House Ariloch looked like a combination party and study event as the week before Long Dark ground on. Declan only carved out time for the most necessary of projects. Morning mana channel work, morning getting-beaten-with-a-sword lessons, and a daily checkin with Skinner. The rest of the time, he was taking a shift in the commons, a waiter, study-buddy and cheerleader in one.

  They’d divided up the work with Chen taking the night shift, since he slept during the day and any other chance he got, Urik and Gunac working together in the most busy mornings, and Declan handling the evening when most arcanists took a break to hope for a blazed beast attack or practice on the World Wound.

  Right now, Declan was studying, which was a long way of saying he was listening to Jackson Smith rant. Jackson was a recent arrival and assured Declan his stay was temporary, since he’d already set on defecting from the minor house he was born to a major house.

  Jackson had been nominated for ArCore membership. The only problem was a familiar one. His family was just rich enough to afford tutors and tools but not to afford the arcsoul procedure. And now Jackson had a case of what Declan called ‘panic over getting what you desired.’

  “What if they do it and I can’t qualify for ArCore? House Lane won’t take me back. I have nowhere to go to.” Jackson paced back and forth, circling other people studying. This was less study and more discussion. “What if they do it and I die? What if I open my arcsoul and the result isn’t powerful enough? What if I can’t expand it?”

  “What if you slip on the bathroom floor, hit your head, and bleed out from your eyes before anyone knows, and I have to clean up your room and dispose of the corpse?” Declan asked. “You’ve already burned your link to the Lanes. Your only path is forward, so stop asking what might happen and prepare for what will. What’s to study here? Don’t you just line up and get it done?”

  Jackson had looked stunned, but now he took a seat across from Declan. “Everyone talks about opening the arcsoul like it’s just getting a wart cut off. In order for them to do it, I have to prove I know the risks and pass an exam. I thought all I had to do was kill monsters.”

  The book was barely worthy of the name. More like ‘pamphlet with delusions of grandeur,’ but Declan took it and began to read, using the chapter headings to aproximate questions. “Let’s start here. Define the arcsoul.”

  ###

  After four hours, Declan knew almost as much as Jackson did. Probably more because Jackson was definitely panicked. What he’d taken to be a simple operation was complex, dangerous, and the expenses involved finally made sense.

  The biggest problem was that no one truly understood what the arcsoul was. It acted as a well of mana. It allowed storage of runes. It enabled casting of magic directly from the soul without orbiting the runes, but why some people had them and others from the same family didn’t was a matter of great debate.

  The book had laid out all three theories and Declan had quizzed Jackson on all of them. The most prominent theory was that it was inherited by blood and some people got a fraction more than others. It was the theory that lined up best with the evidence.

  The second theory, that exposure to arcite caused development and since it was a naturally occuring metal throughout the world, everyone was at least somewhat exposed. That theory was only held because multiple desert tribes had produced viable arcanists despite living in the least arcite-rich area. The difference was culture, where pure arcite jewelry was passed down through familes, worn as bracelets, neckaces, rings and piercings. Of course, arcite was everywhere, but Soul Rot remained a problem in the slums, which blunted that theory.

  The third theory was that the arcsoul was the same process that turned normal beasts into monsters during swarms. Exposure to the pulses of mana that naturally occured caused a slow, careful reaction in the soul. Instead of errupting, they grew gradually. This theory matched the arcsoul’s growth and also two of the methods of unsealing. It also was supported by Soul Rot, the disease that occured when one was exposed to raw mana without arcite to match.

  “We can’t afford years of treatments,” Jackson said, not even looking at Declan. He had been speaking as much to the fireplace, or convincing himself. “Of course the major houses get the easy way. But having the whole thing done at once, even if I’m high on vapors, it’s terrifying. People die from the shock. They literally catch fire from the inside out.”

  The original process had been one of using mana for decades. Arcanists reported an erruption of power in their late forties, some as early as thirty, called an awakening before it was better understood. There was no pain. There was no cost, beyond decades of life crippled as an arcanist, spending days to cast complex sequences.

  The modern process had evolved no different than the definition of a true arcanist, from unlucky mages caught in the heart of a swarm. It was a recipe for near certain death but near certain was a different way of spelling ‘not certain at all,’ and the survivors had become more powerful than those who naturally opened their arcsoul.

  If it didn’t come with a side of soul-damage, ideal. Also, the whole ‘swarms of monsters’ problem had driven arcanists to adapt. Even then, they recognized patterns in the swarms. Even then, they built structures, temples at the time, to focus mana from minor swarms, searing open the arcsoul under pressure without exposing the arcanist to direct death.

  And from that had come the most expensive and successful process, based on an accident. Mis-tuning the focus caused mana to be broadcast out rather than seared into the arcanist. Disappointment had turned to wonder as they discovered that repeating this would eventually blend the best of all methods. It was still agonizing but the result was a careful unsealing of the arcsoul, allowing the arcanist to grow the rest naturally, though the cost multiplied through every application.

