The next day began calmly, and Aren welcomed it. The spirited dancing hadn’t left him sore, though his calves still tugged faintly with each step. It was especially evident after the morning prayer, when he had to climb the steps of the temple. Thankfully, he was able to sit in Crina’s quarters and prepare the materials he needed for further research.

  Marc was absent, reassigned to perimeter guard, and in his place stood a holy warrior woman. She kept silent vigil beside a large window overlooking the city. Beyond a single glance, she paid him no attention, which he welcomed.

  He spent the whole day taking apart the smaller cubes he was sure he would not need anymore. He needed a specific material that each of them contained. It was careful work, making sure not to damage any of the inscriptions. He would put them back together later when he could use magic.

  He slowly bent dozens of pins that connected the outer walls, revealing an interconnected interior. On the inside of the cubes were three small metal balls engraved with mnemonic formations. Those stored every pattern the cube was made to recognize, but he was not after them. With painstaking slowness, he detached the hook of a wide, thin cable that connected the inner workings of the cubes.

  The cable was woven in thin gray cloth, isolating a copper film that felt cold to the touch. He pulled out the engraved core carefully and put it in a box while setting the cloth in front of him. Then he repeated the process slowly over multiple hours, gathering a fistful of the material.

  While doing so, he answered occasional questions from Mar’tei, who was busy doing her own studies, preparing for the two processes she would need to undergo. Today, Crina was less talkative, as she was perusing scriptures and scrolls to prepare for more prayers, since she only remembered a few texts by heart.

  By the time he was done with six cubes, the sun was already starting to set. Taking the cloth he had gathered, he used the small hooks to connect them together into a long strip of gray cloth. Then he tightly wrapped the black band on his wrist over and over, making sure there were no gaps. He was sure the relic’s mana detection only reacted to energy that would reach its surface, as otherwise the effect would have to be active and easy to detect and measure.

  When he was sure the band was securely wrapped, he closed his eyes and reached for the ever-present river of energy that churned in his soul. Carefully, he separated a few threads and let them flow into his other hand.

  Making sure not a drop of mana was anywhere near the hand with the black band, he released a wisp of energy, ready to stop at any moment. Yet, as nothing happened, a smile spread across his face. Still, there was the relic’s intention detection, so to be certain, he repeated yesterday’s process. He activated the floating disk, and the moment it rose a little, the band vibrated. He immediately stopped the process.

  He nodded, satisfied, then attuned his mana to pure elemental sorcery, letting it flow without taking any action. The band still ignored it, and now he felt confident about the next part of his plan. First he would need to go shopping in the city. Just as folded the gray cloth and pulled out his notes to plan his next steps, Marie entered the room, interrupting him.

  “You’re relieved,“ she started, then turned to Aren. “The Luminous One informed me of your intent to retrain your body. Personally, I think it’s a good idea. We don’t want an episode like that again. If you go with Donnavan, he will show you what to do.”

  Aren stared at her for a moment. He wanted to refuse on the basis of not agreeing to such a commitment, but then he looked at Crina, who gave him a disarming smile, the kind of smile someone gives when proud of having done a good job convincing the exemplar to help.

  He shook his head and stood up. He certainly wasn’t prepared for this. Somehow, he had thought that giving up magic alone would be enough, forgetting the runs and exercises his friends had forced on him long ago.

  “I will try,” was all he said.

  “See that you do,” she replied, her gaze shifting to Crina. “We are invited to evening prayer at the palace. We need to begin preparations.”

  Crina nodded, slightly excited at the prospect. Most governors usually only wanted the exemplar to attend. As Aren and Mar’tei left the room following Donnavan, they saw multiple servants starting preparations at once.

  “Should I join you?” Mar’tei said uncertain.

  “I don’t think you need to,” Aren commented. “You are in good form.”

  “If you wish to, it's fine,” Donnavan said. “Although I will focus on Ren’s training.”

  “What will we be doing?” Aren asked cautiously.

  “Today I will see in what condition you are,” Donnavan said. “With the tonics, you will be fine by tomorrow, but don’t worry, I’m not putting you through a warrior’s bootcamp. Unless you wish me to, of course.”

  “I will take a rain check on that,” Aren chuckled.

  “A rain what?” Donnavan asked, clearly befuddled by the phrase.

  “Ah, right, you can’t play magiball here,” Aren said. “Rain can give some players a huge advantage, so when it rains, the match is canceled. Instead, one of the ‘rain teams’ plays. If you don’t want to watch in the rain, you can get a ticket for another game. That’s how the phrase came to mean declining something for now, with the possibility of doing it later.”

