Matabar

Life after the incident on Baliero’s Fifth Street gradually slipped back into a familiar rhythm. It was a bit chaotic, as usual, thick and clinging like rubber, and yet somehow pleasant in its own way.

For the first few days, Ardan had worried that the guards, or worse, the Cloaks, would show up at “Bruce’s,” but everything had remained calm. After a week, he’d even stopped bolting upright whenever the colorful flashes from police cars had painted his windows at night.

As for his relationship with Arkar, there was no doubt that it had soured. So much so, in fact, that Ardi and the half-orc no longer greeted each other. If Ardan decided to spend an evening reading in the bar instead of his apartment, Arkar would make a point of ignoring him. But other than that, nothing had really changed in Ardan’s life.

Except, well… There was one new, pleasant novelty. On evenings when the streets weren’t being drenched by gloomy rain or blanketed with snow, Ardi and Tess would sit out on the small balcony of their building. They’d settle around a round, tidy table with two steaming cups of cocoa, chatting for hours about absolutely nothing.

Over time, Ardan had learned that the red-haired singer had turned nineteen that summer. She was from Shamtur, a place a little removed from the Fatian border. Her parents, three younger sisters, and two older brothers still lived back in her childhood home. Her father, an army officer, held a modest but well-fed position — figuratively and literally — managing a supply warehouse, which had enabled her parents to support such a large family.

Her mother even had a hobby: she wrote poetry and sometimes played an old piano she’d inherited from her grandmother. Her two older brothers were both officers in the border garrisons (a position they’d likely acquired with a bit of help from their father), and her younger sisters were still in school. Tess herself had always felt like a black sheep among her military family, even though none of them had treated her any differently. The Orman family could boast not only a long military tradition dating back to Gales’ victory over Ectassus, but also genuine warmth and unity.

And yet, when Tess had received her documents, she’d tearfully said farewell to her family and left for the Metropolis, where she’d enrolled in the First Army Medical Institute to become a military surgeon (again, thanks to her father’s connections). After a year and a half of studying, however, she’d realized that she couldn’t have both a career as a singer and a doctor.

Her parents hadn’t supported her choice, though they hadn’t been strongly opposed to it, either. So, Tess had withdrawn from the institute, and the skills she’d acquired over that year and a half had found a different outlet. She’d taken a job as a seamstress at Mrs. Okladov’s atelier, whose daughter had been in her class.

She’d found herself at 23 Markov Canal in much the same way Ardan had. After withdrawing from school, she’d been looking for a place to live but hadn’t been able to find anything that fit her budget and wasn’t a city-wide commute to her new job. One evening, while walking along the canal, she’d noticed “Bruce’s” bar and gone in to listen to the music. She got so caught up in the rhythm that she began to sing along, only to catch the attention of Arkar, who offered her a simple deal.

If she performed twice a week, she’d get the keys to a small apartment. No exes required. A simple barter deal. Tess had agreed, and only after the fact, like Ardi himself, she had learned who actually owned the bar and the entire building.

In the two and a half months since he’d discovered that as well, Ardan had come to cherish their conversations. And though they grew less frequent, they still managed to cast a little warmth onto the chilly, gray cloak of his routine: the dreary autumn landscape by day, and the bursts of colors and lights from the Empire’s forever-awake capital by night.

With each dawn, winter’s icy footsteps drew closer. Its heels were already tapping on the frost-laced puddles and the thin white crust over the Niewa’s sleeping city. At night, the wind howled like a hungry wolf, and sometimes, if you looked closely, you could see a faint web of blue frost etched onto the window panes by Old Man Winter.

And so, when the Month of Waters ended, followed by the Month of Memory falling like autumn leaves, the last month —the White Month — finally settled over the streets and boulevards.

It dusted the sidewalks and embankments with snow, heaping up whole drifts of it. People were wrapping themselves in furs and coats, as well as layering their undergarments, wool suits and thick dresses to keep from freezing.

As Ardan had expected, though perhaps later than most, he, too, felt winter’s icy breath. More and more often, he found himself blowing on his numb fingers and warming them over the small oil lamp he’d bought from the junk dealer. At night, crawling under his blanket, he would wear a sweater, and sometimes even wool socks. In the morning, he’d have to crack through the icy layer in the washbasin before he could wash his face.

And yet, Ardi loved winter. He loved its snow-white robes, which it spread generously over the tired earth, welcoming it into a gentle, drowsy embrace. He loved the trees, which had transformed into magnificent sculptures; the high azure sky, clearer now than even in summer; and the evenings thick with vibrant lights piercing the distant darkness. Now he loved winter for a new reason as well — the many lights on the ground.

In anticipation of the grand holiday, the Metropolis glowed so brightly at night that he sometimes had to draw the curtains just to sleep. Not only did shop and restaurant windows illuminate the darkness, but even the facades of buildings now sparkled with signs, garlands, and lights. Decorations graced frozen fountains, spiraled along the ivy-covered parapets of embankments and bridges, and hung across avenues and streets in sweeping arcs.

