’s abilities. Some require more time, others less. But I wouldn’t recommend that any of you spend a small fortune on a green accumulator of appropriate density, purity, and saturation, and then rush to ignite your second Star. Take your time. Allow your brain to grow stronger. After all, at each stage of progress, you only have one attempt.”

“As for whether these Stars are filled with the Ley,” Listov continued, “there are several theories. The most popular one posits that they are indeed filled with the Ley — or, rather, the specific part of its spectrum corresponding to the color of the Star. Not electrical impulses of the brain’s particles, but the Ley itself. This idea also explains why, when expended, it takes a significant amount of time — unless external sources are used — to restore these Star nodes. After all, they are not biologically innate to us… This hypothesis suggests that the brains of dragons, and possibly the Fae, may be structured entirely differently, giving these races a direct biological connection to the Ley. Experimental evidence also supports the theory of Stars being filled with the Ley. For example, if you place a Star Mage with a total of more than twenty-eight rays in a Ley-isolated chamber, they will create sufficient interference to negate the isolation effect. This is why powerful Star Mages cannot be imprisoned, but only eliminated.”

“And now let’s move on to…”

The lecture, as was customary with Listov, transitioned into him listing scientific facts supporting these theories, accompanied by the names of the researchers who’d conducted the experiments, descriptions of the experiments themselves, and much more.

And Ardi? Ardi stared at his notes, experiencing a sudden epiphany. Mutants were likely not the ultimate goal of the many Tazidahian and Imperial projects, but a side effect of the race for scientific progress and the attempt to create a Star Mage far superior to any others.

Why would nations need such a unique individual? In isolation, they wouldn’t. But if they could create hundreds of them…

Strangely, this thought seemed incredibly important and pressing to Ardi. Though, for now, he didn’t quite understand why. Even so, he loved puzzles, especially those as complex as this one.

Reflecting on Listov’s lecture, Ardan made his way to the cafeteria, where he collected his free lunch included in his scholarship. This time, he was lucky — the garnished dish was fragrant, rich buckwheat. Beside it sat two slices of black bread and, as the meat option, a pair of wild grouse wings. Meat from wild animals rarely appeared on the menu at the university. According to Elena and Boris, Ardan had visibly lost weight in the past few months. His mother had noted the same.

Perhaps it was time to increase his expenses to allow for the occasional dinner out? Even if only at “Bruce’s?”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

But Ardi quickly dismissed such indulgent thoughts. Three hundred exes was, of course, a significant amount of money, but not for a Star Mage. For instance, a single reading list provided by Professor Convel would cost him 37 exes and 30 kso. Sure, he could study in the library, as he had for all of the last semester. However, with the addition of the Second Chancery and Aversky to his schedule, every minute of his time was precious, and considering the fact that the library closed only fifteen minutes before the last tram, missing the tram, as he’d done a few times before, meant getting home by eleven. At that point, there would be little time left for anything but sleep before he had to return to the university.

No, he categorically needed his own books. And accumulators in red and green colors, preferably of high quality. The blue ones he had stored would be of little use to him for at least a few years due to their energy loss. Additionally, he needed access to the city’s practice grounds because, at present, the university’s waiting time for theirs was about twelve days.

If he spread three hundred exes across all his needs, he still came up short by about twenty or forty exes in his quest to secure all the materials he’d require for the calendar year — excluding any additional literature.

“How right Mart was,” Ardi sighed, recalling the man’s words about mages and their perpetual financial struggles.

“Ard,” Elena suddenly appeared beside him, looking as light and fresh as always. “Why do you look so glum?”

“I’m thinking about where to earn money,” he muttered, flexing his fingers before picking up his utensils.

She just smiled and began eating her vegetable salad and chicken breast, which cost, if he recalled correctly, 35 kso per every 100 grams. The Grand’s cafeteria menu was practically indistinguishable from that of a restaurant, which wasn’t too surprising.

“Ard,” someone said.

“Hm?” Ardan looked up from his Shielding Wards textbook, the lecture for which he had after lunch.

Standing beside their table was a young girl. She seemed to be from the Faculty of Engineering. He vaguely remembered her name but didn’t bother recalling it fully — there was no need.

“Could you help me modify this array so it doesn’t consume an extra ray?”

“Let’s give it a try,” Ardan nodded. Wiping his fingers with a napkin, he took the schematic.