  “I see…” Donnavan said.

  “Oh, I saw a game in one of the cities we passed through,” Mar’tei said excitedly. “The precise display of magic as the ball flew about was amazing. The goalkeeper was incredible at defensive magic, too.”

  Then after thinking for a second she declined, “Sorry, I think I would rather study the material you gave me. I would like to be able to attain the new sorcery soon.”

  Aren recognized the look in her eyes well. It was always exciting to stand on the edge of the next big step in the constant journey that was magic. He would need to make sure her preparations were solid, but he wasn’t overly concerned. Patience was ingrained in the young woman, likely by her mother. When he had been her age, he still rushed certain experiments at times.

  “That’s okay,” Aren assured her. “I’m sure this will end with sweat and curses. Far less interesting than mnemonic formations.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” she said with a cheeky grin, then stopped in her tracks. “Ah, I’m going this way.”

  The young mage quickly disappeared into another corridor, and Aren smiled at her enthusiasm for magic. Donnavan raised an eyebrow, but it vanished almost immediately, returning his face to its usual stone-like expression.

  They descended to the lowest level of the temple and entered a small storeroom, where Donnavan uncovered a crate filled with glass bottles. He handed one to Aren, who studied the fluid. It was bright yellow and seemed to glow with a natural light, yet he felt no magic or life force in it. That made it all the more intriguing, though he doubted he would get a chance to study the tincture directly. At least he could record its effects on him.

  “Drink it now,” Donnavan said, then added, “For the best effect, it has to be imbibed before training. It won’t make training easier, but it will multiply the effects. These are used on warriors who are just beginning their training in the sanctums.”

  Aren shrugged and uncorked the bottle, tipping it so the liquid splashed into his mouth. It tasted sweet and felt uncomfortably warm, but he swallowed it all, even as it weighed heavily on his stomach. For a moment, he felt as if he had just drunk a whole bucket of water, but the sensation quickly faded, and he felt the same as before.

  “Now what?” Aren asked.

  “We will move to the palace barracks,” Donnavan said.

  “I don’t know about being jeered at by the palace soldiers and staff while I work out.” Aren had no desire to become their source of amusement.

  “I doubt there will be many people there during the festival,” Donnavan stated. “The streets will be busy in general. We could walk outside the city if you wish.”

  The idea of walking for at least an hour through the busy streets both ways was not appealing. “Let’s try the barracks first.”

  The officer nodded and did not wait. Aren was thankful for not being treated like a soldier. He would have most likely abandoned the idea if that had been the case. Donnavan probably assumed the same.

  Once they left the temple, Aren found himself shielding his eyes. Though the sun was getting lower, it still felt strong, and its heat hit him all at once. He hoped that whatever the tonic was doing would help him get used to this as well.

  The walk through the stone plaza was a short one, but there were signs of large construction taking place, covered in cloth. Aren watched idly as they passed by. A group of soldiers in formation passed by them, but after a respectful nod to the older man, they did not pay any attention to him.

  Donnavan led him to a side entrance of the palace that opened into a large courtyard filled with lively greenery. Bushes and palms with red fruits hanging from them lined the space and seemed well cared for. Quite a few people were enjoying the sights, sitting on stone benches and watching small streams of water pass through.

  “Can commoners just sit here too?” Aren asked, noticing how much the quality of people’s clothes varied.

  “Governor Bar’s father allowed it a long time ago,” the officer informed him. “He found it wasteful to have a place this size available to only a small percentile of the population.”

  “That’s quite a change in philosophy,” Aren noted. “Is that related to why the governor’s personal quarters were less opulent as well?”

  “I don’t know the reason, but Governor Bar values humility and diligence, traits he is known to have inherited from his father,” Donnavan stated.

  That checked with Aren’s view of the man. As they passed under a roofed walkway, they entered the rear side of the palace and found themselves in a large training ground covered in a layer of sand atop a hardened floor. Dozens of training dummies made of metal and wood were placed in rows. Training equipment lined the walls, ranging from practice weapons to heavy metal blocks. There were even weighted carts, and he was sure it would take at least a third-stage practitioner to move them.

  There were three young warriors who were sparring on the field but for now did not pay any attention to them. Aren stood on the edge of the field and looked expectantly at the older man.

  “Let’s start with a warm-up,” Donnavan said. “Do you know how to stretch?”