Sometimes, he even wanted to invite Tess out for a walk around the nighttime Metropolis, decked out in its snow-white dress adorned with glittering jewels. But he never did.

The closer New Year came, the sooner he would leave the Metropolis, leave Tess, leave the Orcish Jackets and their building on 23 Markov Canal behind… So why bother? Besides, Tess was invited out almost every other day by young men — and some older — who were far more appealing than a struggling mage and half-blood with a questionable lineage.

Sometimes, she accepted, but more often than not, she didn’t. But even when she dressed up for an evening date, she always returned home alone, never later than early evening. Ardan didn’t even know why he paid attention to such details… Maybe it was simply because he was still working on his Star Magic during those times and could see her light turn on, see her shadow moving behind the curtains… But no, no, he wasn’t peeking or watching on purpose.

It was just…

Well, it didn’t really matter.

As for his studies at the Grand, Ardi had finished his second month with fifty-seven points, and his third with an impressive eighty-four. This had put him on the cusp of being one of the top fifty students in his first year, though it still wasn’t enough to qualify him for a stipend. ṙаＮꝋβЕş

So, whether he liked it or not, he had to admit that Arkar’s words had held some truth. Without the money from the Fifth Street incident, Ardi would hardly have made it this far.

His first impulse after discovering the extra hundred-plus exes in his pants pocket had been to go downstairs and leave it on the bar counter, but… His inner squirrel had managed to talk him out of such a reckless gesture.

Ardan had decided that it would be both right and somewhat ironic if he used this ill-gotten money to pay his debt to the Anorsky family. And his second impulse had been to visit the Imperial Bank and pay off the entire amount in one go, mailing the check to the duchess.

But as he’d stood in front of the doors of the luxurious building in the Trade District, he’d reconsidered. Such a move might turn out to be a serious blunder. Who knew how closely the Cloaks were watching him? And if they weren’t directly watching him, they could easily monitor his bank transactions. A 138 exes was not only a huge amount for a young student, it was downright staggering.

So, instead of sending it all at once, Ardan had split it into smaller payments, sending thirty exes on the fifth-to-last day of each month. It was still a lot, but Ardi hoped such an approach might keep him a bit safer.

Initially, Ardi had had an astonishing — for him — amount of 185 exes and some kso. Of these, 138 had gone toward his debt.

But even after deducting that from the total, he’d still had more than enough.

He’d set aside just under half of it — twenty exes from his remaining forty-seven — as a rainy-day fund, just as the cowboys on Polskih’s farm had taught him: “Always keep some cash on hand, no matter what happens.”

Of the remaining twenty-seven, he’d earmarked fifteen for three months’ rent. And with the remaining twelve, he’d made do.

Perhaps this financial juggling had played a part in why Ardi hadn’t asked Tess out anywhere. He’d seen the gifts her many admirers would give her, the grand gestures, the cars they drove to pick her up in, and the bouquets they brought her…

On a brighter note, Ardan had properly reconnected with his family. His mother wrote to him faithfully once a month, and he wrote back. Their letters were so long, though, that the post office clerk had repeatedly threatened to classify them as packages due to their weight. Only Erti had not written him back, but Ardan didn’t blame his brother. Life at a new school far from home must have been hard…

The letter from Anna never came. Maybe that was for the best…

As for his situation at the Grand, it was both simpler and more complex. He and Eveless, the violet-eyed elf, crossed paths six days a week (they shared the same group), but she usually acted as if Ardan didn’t exist.

Sometimes, though, she’d pull a small prank on him.

For instance, during a lesson on healing seals, she had “accidentally” spilled ink on his drawing, and Ardan had been forced to start over. Or, in their joint war magic class (which, despite initial ‘lecture’, took place twice a month and involved entire first course), she’d sometimes use a different spell than the one they were practicing — a couple of times, this had ended with Ardi waking up in the infirmary.

Inside him, the snow leopard clawed and bit at its cage, eager to retaliate, but the squirrel always reminded him of the Cloaks’ warnings and the fact that his time in the Metropolis was nearly up. Avoid extra trouble, it warned. Alas, sometimes the fierce leopard won out over the sensible squirrel, and Eveless found herself in the infirmary instead, inevitably drawing the watchful eye of Colonel Kshtovsky.

As for the Great Prince Iolai, he posed no real trouble or danger. Not because he’d suddenly changed his attitude toward Ardan, not at all. Simply put, he was the Great Prince, which meant that he couldn’t stoop to petty mischief or empty provocations with so much public attention on him, the sole Agrov at the Grand. So, when the opportunity arose, Iolai would glare at Ardan and, along with his friends, toss out a casual crude remark.

In this way, he reminded Ardi a bit of Kenbish, which always brought a smile to Ardan’s face — a response that seemed to irritate the throne-contender even more.