It was a standard stationary shield seal with two contours and a fixed array meant to neutralize the speed of an offensive spell. The girl had tried to stabilize the shield by adding excessive density to the array. In other words, she was trying to counter force with force. Naturally, this approach required an additional ray, making the shield far too resource-intensive for a Red Star — four rays used up against a speed-type spell was wasteful.

It was like… like… Ardi glanced at Elena’s plate. It was like eating chicken for lunch!

“Remove half the density runes and replace them with elasticity runes,” Ardan advised, handing the seal back. “Balance the first contour with density and elasticity, and in the second contour, embed an additional reflection array. That way, the opposing spell will lose part of its force first and then lack the momentum to break through. Of course, this is assuming the shield and the attacking spell have an equal number of rays.”

“Thank you!” The girl smiled and dashed off somewhere deeper into the hall.

Ardan sniffed the aromatic meat on his plate, licking his lips, when-

“Ard.”

“What?”

A freckled young man with a somewhat lost expression approached their table.

“Listen, I need to modify a digging seal so the earth doesn’t scatter everywhere but piles up neatly into a heap,” the boy said, handing over a schematic.

“Let’s take a look,” Ardan nodded.

Taking the sheet, he saw several crossed-out seals and the final version. Overall, his peer (possibly from Jurisprudence) was on the right track. He had tried adding concentration runes to the array and distributing them in the first contour, which controlled the primary properties of the seal.

However, the result was entirely the opposite of what he needed. Instead of concentratedly ejecting earth, the seal focused its efforts on one point, digging not a hole, but something more akin to a divot.

“Move the concentration array to the second contour, and in the first, inscribe direction runes,” Ardan said after some thought. “Oh, and add an embedded seal for the digging function. The task isn’t to cram two actions into one seal but to link them…”

“Got it!” The boy’s face lit up. “Thanks!”

He, too, darted off. Ardi finally raised his knife over the meat when-

“Ard, I-”

“Eternal Angels! Will you let him eat in peace!” Elena shouted, startling the latest petitioner — a boy holding a piece of paper — and sending him retreating, along with two other girls who had been waiting nearby.

Ardan gave Elena a grateful smile and sank his teeth into the juicy, albeit slightly cooled, grouse. The food at the Grand was exquisite.

For the next ten minutes, they ate in silence, savoring the meal and the absence of interruptions. Outside, snow fell on the heads of the occasional pedestrians walking by and on the even rarer cars humming down the avenue.

“How many people do you help in a day?” Elena suddenly asked.

Ardan wiped his mouth, set aside his napkin, and looked regretfully at his now-empty plate. The portions, while delicious, were small — too small.

“Two or three,” Ardan shrugged. “Sometimes more, sometimes less.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“You heard me,” Elena said firmly.

“I just like solving puzzles,” Ardan shrugged again. “And it’s practice for me, too. For example, yesterday, someone brought me a seal that — you won’t believe this — copies animal sounds. They wanted it to identify an animal by its sound and create its illusion. I spent nearly the entire break racking my brain over it! But I solved it!”

Elena, noticing how Ardan practically beamed with pride as he recounted his achievement, simply sighed and shook her head slightly.

“Well, there’s your answer on how to make money,” she said, gesturing toward the group of people awkwardly waiting nearby, shifting from foot to foot. “Charge them a couple of kso for each problem, and maybe you’ll save up an ex in a month.”

“But there’s nothing to charge them for,” Ardan waved off the suggestion. “Most of the time, it’s just basic problems.”

“They’re basic to you, Ard,” Elena countered. After a moment’s thought, she added, “Eternal Angels, Boris might be right. You probably sleep hugging your textbooks, don’t you? You knew absolutely nothing when you enrolled.”

“I knew some things,” Ardan muttered defensively, trying to change the subject. “How’s Boris? You usually have lunch with him on the fourth day.”

“The same as always,” Elena replied, sighing helplessly. “He got into a quarrel with someone and is now running around the university looking for a second.”

“Why? Won’t they assign him one?”

“They agreed to duel at a city practice ground,” she explained in a bored tone. “Ours are booked solid for nearly two weeks.”

“That’s true,” Ardan sighed wistfully.

“So, you don’t have money, but you’ll find some for practice grounds?” Elena asked slyly, squinting at him.