  Aren nodded, though it had been a while. He stepped forward and began stretching. First, he rolled his shoulders, starting a bit too enthusiastically but slowing down quickly, continuing until his arms felt loose. Then he lifted one arm over his head and pulled it with the other, holding it for a few breaths before switching sides. Next, he put his legs together and bent forward, trying to touch his fingers to the ground.

  “Keep your knees straight,” Donnavan said calmly. “Don’t force it.”

  Aren grunted and adjusted, straightening his legs before leaning down again. Then he spread his legs and twisted his torso left and right, stretching both his shoulders and waist, before bending one knee and extending the other leg to the side. He wobbled slightly in the sand.

  “Don’t bend both knees,” Donnavan added. “You’ll strain them like that.”

  Aren corrected his stance. He finished by circling his ankles and shaking out his legs, breathing a bit heavier than he expected. Then, almost on instinct, he started doing jumping jacks, arms up, legs out, then back in, over and over.

  “Not too fast,” Donnavan called out. “Keep your knees soft, don’t lock them.”

  Aren slowed slightly, feeling his body wake up through the effort. It felt less efficient than using magic, but the old instinct was welcome. He started to feel the burn after a few repetitions, and Donnavan told him to stop.

  “Now do push-ups, until you can’t anymore.”

  Aren dropped to the ground and was thankful that his scale armor was so easy to move in. He had specifically ordered it never to hinder his movements, and after enchanting, it felt as light as a feather. His shawl hung along the back of his neck.

  He did the first push-up, then another, and another. The first ten felt easy and his muscles repeated the motions despite the lack of practice. On the twelfth, he began to feel the burn, and by the fourteenth, his muscles ached and his back started to sag.

  “Go on, keep your back straight,” Donnavan said in his steady, instructive tone.

  Aren grunted and forced his back to stay straight. He lowered himself twice more, then on the seventeenth repetition, he nearly fell to the ground but barely managed to lift himself. Not wanting to give up, he went down once more and ended up stuck, his muscles too sore to lift him. After a few seconds like that, he finally collapsed to the ground, gasping.

  “Not good. Not as bad as I expected,” the warrior judged.

  Aren looked up at him, taking the words for what they were. He sighed, pushed himself to his feet, brushed the sand from his clothes, and took a moment to recover.

  “Thanks, I guess,” Aren quipped after regaining control of his breath.

  “Now do that again,” Donnavan said. After receiving an exasperated look, he added, “I need to see what your baseline is. Seeing you do push-ups once tells me a bit, but not the actual state of your body.”

  “We could use a diagnostic… magic? Right, no…” Aren muttered as he went down to the ground again.

  This time he fell on his fourteenth push-up, nearly losing his balance twice in the process. After a short rest, he had to do it again, and his hand slipped on the sand during the eleventh repetition. On the fourth attempt, his forehead hit the sand on the ninth push-up.

  “Is…” Aren said between gasps, “that... enough?”

  “I have a grasp of your core and upper body strength,” Donnavan said, walking away and grabbing a cup of water from a barrel that stood in a doorway. “Drink slowly.”

  Aren, sitting on the sand, nodded in thanks and swallowed in slow, slightly pained gulps. The water was cool and faintly sweet, drawn from a natural underground reservoir that used an intriguing combination of pumps and natural currents to bring it aboveground. He had asked after noticing there was no oasis within the city and learned that the water was carried through qanats to here and nearby villages.

  “Get up,” Donnavan ordered.

  “What now?” Aren asked, supporting himself as he stood with a huff.

  “Now we figure out the limit of your endurance, so I can compile a training routine for you,” he answered. “Run with me around the field for as long as you can. I’ll correct your form if necessary.”

  He nodded and, after taking a breath, started to run. He was already feeling tired, but he fell into a familiar rhythm he once kept every day. He wondered when he had stopped. It must have been shortly after he became a professor and gained access to research equipment he could only dream of before.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw three young warriors watching them with interest, discussing something, but he ignored them. Each step felt heavier than he remembered, yet he kept going, keeping his breath as steady as he could.

  By the fifth minute, Donnavan poked his back and he straightened again, feeling the burning sensation from the push-ups returning. He did his best not to grit his teeth and tried to relax his body as he placed each foot forward. It was not a race, so he slowed slightly. His old rhythm proved too much for his current state.

  By the tenth minute, he had to admit he was out of shape more than he cared to acknowledge. He could blame himself, but using magic in place of brute physicality had been far more efficient when he was at the academy. Now it bit him, quite literally, as his muscles screamed in pain.