As for the rest of the troublemakers among the Firstborn and humans, they had long since written off the Matabar half-blood as a nuisance not worth their time.

And as the first semester’s exams drew near — they would happen just ten days before the New Year — Ardan noticed that the more significant, exam-related concerns began to crowd out all others. Students, regardless of their course, origin, achievements, or any other details, were fully absorbed in their preparations.

After all, entering the Grand was no easy task, but getting expelled was as easy as getting a glass of water. All it took was scoring less than half the maximum points on the exams, and you were no longer a student.

It was said that by the final year at the Grand, only about a third — often less than a quarter — of the original first-year students remained. Those unlucky enough to be expelled were scattered across the expanse of classical universities, where Star Magic was but one faculty among many.

And so Ardi sat on the tram, wrapped in a coat that was far too light for the Metropolis’ damp and windy winter, flipping through the pages of his Star Magic Theory textbook. His gloves, with their finger holes, kept his hands just barely warm enough. He had knit them himself, thanks to his mother’s teachings.

He’d even sewn himself a set of admittedly ridiculous but warm pants, and even a shirt. As he’d learned, it was much cheaper to buy materials than finished products in the Metropolis.

“You a student?” Asked the conductor.

He was a short man, and without all the layers — including a dark blue overcoat and a thick scarf — he would’ve been rather unremarkable in build. But at that moment, with his bushy mustache and bulky layers, he looked more like a ball.

Ardi sat at the very back of the tram, on a frosty wooden bench. The iron poles, covered in frost and rust, rose from the floor around him, supporting the roof, while passengers gripped them to stay upright. But there were only a few other people on board: some older men reading newspapers near the front and a plump lady with an equally plump child sucking on a lollipop.

Exams traditionally began strictly at noon, a time when the Central District often settled into a light slumber. Only a few lingered in cafes, nursing hot coffees, while restaurants remained closed until five, and on the streets… A playful blizzard whipped up fluffy snow curls, heaping it into high drifts. Most cars, too, had moved into hibernation under warm blankets or, even better, into garages. In such weather, engines could easily stall at the worst possible moment, and the roads, though frequently de-iced, still posed considerable hazards.

“Yes,” Ardan exhaled, watching the small cloud of mist evaporate.

Trams, of course, had no interior heating. The majority of private transport didn’t either, except for the most expensive models equipped with complex air pipes heated by the running engine… If it didn’t stall.

“From the Grand?” The conductor persisted. “Off to exams, are you?”

Ardi was about to ask how this rotund apparition in uniform had guessed that, but held his tongue just in time. He was wearing the full regalia, after all: epaulets denoting his Stars (or Star, in this case) and rays, a red cape, and the emblem of the General Faculty on his breast pocket.

“Good luck to you, lad,” the conductor tapped his cap’s brim in salute, then rasped, “Star Square! Star-kha-khm… Where’s my thermos…”

Racked by a cough that sounded far from healthy, the conductor made his way to his seat, where he found a “lunchbox” next to his thermos. It couldn’t have held more than a kilo or so. It was the kind factory workers carried their meals in.

The driver pulled the tram’s cord, and the horn above wailed. The carriage clanked to a stop. Ardi shut his textbook and tucked it into his worn, wide shoulder bag (a cheap find at the flea market), then climbed down the steps. The icy cobblestones nearly sent him slipping. Even after all this time, he still felt uncomfortable wearing shoes, especially in winter. It was an old Alkadian habit of his — running barefoot through the snow.

Students moved slowly across the square, maintaining a solemn silence even when in groups. The buildings of the campus loomed over them, their snowy hands resting on roofs like giants’ whispers passing judgment on the young.

“Ard!” Someone called out from behind him.

Ardi turned and smiled, waving. It was Elena and Boris, who were now hurrying over. Boris muttered something to his personal driver, and the man got back into the sleek, low-roofed, long-bodied car, then drove off toward the avenue.

It made sense that the Fahtov scion could afford both a car impervious to the Metropolis winter and a driver, not to mention the fact that his apartment was likely privately owned, given its location and the cost… But that didn’t matter.

Elena, in her royal blue, mink coat, white sable hat, and arctic fox mittens, looked like a fairy-tale princess. Her boots, capped with fur, clicked their high heels over the snow. Boris wore a cross between a military overcoat and a peacoat. It had thick fabric with black fur trim made from a coarse material that looked almost like a dog’s mane around the cuffs and collar.

“Why did you take the tram in this weather?” Elena hugged him warmly, and Boris extended his hand, receiving Ardi’s firm handshake in return. “You should have let us know yesterday — we’d have picked you up.”

“I didn’t think of it,” Ardi replied vaguely.

Twice in the past three and a half months, Ardan had visited Elena and Boris in what he now had no doubt was their family home. It was cozy, taking up half a floor with three rooms, a working fireplace, two studies, and spacious living and dining rooms, along with a future nursery.

The first time, he did so because it would have been plain rude not to — he had promised to trade an evening meal for a story about the steppes back in Presny, after all.