“Elena, I’ve got a dozen untested seals piled up!” Ardan exclaimed enthusiastically, throwing up his hands. “Not to mention…”

He stopped himself before admitting that the dozen seals were his own inventions, while nearly two dozen more were modifications of those they’d studied at the university.

Mart had also been right about the challenges involved in modifying and inventing new seals. For some reason, this skill eluded students, often remaining out of reach until their third or even fourth year. Even then, only a handful of graduates from the Faculty of Engineering ever managed to create something unique and new.

Why was that? Ardan had no idea. Maybe they hadn’t spent their childhood solving squirrel and wolf riddles. Or perhaps they hadn’t begun studying the works of Nicholas the Stranger at thirteen. Or maybe…

“You do know that you can sell seals at the Spell Market, right?” Elena asked suddenly.

“Market… what?”

She gave him a look that seemed to say she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. After a few moments, she laughed — not unkindly, but lightly.

“Eternal Angels, Ardi, you’ve been living in the Metropolis for almost six months and haven’t heard about the Spell Market?”

“Nope,” Ardan admitted with a shrug.

“It’s a network of establishments all over the capital,” Elena began to explain, smiling and even sounding a little nurturing. “You can buy books, accumulators, and practice grounds there. They even host Magic Boxing tournaments sometimes. And you can sell seals, too. Many upperclassmen do it. But the Market doesn’t pay based on the number of rays; they evaluate how useful or valuable the seal is to them. If they think they can sell it for a good price, they’ll pay a decent amount. If it’s just something simple like the problems people bring you, they might not buy it at all. But seriously, Ardi, how could you not know about this?”

Ardan scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “So, it turns out I have heard of it. I just thought it was several separate places, not all in one. Practice grounds here, bookstores there, accumulators somewhere else...”

“Wait, wait,” Elena waved her hands as if trying to stop him. “Are you saying that you’ve been using only the university’s practice grounds and library this whole time?”

Ardan nodded solemnly.

She looked at him as though he were a rare and exotic creature in a zoo. Incidentally, there was a zoo in the capital. But for obvious reasons, Ardan had no plans to visit it.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a walking anomaly?”

“Occasionally,” Ardan replied evasively.

They fell silent for a while. Ardi gazed out at the snowfall, recalling the days he’d spent running along mountain trails and forest paths in the Alcade. There, the wind had carried snowy whirlwinds on its wings, guiding the young hunter through the vast expanses of his homeland.

“Ard.”

“Hm?” Ardan snapped out of his thoughts.

“If Boris doesn’t find a second, can you come with us this evening?”

Damn...

“Sorry,” Ardan sighed, looking downcast. “I’ve got plans tonight.”

“Oh? I’m sorry for putting you in an awkward position,” Elena quickly apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful. “What kind of plans, if it’s not a secret?”

“I’ve got lessons with Edward Aversky,” Ardan said calmly.

Elena blinked a couple of times, then laughed. Once again, Ardan was reminded of something wise Skusty had told him. No matter how much nonsense the squirrel had spouted or how often he’d played pranks on everyone, he had occasionally said things of great wisdom.

The little rascal had always insisted that sometimes, the truth would sound more fictional than the most elaborate of lies.

***

Stepping off the tram, Ardan looked around. Dusk had fallen, but here, on Saint Vasily’s Island (where the Anorsky estate was also located), it seemed as though the day had no intention of giving way to its rightful successor — the night. Streetlamps powered by the Ley illuminated the sidewalks, lights glowed in the windows, and the snow-cleared streets gleamed under the headlights of expensive cars.

Here, on this island of the wealthy and noble, there were no snowdrifts. The drainage system worked more efficiently than a butler opening the doors of the mansions hidden behind beautiful, though not overly tall, fences. Trams clattered discreetly along rails placed close to the curbs rather than the middle of the road, and the people here looked as though they had just stepped out of a high-end boutique or an appointment with a shoeshine.

Dressed in fine clothes and smelling of expensive perfumes, they strolled leisurely — too leisurely — along the streets toward their opulent homes.

Ardan walked along the embankment, occasionally glancing toward the avenue leading deeper into the island — toward the duchess’ residence. But his path lay in the opposite direction.

Treading over the smooth, perfectly even paving stones lining the embankment’s edge, which kept pedestrians from falling into the icy surface of the Niewa River, Ardi gazed at the city. From here, he could see the embankment with its glowing lights, and the fairy-tale-like splendor of the Palace of the Kings of the Past. Beyond it, through a small park that had several rare species of trees, rose the dark spires of the Shipyards and Seas building, which was every bit as grandiose as the other pompous structures of the city’s Central District.