  “They’re going to use the direct method,” Jackson said. “One night, one swarm. I’ll wake up one day with only my soul-rune and a pair of Claw runes and go to bed the next with the strength of an ArCore member. If I survive.”

  “How many years have you given to being an arcanist? You have one more night in you. One night to cap years of dedication. You can recover here before you move to ArCore housing. We’re honored to help you on the way.” Declan spent the next few hours moving about, orbiting the mana stone while attempting to bind the third.

  Chen came back early from his evening class, a brown bottle that reeked like drain cleaner in one hand and pulled him aside. The man’s face was a study in regret. “I failed. I failed my damned certification for enchantment. I’m going to need a place to stay while I make some rin to pay for classes after Long Dark. My family’s not going to pay after three failures. Not until I pass on my own.”

  “I had no idea you were studying to be an enchanter,” Declan said. “All you do is sleep—” He cut himself off. “You are welcome here. I don’t have rin for classes. I don’t even have your abilities. Chen, what do you need to succeed?”

  “Fuck if I know. What’s wrong with me is up here. I get what I should do, I just don’t do it. You at least have an excuse for why you can’t be an arcanist. I am the excuse.” Chen took his bottle of self-loathing upstairs. The man was a good soul, though a shitty student.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Maybe support meant something different for people like Chen.

  House-sense told him he had visitors before he saw anything, but Lake Domine was the first to enter. “Declan, can I steal you for a moment?”

  “Of course. Private matter?”

  “Sort of? I need a favor for a friend. My room, please.”

  Declan followed her up the stairs and down to the center room, letting Lake unlock it. Sprawled out on her bed, sound asleep, was Tegan Domine. Her face was covered in black and blue bruises, her armor lay in a pile, one boot off, one on. “How did you get her in here without house-sense telling me?”

  “I need another favor,” Lake said. “My window’s broken, please don’t ask how it happened. She’s near dead. I heard Rohan and Alister got into a literal fight in the ArCore barracks and it only ended because Rohan passed out asleep on his feet. That red-headed shit is going to lord it over him for weeks.”

  “I offered Rohan a room. You want to move Tegan next door, someone will shuffle.”

  Lake picked up a bag. “I need this to be really, really hard to identify. She came to ask you to use Insight and I’m not going to let my best friend die because she can’t keep her eyes open.”

  In the bag sat a single rune. “It’s a fire aspect Protect,” Declan said. “I’m guessing Flame Shield, though with those modifiers, it might be a little different.”

  “Listen to me carefully. I need that to be hard to identify. The longer you spend working on it, the more she sleeps. She’s a gods-damned ArCore. If she’s awake, she’ll hop a glint to wherever there’s shit going down and go to war. Insanity.” Lake put one hand on the rune. “Really hard, ok?”

  “Looks impossible.” He pocketed it. “You know, you’re signed up for that insanity. You’re volunteering for literally the same thing you just said was killing the others. If it’s so insane, why?”

  “Because I can. Protecting one campus? Responding to a swarm or ten a year? It’s a good deal for what we gain. We need four times the number of people we have. I’m just one. But I’m one more than before.” Lake gently pushed him out of the room and shut it. “At least four hours, ok?”

  “I don’t know. This will probably take all night.” It would if his plan worked. Declan considered options as he descended to the commons. There was no question, it was a flame shield, but the modifier lines were unusual. New. “I need a message sent to Harris Harding. Anyone willing to take a walk for me? Or go with me in case we’re attacked?”

  That got three volunteers eager for opportunity. Blazed beasts spawned near the World Wound ten times more often, but they also avoided arcanists. Which made Declan bait. A few minutes later, he had an audience with the house arcanist of Harding. “I need a favor and I need you to not tell anyone. Least of all Roland, who will see it as proof he’s right.”

  “I’m in.” Harris said. “I have a workshop in my apartment. What’s your room setup as?”

  “A junk heap. I can’t even get in,” Declan said. “I’ve had other problems and there’s more space in my apartment than in the house I grew up in.

  Harris’s apartment was beatiful, rich, dark cherry wood with cream walls and its own fireplace. His boyfriend relaxed in a rocking chair, studying a manual, and nodded as Declan passed.

  “Now, what could you possibly want from me?” Harris asked. His workshop was rows of tables with blinding lights, awls and broken runes, scraps of rock on the floor and chunks of ruined arcite.

  “See this? It’s probably Burning Flame Shield. The modifier lines here cause it to strike back when hit. That’s a regular modifier I’ve seen for a bunch of runes. I need it to be stronger. Can you enhance that?”

  As he focused, the lines grew brighter, clearer.