  After fifteen minutes, he was cursing under his breath, gasping heavily. Whenever he slowed too much, Donnavan appeared at his side, urging him to keep going and to use each corner of the training grounds as a goal.

  By twenty minutes, he struggled to keep his eyes straight, and his arms wobbled rather than pumping in rhythm. He placed each foot in front of the other, feeling the constant heat beating down on him, his vision shaking. His magic tempted him, dangling inside, urging him to cast a quick little spell to make all of this go away.

  Two minutes later, he tripped on his own leg and nearly collapsed, but Donnavan caught him. Steadying himself, he drank greedily from a cup Donnavan passed him, barely noticing when the man handed it over. After a few gulps, he realized it was not water but an herbal infusion that refreshed his mind, even as his body remained exhausted. He sighed. A few years ago, this would have been casual exercise for him.

  “Among the scholars and priests I know, you are not the worst I have seen,” Donnavan said, trying to cheer him up.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “I think,” Aren said after another gulp, “that I don’t care.”

  “That’s good. Everyone should keep their body healthy,” Donnavan commented. “Did you do your life force awakening training?”

  “Everyone does, even those who can use magic. It’s part of the church school,” Aren explained. “Although we are not expected to reach even the first stage. Those who do get small badges. I did not.”

  “That’s a good program,” the officer admitted. “Many villagers do that on their own, since working all day in the sun can be difficult. People living in cities often don’t, and when they are older, they are forced to visit priests for many issues that could be avoided. Now, if everyone reached the first stage, we could have much healthier, longer-living societies.”

  “Not everyone has the patience or skill to do so. It takes hundreds of hours of training and meditation to learn to manipulate one’s life energy,” Aren countered. “Some take years. That’s a large amount of time to dedicate to something for someone wanting to be a scribe or artisan.”

  “True,” Donnavan said, his grimace visible.

  Aren didn’t disagree with the idea, but it was impossible to force everyone to stay healthy. Even with the church training everyone receives at a young age, Teolians still got fat and lazy all the time, negating any benefit of awakening one’s life force.

  “We should return to the temple,” Donnavan spoke after a moment.

  “Actually, I wanted to do some shopping,” Aren said, twisting his shoulder. After drinking that herbal concoction, the pain felt manageable, even if he would need to pace himself while walking. “Can you give me directions to a place where I can buy metal accessories?”

  Donnavan looked at him for a second before speaking. “You will find many shops on the main street if you go down the central stairs of the plaza. If you want something cheaper, you could always go to the market district and ask for directions there. I don’t know more.”

  “Then I will look around,” Aren said.

  “Just so you know, in a few hours you will feel really tired due to the tincture’s effects,” the older man informed him. “Make sure not to fall asleep in some alleyway.”

  “I see. I will try to come back as soon as I can,” Aren answered.

  Both men walked together toward the center of the plaza and separated. Aren felt tired, so he walked slowly, but he knew that true pain would come tomorrow. If he wanted to get what he needed, the time was now. The walk down the stairs was somehow the most painful part of the exercise, but he kept a stoic face through it.

  The street was busy with people walking on both sides of a wide sandstone street. Everyone was clearly enjoying themselves, dancing to music, eating food, or drinking ale. It seemed that people took time off from work during the festival, as the first shop he tried was locked. There were still two or three hours of daylight left, but the preparation for the sunset events was already ongoing.

  He tried two more shops before finally finding one still open. An older man in a golden toga greeted him enthusiastically at first, though the smile faltered when he noticed Aren’s sweaty face. Still, he wasn’t kicked out immediately.

  “Welcome to the Radiant Artisium,” the man said, forcing a smile onto his face. “What can I help you with?”

  Aren looked around and saw many glass cases with well-made rings and necklaces inside them, but nothing he really wanted. While he could use gold or silver, he needed something that already had intrinsic magical properties. There were other customers milling about, with their own personnel attending them.

  “Do you have some kind of accessories that can be engraved on?” Aren asked.

  “If you want a custom order, that’s possible. Our current wait time is around three months. It could be faster depending on the value of the order,” the man answered, his smile returning to a professional one.

  He could leave engraving to others, but he didn’t trust them to follow his exact instructions without taking artistic liberties, which would render the item useless to him. He also needed it soon. In three months he planned to be back at the academy, able to use magic however he wanted.

  “Do you have some flat accessories, then?” Aren asked. “Without any engravings, preferably made of some exotic materials like zinvar or solith?”