Made of gray stone, with countless sculptures of sea monsters and mythical creatures lining its cornices, the Shipyards and Seas building loomed over the Niewa, which kept battering against the dark granite of the embankment as if trying to challenge those who had dared to tame the elements.

If one squinted through the snowfall and the faint twilight settling over the river, it was possible to discern the dome of the temple still under construction, which Ardi had already managed to visit. Along the embankment stood houses as grand as palaces, and palaces so impossibly crafted that they seemed like the work of the finest Fae artisans. And yet, the realization that these marvels had been created not by magical beings, but by ordinary humans, made this place — the Palace Embankment — extraordinary. It felt like stepping momentarily into one of his grandfather’s legends and walking through the streets of mythical Ectassus, absorbing a history that resonated in the echoes of steps on cobblestones, streets, and embankments.

Or perhaps… Perhaps Ardi was simply in a good mood. He had exes in his account, his life at the Grand was improving rapidly, save for Eveless and the Great Prince, he had found a questionable yet tangible job, and Tess had returned alone after the Festival of Light… Why had he thought of her just now?

“Thoughts for another day,” Ardan muttered to himself, unfolding the paper with the address.

“Guilds’ Embankment, House 4.”

Ardan looked up at the nearest street sign attached to a lamppost. Elena, who had guided him on how to get here, had not been wrong. He had indeed arrived at the correct destination.

Crossing the street and going from the embankment to the row of houses, Ardi approached the building in question. It was a peculiar structure. The broad, three-story mansion stretched so far across the ground that it could’ve likely accommodated four separate entrances. Instead, a well-cleared path led through an open gate to a single, main entrance. Lacking a porch, steps, or columns with an awning, this was a relatively modest door leading into the house.

The facade itself, beyond its decorative window frames, bore no other embellishments. However, spaced a meter apart along the cornice, peering through the snowfall, were small statues no taller than thirty centimeters. These figures depicted ancient women in veils and shawls frozen in dance, playing harps, singing, or rocking newborns in their arms.

Ardan had always marveled at how sculptors managed to shape stone to make it truly resemble frozen people. Even the folds of clothing in the marble seemed more realistic than actual fabric.

Truly a remarkable skill.

After admiring the statues briefly, Ardi passed through the open gates, walked up the cleared path, and pushed the doorbell. Instantly, a soft, melodious chime rang out somewhere inside, and after half a minute, the door opened. Standing there was a butler.

Despite his advanced age, the butler had a proud posture. Dressed in a formal tailcoat, with a monocle perched over one eye, he cast an appraising gaze at Ardan. Though the man was looking up at him, it somehow felt as if he were looking down at him instead.

“Mr. Egobar?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You are punctual,” the butler said, stepping aside to let the visitor in.

Ardan stepped inside the mansion and… was quite surprised. Not by the decor, but by its near total absence. He found himself standing on a simple rug laid out over parquet flooring that clearly needed replacement, which was dotted here and there with faded patches of mold. The winged staircase leading from the entrance hall to the second floor bore no adornments, save for two portraits on the wall depicting a man and a woman in old-fashioned attire.

There was nothing else there. No sofas, no display cabinets, no grandfather clocks, no tall vases with plants — just a sense of abandonment and echoes wandering through the walls.

“Your coat, please.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Ardan said, shrugging off his outerwear and handing it to the butler.

With that same stony and slightly haughty expression from before, the butler hung it on a hook. The hook itself had been affixed to a long, wooden rail nailed to the wall by the entrance. Alongside Ardan’s coat hung two far more expensive-looking ones and two felt hats.

“Your hat and scarf.”

“Oh, right.” Ardi pulled off his knitted hat and untied the knot at his neck. Both had been made for him by his mother during his stay in Delpas.

The butler carefully, but without any excessive reverence, hung these items on some hooks as well. Clearing his throat, he stepped forward.

“Follow me.”

They walked down a wide corridor that could’ve easily passed for an overly-elongated and narrow living room. Even here, the entire area looked as though it had long ceased to be inhabited and had frozen in anticipation of future renovations. Even the air seemed stagnant, causing the dust to hover in thin, shimmering strands instead of settling on anything.

Ardi sneezed.

The butler said nothing.