  Burning Flame Shield: Surround yourself with a wall of fire that will damage anything that strikes you. Mana Cost: Moderate, Fixed

  “Maybe. If I carve new ones, it’ll be marked with my mana. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you don’t want that. If I deepen them, well, they’re already there. No one is going to be studying modifier lines, even if you brought it to another inscriptionist.” Harris began to adjust the position of the stone. “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “Wait outside. You’re in my workspace, it’s like someone is breathing down my neck. I know where you are, I’ll be done in a few hours. Let me work.” Harris was already bent over, deep in thought. “The actual work is a few minutes. Preparing so I know exactly what to do is what makes it succeed.”

  “Thanks, Harris.” He wouldn’t forget it.

  Roland Farwen was a smug man but justifiably smug in Declan’s view. Connections really did make the world go ‘round. Chen wasn’t out for the evening shift. The man was probably drunk, definitely miserable, and wouldn’t be helping anyone. Declan enjoyed the process. It taught him snatches of information about a dozen subjects. It also taught him just how much he didn’t know, things every arcanist had learned since childhood.

  It wasn’t dawn when the mana locks disengaged and let Harris Harding into the commons. The man looked both exhausted and ecstatic. “That was a rush. I couldn’t push it nearly as far as I wanted but the modifiers are at least twice as strong, probably more. What does it feel like?”

  Insight was part feel, part intuition, part logic, part experience. But the lines had changed from minor to a fundamental shift. “Insight doesn’t recognize it because it’s new. I’d call it Punishing Flame Shield. And it’s exactly what I needed. Go home, get some sleep.”

  “My nannies are down in the scab, hoping for an attack,” Harris said. “I’m going to nap here. Study the backs of my eyes.”

  “I need a volunteer in need of a break,” Declan said. “Escort to the armory. Never know when some beast might want to kill me and give you shards.”

  He had two in moments, and the bitter winter air struck him in the chest as he headed out, carrying his pack and orbiting his mana stone. The waves of mana from it didn’t make him ill anymore. Channeling it down through his boots was basic now. The mana bearing would still make him fall over and vomit. Still. Always.

  They reached the armory with only an attack by a two-foot, glowing roach, and waited for the researchers to emerge. “I’ve got that rune Tegan Domine brought me. It’s a weird one.”

  “Flame Shield?” one asked. “We were certain it was Flame Shield. It’s not?”

  Declan shook his head. “It’s a flame shield, sure, but there’s a complication that took me a lot of time to figure out. Why didn’t you just test it?”

  “Because we weren’t sure and I, for one, want to see another sunrise. Take it to ArCore, they’re straight on through and down.”

  Declan headed out and down, deeper into the archive and thorugh into what he would have called barracks, if not for how opulent they were. And how crowded, clogged and cluttered they were. ArCore members slept in bunks in full armor, some had layed out pillows and fallen asleep on the stone floor.

  Declan bypassed them, heading for the voices that said people were awake. He knocked on the door edge. “I have a rune report, Armory said to bring it here.”

  “Proceed.” Alister Rush spoke it with the same bitter indiference. “Flame Shield, based on armory analysis. We’ll exterminate the swarm at dawn.”

  Four ArCore members sat around the table. Alister held the head seat. A sword lay on the ground beside him his armor was only half attached and a bright red wound still showed at the edge of his collar. To his left sat a woman with platinum blonde hair and a trio of earth runes orbiting lazily as she studied a map. The right was a black man who could give Jan Yacca a contest in pure strength. He wore magnifying glasses on his head and had pinned daggers through reports in front of him, while sorting others. He stopped sorting for a moment, offering Declan a weak smile. “They should be vulnerable to water or ice. That would be enough for me to know.”

  Declan slid the rune across the table. “I would be very careful about how you attack. There’s something different about that one and I don’t know if it’s the rule or if you killed the exception. I call it Punishing Flame Shield, and you’d be better off seeing it than me explaining more. It’s going to be valuable to us, I think.”

  The woman snatched it before the others could, dismissing one of her runes. She practically crushed the rune before tossing it into the air and causing it to blaze. “It’s a shield, all right. Alister, hit me.”

  Declan never had time to react as a stab rune exploded into existence, flashing out to hit the shield. He did have time to watch the tongue of flame that exploded back, catching stacks of paper on fire and sending Alister into a diving roll.

  “Oh, that is mine,” she said. “It’s only tier one but I want it so bad, it’s mine. It’s all mine and god help anyone who tries to take it.”

  The next plan had been to tell them that Burning Flame Shield could probably be modified by a capable inscriber so the rune could be tiered up. But he couldn’t focus. Something was bothering him, a constant anxiety like house-sense that made him wonder if perhaps there had been an assassination attempt on Lake.

  Then he felt the warmth on his stomach and glanced down at the growing stain of red that grew with every heartbeat.