The second time… To his shame, it had been on a day when he’d felt especially miserable, and while wandering through the city, he hadn’t even realized that his feet had carried him to number eight on Holy Warriors Street, named in honor of the last King of Gales’ warband, who had fallen with their leader.

“You’re looking well, friend,” Boris greeted him with his usual disarming smile.

For all his complicated and even argumentative personality — one that often led to duels and conflicts with other aristocrats at the Grand — Boris Fahtov had always extended a strange, almost friendly warmth toward Ardi.

And there was Elena, with whom Ardi shared a desk in most of their classes. It wasn’t like they’d become close friends, but they enjoyed each other’s company and could spend hours discussing Star Magic theory, which Elena Promyslov-Fahtov seemed to know better than most third-years.

“Doing my best,” Ardan replied.

“I couldn’t sleep at all last night,” Boris looked dejected. “Those damned problems in Defensive Magic Theory kept spinning in my head. I can’t imagine how you and Elena solve them so quickly.”

“I tried to help you,” Elena reminded him, “but instead, you… were dueling Baron Orvilov, weren’t you?”

“He’s a fool and doesn’t even try to hide it,” Boris scoffed. “He trails after Iolai like a little lapdog, but he’s so full of himself that it’s disgusting…”

Boris didn’t finish that thought, brushing off the topic.

“Let’s go before we’re late,” he grumbled, pulling Elena and Ardan toward the Grand building. “Oh, by the Eternal Angels, how I loathe winter…”

All of the Grand knew that Lord Boris Fahtov and Great Prince Iolai Agrov had a highly strained relationship. As to why that was — that was only the stuff of rumors and conjecture, which didn’t concern Ardan in the least.

He had enough on his plate without worrying about the tangled relationships among the aristocracy as well. It was enough that he’d unexpectedly found friends in Elena and Boris, and had even accepted their invitations, visiting their home despite his initial reluctance.

Twice…

Duels, by the way, took place on the testing grounds with Colonel Kshtovsky’s aides serving as seconds.

“Oh, and Ard,” Elena turned to him suddenly. “Did you end up asking Tess to the Festival of Light?”

During his first visit to their home, Ardi had made the fatal mistake of telling Boris and Elena that he’d found a place to stay. In his defense, he’d only done so after Boris had somehow found out about the incident in the dormitory and had stubbornly offered him a room in their apartment for a symbolic rent of one kso a month.

It had nearly caused a rift between them, so Ardan had had to admit that he was already renting an apartment. And, word by word, they’d found out where it was from him and had later shown up at “Bruce’s” just in time for one of Tess’ performances, eventually meeting her as well, since she sometimes sat with Ardan during her breaks.

“Almost,” Ardan muttered in a tone that matched Boris’ grumble.

“Aaaaaard,” Elena rolled her eyes with a groan… By the Sleeping Spirits, Ardi would someday decipher the meaning of this gesture, which humans seemed to use regardless of the situation. “At this rate, you’ll only invite her when she’s already standing at the altar with another man.”

“Elena, darling,” Boris grinned at her. “Tess isn’t some book for Ard to chase after. Now, if she wore sheets with star diagrams instead of dresses, then our dear friend would surely invite her out without hesitation.”

Boris chuckled harmlessly at his joke, and for the next few hundred meters, Elena scolded her husband for his impudence and tactlessness.

As for Ardan… He couldn’t quite grasp why Elena had assumed he was planning to invite Tess anywhere when he’d never shared his thoughts about the red-haired singer with his friends.

Well… Maybe it was as Atta’nha had once said: “Not every woman is a witch, but every witch is a woman.” Whatever that was supposed to mean…

Enjoying some lighthearted teasing that occasionally turned into playful snowball exchanges, they finally reached the atrium.

At the start of winter, a temporary coatroom had been set up to the left of the atrium entrance, expanding so much that it now occupied nearly a fifth of the space. After handing their outerwear to the staff and receiving their coat check tags, the trio shook the snow and slush from their boots and then parted ways.

Boris headed for the elevators, while Elena and Ardan went toward the Healing Faculty building, where their first exam would be held. For first-years, all exams took place on the same day, while in the second year and beyond, the exam period would stretch out over two weeks due to the increased difficulty and time required.

First-year students had just half an hour for each subject — twenty minutes for theory and ten for practice. From the second year onwards, three hours were allotted for theory and two for practice.

Crossing the atrium with Elena, he descended into a warm corridor, passing several groups entering other buildings as he did so. Near the entrance to the healing wing, they found some of their classmates had already arrived.

“I don’t know… I just don’t know… I can’t remember a thing…” A chubby but charming girl with a funny, snub nose and a face covered in freckles was moaning in distress. “Oh! Elena, Ard! Do either of you remember which seal stops blood flow from a longitudinal cut on the left wrist? I thought it was Etkain’s seal, but Ishka says it’s Nerkaine’s…”

The freckled girl, as Ardan recalled, was Tanya Tetrov, the daughter of a man who owned several bakeries on Baliero. Her friends were Ishka and Veshka Nelvir, twin sisters from the Nelvir family, which was known for their small but exquisite jewelry house.