The walls bore no paintings or wallpaper. The ceiling was streaked with long, snaking cracks, which rivaled the maze-like patterns of cobwebs clinging to the farthest corners.

But Ardan paid no attention to this. Instead, he was mentally repeating the definition of the connection between a contour and an array. Conveniently, this topic had been covered in one of the engineering texts recommended to him by Professor Convel.

Their relationship had turned out to be straightforward and mundane. The array’s capacity was directly proportional to the contour’s capacity. However, this topic was relevant only to seals constructed using the energy of multiple Stars — in which case, the contour could be expanded by adding another Star.

Thus, Ardan had settled for a superficial understanding of the connection, choosing not to delve deeper into a subject that currently had no practical application for him.

“We’ve arrived.”

Ardan looked around. They had, apparently, descended into the basement… if one could call this vast space a mere basement. It more closely resembled a fully-equipped testing ground.

The floor was bordered by a familiar low rail containing Ley cables, with grooves in the walls leading down to it, where additional cables lay hidden. Nothing about this was new or surprising — except for its size, which could rival even the main practice ground at the Grand.

Not the entire practice ground, of course, but the section where general classes were held. Classes that Ardi would no longer be attending. Since he would be studying military magic with Aversky, there was no need to subject himself to the company of the Great Prince and Colonel Kshtovsky.

“Mr. Aversky’s office is over there,” the butler said, pointing to a steel door on the far side of the testing ground. “I’ve been informed that your session will end after midnight, so I will arrange for a driver to take you wherever you need to go.”

“That’s absolutely unnec-”

“It is absolutely necessary,” the butler cut him off in a tone that radiated finality. With that, he pivoted sharply on his heel and marched back toward the staircase.

Ardan, adjusting his grip on his grimoire and staff, crossed the testing ground and knocked on the door, surprised by how solidly his knuckles met its surface.

“Pull hard,” came a muffled voice from inside.

Ardan tugged on the iron ring that served as the door’s handle, and it gave way, albeit with some effort. When he saw the thickness of the door — nearly fifteen millimeters of steel — he understood why. Such a door could probably withstand an artillery shell.

Inside was a rather unremarkable office that seemed quite similar to the countless ones scattered throughout the Grand. It was a spacious room of roughly forty square meters. The walls were dominated by bookshelves crammed with books and grimoires. In the center was a massive desk, where neat stacks of papers and folders stood in orderly rows. The far wall was entirely covered by a massive graphite board filled with incomplete diagrams and columns of complex calculations written in formulas Ardan didn’t recognize.

Standing near the board was Edward Aversky himself. Dressed in a pressed turquoise shirt tucked neatly under a silk vest, and black trousers paired with comfortable shoes, he had a cigarette in hand as he studied the calculations. His rolled-up sleeves exposed forearms bearing several tattoos. One was a simple image of a dagger piercing a cloak, but the other two were intricate and convoluted seals.

Ardan had seen something similar — though they’d been even more complex and greater in number — on the Selkado Squire (whatever that title meant).

“You can leave your staff beside mine,” the Grand Magister said without turning around.

Ardan walked to the desk and propped his staff up next to Aversky’s. The Grand Magister’s staff was a marvel: made from steel and a special Ertaline alloy, with numerous engraved seals across its surface and a crystal accumulator encased in its ornate headpiece.

It probably cost as much as an entire building.

“Do you have an analyzer on you? If so, take it off and don’t use it during my lessons.”

“No,” Ardan replied tersely.

His analyzer had been reduced to ashes along with the exes that had burned up in the bank, so he would have to wait for a replacement.

“Good,” Aversky nodded. “In that case, come here.”

Ardan approached and stood beside the man who barely reached his shoulder.

“What do you see before you, Mr. Egobar?” Aversky asked.

“Calculations.”

“If that was meant to be a feeble attempt at wit, I’d prefer a more detailed answer.”

Aversky’s tone was calm, but it carried the ominous weight of a volcano on the verge of eruption. Ardan focused intently on the complex formulas, strings of symbols, and numbers, then shifted his gaze to the seal and back again.

“It seems like you’re calculating the formula for… compressed heated gas? Something resembling plasma?”

“Good,” Aversky said, nodding with mild surprise. “Any more details you can discern?”

Ardan strained every neuron in his brain, even his relatively new Red Star, if that somehow counted.