  “Apologies, We cannot sell you solith without a waiver from the governor or the temple. We also don’t keep an inventory of plain accessories, everything is crafted by our most skilled artisans,” the man informed him. “I can, of course, show you our collection of zinvar accessories.”

  Aren followed him to a display of accessories that he admitted were beautiful, but that was not the point. The glimmering twisted white metal bands or spiraling necklaces were nice to look at, but impossible to engrave. A large medal with the One Sun’s symbol in it was closest to what he needed, but he didn’t want to know what the reaction of people would be if he desecrated it with his own engraving.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, those are beautiful, but not really what I’m looking for. Could you give me directions to the market or craft districts?”

  “I see,” the man’s disappointment was evident. “I will give you directions, of course. If you change your mind, our doors are always open to the Luminous One’s escort.”

  Aren nodded thankfully, not really surprised that he was recognized. Not only had he caused a scene, but the three adventurers had already made a name for themselves. After learning how to get to the market district and that the craftsman’s district was next to it, he thanked the man and left the shop.

  His walk through the bustling street was slow, though mercifully brief. After twenty minutes, he emerged onto a vast market square, alive with stalls and framed by the surrounding shops. The street’s walls were adorned with a continuous mural that wrapped the entire square in the vision of a lush oasis, a golden temple standing proudly beside it. Sunlight struck the temple’s painted surface directly, making it shimmer brilliantly and cast light across the sandstone tiles, which danced and flickered.

  He walked between the stalls, but nothing seemed to suit his needs. In Tevarin, the capital’s streets teemed with shops catering to mages, and he could have found one selling engraving materials within a five-minute walk. Or, he could always take some from the academy’s supplies.

  Finally entering one shop, he found something that caught his eye, a flat metal disc attached to a chain. The metal disc was the size of his palm and made of silver. He looked it over and thought it could work but the material could cause issues and require wizardry to properly activate once he finished engraving. That would make the whole point of it moot.

  The shopkeeper, an older woman in a blue dress embroidered with pink flowers, approached him, her eyes alight with curiosity. When she spoke, her voice was warm and tinged with amusement. “Can I help you with anything, young man?”

  “I’m looking for this, or rather something like it, but made of zinvar. Venir could work too, but zinvar would be best,” Aren explained, holding the chain in his hand.

  “Oh, I see,” she said, smiling brightly, pleased for some reason, though perhaps a bit more than Aren would have liked. “I used to have some made of zinvar, but with the festival and all, they’re selling like hot paydas. I don’t know what venir is. I can write you a note to my favorite craftsman not far from here. She should be able to make one for you, assuming she doesn’t already have one on hand.”

  “I would be grateful,” Aren said.

  “Good, good,” she replied. “It’s a wonderful time, isn’t it?”

  “Festivals are always like this,” Aren smiled, forcing a pleasant mood for the favor she was doing him, despite feeling quite tired.

  Aren thanked her and decided to buy the silver one, just in case. Even if it proved useless, he wanted to show his gratitude, and the expense wasn’t too great for him. Silver was less valued here than in his country. Seeing their love of gold, it wasn’t surprising, especially since they wouldn’t need silver for enchanting.

  As he crossed the edge of the market square and turned into a side street, he spotted the three young warriors who had watched him train, walking alongside two other young men. Their faces showed they were clearly enjoying the festival, and Aren silently hoped they would let him pass without incident. Sadly, that hope was in vain.

  “You, mage,” a tall, dark-skinned young man called out to him, a white cloth draped over one shoulder marking him as the lowest caste of the highborn.

  “My name is Ren,” Aren said, stoically.

  “Sure, whatcha training for?” the man asked, bristling.

  Aren sighed. “What does anyone train for?”

  “Don’t be smart with me,” the man barked.

  Aren’s mana had been ready at his bracelet from the start of the encounter. He didn’t expect any trouble handling the five of them, but he preferred to avoid dealing with the aftermath if he didn’t have to.

  One of the two he hadn’t noticed before spoke up. “Ah, you’re the mage who fainted after the Luminous One’s passage prayer!”

  “Oh, I wondered if that was him,” another piped in. “He was with the Death Slayer, so I guessed he must be one of the two mages who follow the Luminous One around.”

  “Death Slayer?” Aren asked, hearing the unfamiliar term for the first time.

  “You don’t know Master Donnavan’s achievements?” the man spluttered. “He hunted your kind with his squad for years.”