As Mart had once said, the General Knowledge Faculty truly was, nine times out of ten, a haven for the daughters of wealthy parents.

“Both of those seals,” Ardan replied matter-of-factly as he opened the door to the healing building, “heal bruises, not cuts. On the shins, to be specific.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The moment he stepped over the threshold, the sharp scents of formalin, acrid herbs, and… money hit his nose. Compared to the Defense Faculty, or even the Engineering one, the Healing Faculty seemed as opulent as the Palace of the Kings of the Past next to Evergale’s city hall.

When Ardan had first found himself amid all the marble and gold, he hadn’t even realized that he was still in the Grand. For a time, he’d even wondered why Mart, who so clearly enjoyed crisp exes, hadn’t mentioned the Healing Faculty’s splendor. Only after weeks of studying here had Ardan pieced things together.

The lavish furnishings, cashmere-covered sofas, marble floors with gold inlaid into them, the walls decorated with paper painted like artwork, and the vaulted ceilings with crystal chandeliers rather than simple Ley-lamps — these were reserved for a select few.

For instance, only nine students were enrolled in the first year of the Healing Faculty. Five of them were elves. But that wasn’t the only thing that made this department stand out.

Each of these nine students possessed at least seven rays. And two of them, like Iolai, had a full Red Star.

The faculty’s admission process, in addition to requiring knowledge-based credentials, also had a minimum Star capacity threshold. If one possessed fewer than seven rays, there was no point in even trying to earn the serpent emblem that marked healers at the Grand.

And as for the depth of knowledge required from prospective healers — putting aside the vast number of seals they had to memorize — it was, frankly, mind-boggling.

And yes, all of it had to be memorized without a grimoire. After all, a healer couldn’t afford to be flipping through a book for minutes while their patient lay on the table, offering up their soul to the Eternal Angels…

And as for the Healing Faculty’s number of graduates, a good year was one in which even a single student had made it through four years, let alone someone completing more advanced studies.

Rumor had it that currently, there was just one student on the fifth-year track — a twenty-two-year-old from the Armondo borderlands who possessed two full Stars: a Red and a Green.

Outside lecture room 110, Ardan’s entire first-year group was already gathered. Every single one of the girls was fully engrossed in their textbooks or grimoires. Even Eveless didn’t acknowledge Ardan’s presence, so absorbed was she in her exam preparation.

And a few minutes later, the doors opened, allowing them into the spacious classroom. Unlike most lecture halls, in here, each student had their own table. There were no shared seats.

At the lectern sat a professor in a robe with a blue stripe, though one shouldn’t be deceived by the fact that she was on her third Star. Professor Lea (who preferred to be addressed only by her first name), at twenty-five, had already retired from her healing practice to teach. She possessed a full Red Star, an eight-ray Green Star, and a full Blue one.

Why had such a gifted young woman chosen to teach rather than practice her craft? Perhaps it had something to do with her missing left arm, or the porcelain mask covering the right half of her face, held there by two leather straps.

She frequently changed her wigs, always wore full-coverage clothing, donned gleaming glove on her hand, and wherever skin showed, a faint network of scars was visible.

From Boris, Ardan had learned that Lea had served as a shipboard healer in the Shallow Seas fleet after her graduation, but her ship had encountered a storm and ended up on an island in the Olikzasian region — the same region housing the Dead Lands.

In the end, only a handful of crew members, a couple of other mages, and Lea herself had survived.

“Good morning, students,” she greeted them in a raspy voice, wheeling herself forward to address her class as they took their seats. “Before you, there’s a sheet with a list of questions. You have twenty minutes to answer them, after which you’ll come to me for the practical part.”

She winked at them with her stormy-lake-blue eye, smiled a tight smile, and turned the hourglass.

Once, she might have been even more beautiful than Eveless, but…

Ardan turned over the sheet before him. With a slight shrug, he grabbed the pencil he’d tucked behind his ear and, without even removing his bag, wrote down the answers to each of the ten questions.

He rose, approached the professor, and handed her his sheet.

Lea nodded, set the sheet in a wooden tray, and picked up a scalpel lying beside her.

“Odd or even?” She asked.

Ardan thought for a moment.

“Odd,” he replied.

“Then I’ll ask for your right forearm, student Egobar.”

Ardi calmly removed his sweater, rolled up his shirt sleeve, and extended his arm. Lea deftly made a long cut just below his elbow.

Ardan, after calculating the length and depth of it, opened his grimoire, flipped through its pages briefly, and found the seal he needed, channeling four rays into it. This was precisely why healers required extensive reserves. Even if you carried a dozen accumulators with you, if you didn’t have a Star with sufficient rays, the energy-hungry healing seals were out of your reach.