“It’s some kind of modification of the standard Fireball spell used with Red and Green Stars,” Ardan ventured hesitantly. “Except it doesn’t create a directed plasma burst, but makes it…”

He scrutinized the seal again.

“I don’t know,” he admitted at last.

“Hm,” Aversky murmured, still gazing at the board. “Judging by the fact that your deductions rely more on the formulas than the seal itself, I presume you have no idea what vectors are. The influence of elemental dependency when embedding seals probably means nothing to you… And contours and rune arrays are concepts you can only grasp abstractly. As for classifications of military magic — you’re entirely unaware of those.”

“I’m a first-year student attending my second semester at the Grand. I can, for example, make sure that the dirt from a hole gets piled neatly in one place.”

“Dirt from a hole? Are you studying under Convel?”

“How did you-”

“Convel’s a big fan of Firsky’s puzzle book,” Aversky explained. “It’s an old publication with almost no copies left, so students can’t copy each other’s solutions. And it’s filled with tricky problems — like the one with the matchstick or the vase. Did you encounter those?”

“The one with the matchstick, yes,” Ardan confirmed.

“And did you solve it?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I embedded a passive property-identification seal into the active effect seal.”

Aversky paused for a fraction of a second, then huffed with a trace of respect.

“So, you’re inventive. That’ll be helpful…” Aversky turned away from the board and walked to his desk. Ardan followed. “Take a seat.”

Ardan lowered himself into the chair opposite Aversky.

“Since you seem reluctant to ask me about the specialized paper soaked in a reinforcing alchemical solution that I noticed you had on you during our last encounter, I’ll pretend I saw nothing and patiently wait until you come up with a question worth my time.”

Ardan said nothing. In this situation, any response would’ve either been disrespectful or revealed his ignorance.

“Today’s topic, Mr. Egobar, is straightforward and unremarkable: the classifications of military spells,” Aversky said as he opened several prepared tomes. “They are divided into suppressive and penetrating types. Suppressive spells aim to neutralize a shield’s properties, while penetrating spells seek to bypass them entirely. The difference may seem subtle in theory, but in practice…”

The next five hours passed in a whirlwind of notes. Ardan scribbled at such a furious pace that his pencil nearly started smoking. Aversky, with his relentless delivery, resembled Listov — he spoke endlessly and left no room for questions or interjections.

The stark difference between Aversky and Atta’nha, however, was clear. While the latter had engaged Ardan in dialogue, forcing him to think and reason, Aversky seemed intent on cramming a mountain of information directly into his brain.

By the end of the session, Ardan felt as though a metaphorical anvil had been dropped on his head.

“That will suffice for today,” Aversky said, glancing at the clock. “For our next session, which will be entirely practical, I expect you to prepare one military spell — something like Stone Fist, which you should have studied at the Grand — and one shield spell. Additionally, please purchase this list of literature,” he said, sliding a piece of paper toward Ardan, “and try to familiarize yourself with it over the next month. If you have questions, bring them to our sessions so that we are both spared my monologues. You may go.”

Ardan didn’t even remember how he ended up in the car. His head buzzed as if he had spent the evening driving nails into a stone wall with it.

He had imagined that lessons with Aversky would be different. But then again, how else was a Grand Magister engaged in inventing some of the most complex military spells supposed to teach a student whose knowledge of Star Magic was limited to the basics?

In his hands was a note listing… Ardi blinked, thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him… twenty-three items. Fortunately, some of the books overlapped with Convel’s list.

Maybe he should get a graphite board for his apartment? At this rate, he’d soon run out of room for his collection of paper scraps.

***

The car stopped near “Bruce’s.”

“How much do I owe you?” Ardan asked.

“It’s already paid for,” the burly, deep-voiced driver replied.

“Thank you.”

“Take care,” the man said brusquely.

Ardan stepped out of the car, and the driver immediately rolled down the street, though at a leisurely pace as he was likely scouting for his next fare. Despite the late hour and the freezing weather, there were still quite a few people out on the streets. Markov Embankment wasn’t Baliero, but it had its own collection of bars, cafes, and restaurants that drew in a crowd after the workday.

“Ardi.”

The word made Ardan turn sharply. Standing near the entrance to the bar was Elena. She looked pale, her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and her fur coat was smeared with dirt. She was trembling, either from the cold or something else entirely.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Boris,” she whispered, swallowing her sobs. “He’s been kidnapped.”

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