  Aren raised an eyebrow but quickly realized that meant the man had hunted necromancers. Many still lingered in the south, where the occasional ruin of the First Lich’s passage could still be found.

  “While I wholeheartedly support the purge of necromancers, I would prefer not to be lumped in with that lot,” Aren said. “I have standards.”

  “So you say,” the man replied, eyeing him closely.

  It was clear they had only approached him for amusement, to pick on a mage they knew wouldn’t use magic. They clearly disliked magic, but they didn’t seem to truly despise him. Still, Aren didn’t like the encounter and wanted nothing to do with them.

  “Can I go then?” he asked.

  “Go, and leave the Luminous One’s guard to your betters,” a blond, lighter-skinned man said, a smug smile playing on his lips.

  Aren could have activated his barrier bracelet then and there to show the young man his place, but he restrained himself. It was the first time he had faced such blatant disrespect from someone younger, and he realized that no matter what he did, it wouldn’t change their opinion of him.

  “I will leave that judgment to the Radiant Exemplar,” he said, turning to walk away, but a firm hand grabbed his shoulder.

  “I didn’t say you can go,” the first man said, his grip tightening. Aren felt the strength of the hand and realized the man could easily crush his bones if he wanted to, and he cursed inwardly. “You want to train, yes? Let us help. We can spar with you.”

  “I have things to do,” Aren said, his tone turning forceful. Still, he did not struggle against the grip, as he knew it was pointless. Instead, his mana filled the bracelet.

  “We’ll just help you out a bit, so you don’t embarrass the Luminous One and the Holy Exemplar again. You wouldn’t want to do that, right?” The man’s tone dripped with vicious enjoyment.

  “Okay, I tried,” Aren said with a sigh. A purple barrier sprang into place, separating the arm from his shoulder and sending it upward with a rebounding force.

  “You’re using magic!” one of them shouted.

  “No,” Aren waved his inert black band. “It’s just borrowed foreign holy power.”

  The group hesitated at that, and Aren smiled. “Do you want to continue?”

  The tall man who had grabbed him swung a punch at the barrier. A weak yellow aura flickered around his arm, but the strike didn’t even budge Aren’s defense. The barrier forcefully deflected the blow, snapping the man’s arm back and causing him to grunt in pain.

  “Look, honestly, do you think the Wise Exemplar would take me on if I were useless?” Aren said. “You can’t harm me. Why don’t we go our separate ways?”

  The tall man clicked his tongue, realizing he could do nothing against the barrier. Without another word, he spun around and walked away from the mage. When the rest of the group followed, Aren smiled and lowered his barrier. He was satisfied he hadn’t had to escalate the situation. Donnavan had been right, correcting the image of magic those people held would be no easy task. At least he could try not to make it worse.

  Finally reaching his destination, he knocked on a large wooden door. The sounds of constant chiseling and hammering echoed from inside. After a moment, he knocked again, and a face streaked with soot and dust peeked out. A woman around his age regarded him with hazel eyes, her brown hair braided and equally streaked with grime.

  “Sorry for interrupting,” Aren said, producing the note. “I was told you could help me out.”

  She took the paper, read it, and then looked at him again. A thin smile appeared on her face, making him feel like he was the only one not in on a private joke. She swung the door open and beckoned him inside.

  “Come in, come in,” she said enthusiastically. “You want a white one, right? Good choice. It’s pure, and it conveys the intent well. We just finished today’s batch.”

  “Ehm, right,” Aren replied, unsure if he would still get one if he admitted it was for an experiment.

  He glanced around, taking in the multiple workstations where young craftsmen shaped various pieces of jewelry. A large furnace loomed nearby, used for heating ingots or melting metal for molds, its heat washing over his already tired face. The craftsmen working near it were clearly early-stage practitioners, their auras enveloping their arms as they took hot metal from its insides with prongs.

  “What kind of engraving do you want? We can have it ready by the day after tomorrow,” she asked, pulling out several ready-made copper discs, clearly templates for customers to choose from.

  He studied them briefly. The artistry was impressive, the level of detail far beyond what he could manage. One bore the symbol of the One’s Sun, radiating a sense of warmth even in metal. Another depicted a water flower, and he could almost see the light shimmering off it despite it being just a carving. There were many others, each with its own charm.

  She lifted the disc with the flower and held it in her hand. “I personally think this design would fit well. Anyone would be happy to receive it. And since the original flower is white, you can add some realistic shading to the engraving.”