“Why not do it from memory?” Lea asked, assessing the fresh line of pink, healthy skin that had appeared.

“I was afraid of making a mistake,” Ardan replied honestly.

“Sometimes, student Egobar, I think you’re too straightforward,” Lea released his forearm and made a note on her sheet. “You may go.”

Exam results weren’t disclosed immediately. For first-years, they came out the next day, while for upperclassmen, they were posted publicly at the end of the exam period, hanging in the atrium for all to see.

“Have a good day,” Ardan said, rolling down his sleeve and pulling his sweater back on. The moment he left the classroom, he felt a surge of energy, and the rays he’d used from his Star were replenished.

The Healing Faculty building, a massive three-story structure, was fully equipped with the same stationary Ley reservoir as the training field with its testing grounds.

For this reason, entry was usually restricted to only Healing Faculty students unless there was a compelling reason for someone to be there.

Heading through the warm corridor, Ardan returned to the atrium, and then made his way toward the stairs. His next exam — History of Magic — made him a bit apprehensive, as he still hadn’t committed all the significant events and discoveries to memory, even though, for some reason, a first-year at the Grand was expected to have done so already. He wasn’t sure of the value of such detailed knowledge — perhaps not even his history professor, who was also a Star Archaeologist, knew all of it.

Ardan wasn’t entirely sure he’d done well on his History of Magic exam. He hadn’t been able to remember the name of the scholar who’d first proposed the vector theory of seals, nor had he managed to recall all of the artifacts that had been instrumental in Gales’ victory over Ectassus… And there were some other parts of it that worried him, too.

His Jurisprudence exam had gone somewhat poorly, too. He suspected that he might have mixed up the numbers of the articles governing the life of etids, the ranks of which, as of recently, included him as well. Yes, he’d actually received an official document from the secretary’s office granting him the noble title of etid.

This meant that his brother, as well as his mother and Kena, were also considered etids now. Only Kelly had been left out…

“And what are you musing over, student Egobar?” Professor Kovertsky asked, approaching Ardan from behind. “Certainly not about the properties of wormwood and astrocodon combined with Fierce Celandine.”

Ardan glanced down at the completed potion in front of him and, after detecting the faint odor of a simple paralytic toxin, extinguished the burner.

“All done,” he said, straining the murky, yellowish liquid into a flask and holding it out.

“Oh?” Kovertsky clicked his tongue, glancing at him. “And the formula? On your last test, you brewed a near-perfect potion, but your formula, if I may say so, left something to be desired.”

In response, Ardan simply handed the professor a sheet. Kovertsky, ignoring the other students working in the laboratory, took the sheet and muttered to himself as he scanned the lines of symbols and numbers.

“A few degrees off in the initial heating of the substrate, and there’s likely some discrepancy in the gram count…” The professor set the sheet beside the flask, which was sitting on a stand. “Still, I’m glad it takes effort to spot your mistakes now… You’re improving, Ard. Improving indeed…”

“Thank you, professor,” Ardan replied, heading for the exit.

***

It took Ardi only a few minutes to identify the flaw in the seal drawing Professor Convel had handed him. At first glance, it was meant to perform a simple task — light a match. Not ignite it completely or incinerate it, not trigger a flame surging up from its base, nor should it create a floating flame in midair.

No, it was simply meant to light a match at a precise location.

This tricky requirement of seals often made Ardan miss Atta’nha’s lessons. With the art of the Aean’Hane, the precise location of a match didn’t matter, nor even whether it was present at all. By hearing the name of fire, or at least a piece of it, a Speaker could control it as effortlessly as they moved their hands. Star Magic, however, required exact calculations.

The most challenging calculations involved pinpointing a specific effect in a designated spot. Fortunately, in this instance, Convel had given his students precise measurements for the match’s position.

There it was, held in a clamp on the professor’s desk, with a mark on the floor for students to stand on for their demonstrations.

And there lay the catch — Convel’s measurements were accurate down to the millimeter, but aligning one’s position with them was nearly impossible. Any slight shift would throw it off.

Thus, this simple seal required an additional one — a calculation seal.

Thankfully, due to his frequent studying in his cramped apartment, Ardan had memorized the calculation seal by heart. It was meant to attach to the primary seal and act like a coordinate anchor.

The only task left was to link the two seals with the proper runes.

Recently, Ardi had stopped struggling with such links.

Finishing the diagram, he was the first in his group to approach the professor and submit his sheet.

Behind him, his classmates still busied themselves with their own diagrams, and Convel, clearing his throat, scanned Ardan’s drawing.

“Well then… My dear student Egobar, go on, give it a try if you’re so confident you’ve found the right solution.”

Ardan nodded, retrieved his drawing, and stood on the designated spot. Channeling Ley energy, he tapped his staff on the floor. In an instant, a crimson seal flared before him, with the mirage of another seal appearing behind it. The two merged, and a heartbeat later — using just one ray — the match on the professor’s desk flickered to life with a neat, orange flame.

“And that’s after just four months…” Convel’s voice held a trace of a smile as he spoke softly enough that only Ardi could hear him. “A passive nested seal embedded within an active effect seal, all while maintaining the original Ley consumption… And you calculated it in…” He glanced at his watch. “Seven minutes and sixteen seconds.”

“Professor?” Ardan wasn’t sure what had prompted this lecture.

“In this task, Ard, there was no requirement for you to complicate the seal with a nested one.”

“But this is correct, isn’t it?” Ardan frowned.

“Correct, but… Too correct, perhaps,” the professor spread his hands. “I’d expect a solution like this from a third-year student. From a first-year, I thought I’d see an additional contour with a few runes to shift the effect from fixed to directional.”

“That would’ve increased the seal’s cost by another ray,” Ardan pointed out.

“Exactly, Ard… Exactly…” The professor nodded, indicating the red accumulators on his desk. “Take back what you used and be on your way.”

Ardan had just picked up the accumulator crystal when Convel, jotting something down on a slip of paper, handed it to him.

“What-”

“It’s a reading list, Ard, covering the foundational principles of constructing Star Seals,” the professor explained. “It’s mandatory for my department’s students. If you decide to take it on, let me know in advance so that next semester, I can set more… engaging challenges for you in tests and exams.”

After a slight pause, Ardi accepted the list and thanked him.

Next semester… Next semester, he would be job hunting in Delpas…

But that was tomorrow’s problem.

***

Ardan stood before the professor’s desk. A man with an open, kindly expression and a somewhat encouraging gaze looked back at him.

Professor Talis an Manish wore a yellow turban adorned with a peacock feather and bore star insignia with four, four again, six, and five rays. Though he was seventy, he looked remarkably young, with a thick, glossy beard and sharp, lively eyes. He wore comically pointed shoes that curled at the toes, scented himself lavishly, enjoyed coffee, favored women younger than himself but older than his students, and had a taste for jazz. He and Ardi sometimes crossed paths at “Bruce’s,” where Talis would always come with a new date who was usually in her thirties and never older than that.

He was a fascinating conversationalist, and he often told everyone stories about his homeland — the Holy Emirates of Al’Zafir, where sand had replaced grass and dunes had taken the place of mountains. He joked often and lamented even more about his youthful failure to ignite a fifth Star, claiming he would soon meet the Eternal Angels because of it.

Only Star Mages of six Stars or more could use a particular seal that would allow them to trade certain things for a lifespan of over two hundred years.

On top of all that, Professor Talis an Manish had an odd and elaborate manner of speaking.

“So, Ardi, from the lofty heights of your wisdom and surely greater experience than just a few months ago, indulge my withered, weary ears and tell me, what do you see before you?” Talis didn’t even glance at the seal drawing Ardan had turned in.

“A glass of water,” Ardan replied.

Indeed, a glass of water stood on the professor’s desk.

“And which type of shield would you use to prevent the water from spilling if I were to break the glass?” The professor asked, smoothing his beard.

“But I already-”

“Ah, my young friend, if everything could be written down on paper, why would our hearts warm to song, and our bodies to dance? When the soul whispers, paper is silent, oh great mage Ardi, whose head is so high I must crane my old neck just to see the heavens.”

Talis said all of this with a warm smile. He was barely a meter and a half tall, and yet his sharp mind, quick wit, and deep heart more than made up for it, causing him to appear far bigger in a lot of ways.

Besides, he was the co-founder of a major company specializing in stationary defense installations, which had brought him to the western continent half a century ago. Now, in his twilight years, he taught at the Grand as a hobby.

Gazing at Ardi with his laughing, coal-black eyes, he tapped out a simple rhythm on the table with his gold-ringed fingers. On anyone else, such rings would have seemed garishly out of place, but not on Professor an Manish.

“An absorbing shield,” Ardan replied after a pause.

“Oh?” The man’s eyes narrowed. “And why not a redirecting shield, to direct the force of my blow toward, say, the table?”

“The water’s too close to the rim — it’ll spill anyway if the blow’s redirected.”

“And would an absorbing shield prevent spillage with such a small object, stopping inertia from transferring to the table and sending water flying as freely as your wise words, my young friend?”

“That’s why I’d apply it after you break the glass,” Ardan replied calmly. “The task, after all, isn’t to protect the glass, but to stop the water from spilling onto the table. Once the glass is broken, I’d cover the object with an absorbing shield, capturing both the water and the shards inside of it.”

“And you’re sure, Ardi, that your young, not-quite-human blood will allow you to act faster than the speed of gravity?”

“No,” Ardan shrugged. “That’s why I’d use a pre-set seal that would respond to the change in the object’s state, activating the shield only after the glass shatters.”

“But the task doesn’t say, my young beacon, that the shield should be activated after the breakage, does it?”