  “I would like to do the engraving myself,” he said. “I’m confident with my hands, even if I may not be anywhere near as skilled as you.”

  “Thank you.” The woman looked at him, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “Now I’m a bit envious. Do you have engraving tools?”

  “Yes,” Aren replied, having packed his set just in case.

  “Well then, I’ll just pack it for you,” she said, slipping the disc into a cloth bag. “That will be two large silver coins.”

  Aren pulled out his pouch and handed her the exact amount. Considering that this quantity of the white metal could fetch up to a gold coin in his capital, it was a welcome price. He thanked her and headed for the door.

  “Good luck with it, and afterward,” she added, giving him a thumbs-up, “I know it must not be easy for a mage.”

  Aren looked a bit confused but simply nodded before heading out. Once outside, he put the misunderstanding out of his mind, it didn’t concern him. He had what he needed. If it worked, he might give it to Crina, as it could help keep the young woman safe. If it wasn’t allowed for the Luminous One to wear passive magic, he would give it to Mar’tei, since he would have no use for the finished product.

  The walk back to the temple dragged on, and by the end, he was yawning. He paid only half attention to the light shows the priests were putting on and the dancers in the streets as he passed. Luckily, nothing obstructed his path, and he arrived at the temple safely, ready to finally rest. He grabbed a quick meal from the kitchen staff and went straight to sleep afterward.

  As he slept, he dreamt of floating in the warm embrace of the sky. A flock of birds drifted south, until, from nowhere, a strike of black lightning shattered them, leaving nothing but ash. Then a tide of darkness crashed against a barrier of light, reaching for him. He tried to grasp his magic, straining to reach it, but something consumed it before he could act. He thrashed, struggling to free himself, and began to fall from the sky.

  Suddenly, he crashed onto cold stone with a pained gasp. Disoriented, he sat up and looked at the window. It was still the middle of the night. The other men in the room had slept through his fall. Aren picked himself up to the edge of the bed and massaged his back, wincing at the bruise he knew would form.

  Then he noticed that the rest of his body wasn’t sore at all. Instead, his body felt tight, and he felt slightly but noticeably stronger. He quickly grabbed his notepad and began jotting down what he remembered from yesterday’s training, planning to compare it with what he could do today. If it proved to be as effective as it felt, he would at least need to take a sample, if not request the full manufacturing process. The Church of Power would be willing to invest a lot into better training methods.

  Not feeling like going to sleep, he continued to draw in his notes despite the weak light, the windows only letting in a weak streak of moonlight that passed through the clouds. He needed to plan the engraving exactly as he needed to do it perfectly in one go, otherwise it would be useless.

  The hours passed peacefully until it was time to prepare for the morning prayer. By now, Aren was quite practiced at mimicking the gestures and reciting the prayers, even if they still felt hollow to him. He reasoned that it was all worth it if it helped him achieve his ultimate goal in the end.

  When he was assigned to the Luminous One’s room again, Aren wasn’t surprised. Instead, he prepared everything he needed, settled into his usual spot, and began the engraving. When he pulled out the medallion, he was met with curious stares from the native Ayru in the room, but he didn’t have time to dwell on them, his task required full focus.

  His engraving quill was a metal tube connected to a sharp pin that cut through the metal with ease, leaving a thin line of golden fluid in its path. The special mixture solidified the instant it touched the zinvar. This white metal was rare, found only in mines containing both zinc and copper. Similar in physical properties to brass, it also possessed a natural resonance with mnemonic and sympathetic sorceries. It was the only known metal with these properties, making it ideal for what he had in mind.

  It took him hours to slowly and carefully inscribe the formation on one side of the metal disc. He had to take breaks, as he wasn’t used to doing this without the aid of his focus-enhancing magic. Still, his mind palace knew the formation by heart, and by working carefully, he managed to finish before the midday meal was brought.

  Then he considered the other side of the disc and decided that adding the engraving the woman had shown him would help conceal the necklace’s true purpose. He knew how the white water flower looked, its long petals always turned toward the sun, their tips delicate and graceful, with the center a subtle mix of gold and violet tones. Using only gold and plain etched lines, Aren crafted a flower that seemed to catch and reflect light from above. He layered the lines carefully, letting the gold suggest brightness and shimmer, while the etched lines formed the shadows, giving the flower a lifelike depth.

  He smiled as he looked at the result, glad that the practice his master had forced upon him hadn’t gone to waste, unlike the exercise he had done with his friends. Master Abraham had been one of the finest enchanters in the kingdom, well known for his love of artistry. He could do at least this much to honor his memory.

  He stood up and noticed the two young women watching him. Mar’tei regarded the medallion with appreciation, while Crina seemed embarrassed, keeping her eyes on the text in front of her but constantly sneaking glances at the engraving. He retrieved the isolating cloth from yesterday, secured his bracelet, and let his mana flow into the metal.

  Soon, his senses were filled to the brim, and then something seemed to click within the medallion. The mana flowed and condensed into the formation he had engraved, and a subtle effect activated in his hand. His bracelet remained inert throughout the process, giving him another clue about how it worked. He would still need to figure out a way to use mana without the cloth and find a way to actually perform magic, but this was a promising first step.

  “Crina,” he said, and the girl looked up, her gaze drifting to the medallion he held. He noticed the other holy warrior reacting for the first time, but she remained silent, as Donnavan did nothing.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “Can you wear passive magical enhancements? According to your laws?” he asked.

  “Ehm, technically yes, but I’m sure there would be people who wouldn’t appreciate this if they found out,” she said, taken aback by the question, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. “I have a holy relic that Marie gave me, though I hope I won’t have to use it.”

  That was an interesting bit of knowledge, but he stored it for later. He stood up and approached the chestnut-haired young woman, who now regarded him with a surprised gaze.

  “Can you take this then? It should help keep you safe,” he said, holding out the necklace to her.

  “Oh, what does it—” Mar’tei began, about to ask about its effects, but stopped when she saw the other woman’s face flush red.

  A heavy silence fell over the room as Crina started waving her arms in front of her in panic, her ashen eyes widening. “A… what? Why?”

  Aren stared in confusion, realizing that maybe he should have asked what the medallion meant. Still it was too late, and he was already here, “It has a passive effect that will help in case we are ever attacked.”

  Donnavan cleared his throat to gather attention. “Apologies for interrupting, Luminous One, but I think the young man here does not fully understand what he is doing.”

  “You don’t?” Crina asked, her voice weak.

  Aren nodded. “It was perfect for what I wanted to do. I didn’t know it meant anything special. I just figured it was a popular accessory around here.”

  “That’s…” Crina’s shock drained from her face, leaving her deflated. “Wait… you used magic, but you promised!”

  “My bracelet didn’t activate, and I haven’t figured out a way around the intent part of it,” he said, flipping the medallion to show the engraved formations. “I simply filled this metal with mana, the engraving did the rest.”

  “I feel like that’s skirting the rules,” she complained.

  Aren looked at her, realizing he hadn’t thought of it that way. “I see. Sorry. I won’t do it again, and I don't really need to make another anyway.”

  “Fine,” she sighed, reaching out her hand. She took the medallion and examined it. “It's beautiful. Why the Sunlit Lotus?”

  “I was shown a few designs, and this one spoke to me,” Aren replied. “My master would always add artistic touches to the magical jewelry he made. I just felt like it today.”

  He watched as she put it on, a hint of embarrassment coloring her movements. He couldn’t help asking, “So… what does it mean?”

  “Are you really going to ask now?” the young woman muttered under her breath, barely audible. Her face still flushed as she added, “It’s a promise of future engagement. Not an official one, but a way to show someone you’re serious about your feelings. The lotus specifically signals the purity of those feelings… Don’t make me say more.”

  “So what does it do?” Mar’tei asked, eager to shift the topic and genuinely curious.

  “It’s a mix of mnemonic, sympathetic, and divinative effects,” Aren explained, accepting the misunderstanding and letting it go. He then gestured toward Crina. “If you desire to disappear from the attention of those around you, it acts as a medium for that and weakens other people’s perception of you. If I had emotive sorcery, I could have made it without the divination effect, but this way it’s original. Even competent mages will have trouble understanding its effects, much less piercing them.”

  “That doesn’t sound like passive magic,” Crina said, closing her eyes as she imagined disappearing.

  “It is. The same way a pan transfers heat, this transfers attention, just in a rather complex way,” Aren said.

  “I’m not sure what I’m looking at,” Donnavan said, glancing toward where Crina sat. He could see someone there, but his mind refused to recognize who it was. When he looked away to scan the room, he struggled to locate her again. “Luminous One, is that you?”

  Aren sensed with his magical awareness that she hadn’t moved an inch. He knew exactly what to look for, and with his superior strength, the effect had a harder time influencing him in the first place. Still, he couldn’t help enjoying the surprised expression on Donnavan’s face when Crina became recognizable to them again.