“It already is active before then,” Ardan countered, “just in a passive state. And the task, professor, only says that I need to prevent the water from spilling if the glass breaks. As long as the glass is intact when I cast my spell, the task is fulfilled.”

Talis an Manish let out his usual, ringing, lighthearted chuckle. It was a sound with a hint of a desert breeze to it.

“You know, my dear young friend whose hair sometimes seems to brush the wings of birds… A long time ago, when I was as young as you, but not nearly so tall, my company installed a very clever shield on Fifth Street in Baliero,” Talis openly unfolded Ardan’s sheet and, right in front of him, marked it with a top score. Ardan did his best to keep an expression of innocent obliviousness on his face, working on it even more diligently than he had that night in the Imperial Palace.

“Well, would you believe it, my dear friend whose love for jazz remains hidden even from himself, that several months ago, that shield was broken… twice.”

“Your shield?” Ardan put as much surprise into his tone as he could muster.

“Mine,” the professor replied with his usual smile. “In my defense, lest I offend my mother or father, I’ll say that the shield was my first attempt at a Ley-cable-powered installation. But that’s not the drop of water, as we say in my homeland. The point is, after spending an entire weekend analyzing how it was broken, I felt a sunlit flash of understanding as bright as the midday sun over the desert.”

“And what did you realize, professor?”

Ardan could swear his heart stopped beating then. Why hadn’t he asked Arkar whose company had installed that shield? It had been obvious from the start that such a complex structure could only have been made by a small circle of Senior Magisters.

“One attempt to break it was quite dull — they overloaded one of the runes with the Ley, creating a short-lived failure, as expected,” Talis sipped from a tiny white cup of the strongest coffee. “But the other one, oh Ardi, my dear witness of the clouds’ passage, someone had used a lockpick so clever that it took me a full five minutes to decode it! It’s been ages since I encountered a mystery so carefully veiled… I think I’ll add it to the fourth-year curriculum in Defensive Magic!”

“Astonishing,” Ardan replied, spreading his arms out. “What a captivating story, professor. A lockpick… Now that’s something… We haven’t covered techniques like that yet.”

“Not with me, you haven’t,” Talis nodded, then patted Ardan on the arm and gestured toward the door. “Go on, my dear friend… I hope to see you at Tess’ next concert.”

On legs that felt unsteady, Ardan left the room and, after reaching a window in the corridor, he stood there silently, watching the snow fall over the capital.

Dusk was settling in…

***

Compared to the dust-filled General Knowledge lecture hall, lined with shelves upon shelves of books, testing ground number 24 was rather… drab.

Ardan would’ve gladly traded the dim basement, the ten-meter diameter training circle, and the stationary mannequin at its center for a two-story classroom, some stale air, and another essay.

For his General Knowledge exam, he’d drawn a question about the interaction principles between the first contour and its attached runes, requiring an answer between five hundred and two thousand words.

Ardan had managed exactly one thousand, even including the references he’d cited. Quite a solid performance.

“As you know, our general physical and combat training exercises have no theoretical component,” Lavrilov said. He was seated on a bench behind twenty students from the “weakest” group, Ardan among them, who were all dressed in civilian clothes. He hadn’t seen the need to spend money on a uniform. “Since each of you has managed to meet the minimum requirement set for this group…” Lavrilov cast a particularly meaningful glance at the student from the Healing Faculty — a boy so plump that during his third of the required four pull-ups, it had looked as though he’d used magic to get it done… “Now, each of you must demonstrate a combat spell. Any one you like. The only condition is that it must take no longer than five seconds to cast. Once completed, just try to hit within a meter of the target.”

In response to this, Ardan felt like lighting a candle in the Temple of the Face of Light, so great was his gratitude to Colonel Kshtovsky, who had placed him in the “backwater” of the first-year cohort.

The exam had first required them to run a kilometer… with no time limit, they’d just had to finish the run. Then they’d had to do eight push-ups, four pull-ups, and ten squats, also with no time restrictions.

And because the combat portion was the last exam, it would last as long as Lavrilov pleased.

Thanks to Boris, Ardan knew that things were very different in the top five groups.

Their physical fitness standards were much higher, not to mention their combat magic requirements. Apparently, they had to perform a spell chosen by drawing lots within two seconds.

And as for the Military Faculty students themselves… Their exams were reportedly even more specific. Boris hadn’t had time to share all the details during their brief meeting in the atrium.

The students began forming their seals. Some struggled mightily, some came close, others lost focus at the end, wasting energy through broken seals and constantly drawing from the accumulator to restore their rays.

Ardi, however, calmly and deliberately crafted an Ice Arrow seal, using exactly five seconds (though, thanks to practice, he could now cast it nearly as quickly as he could cast a shield). Tapping his staff on the floor, he sent the icy spear flying a meter past the mannequin. The training ground’s boundary flashed briefly, and the arrow melted instantly, returning its energy to Ardi.

He turned to Lavrilov, who gave him a look of disapproval.

“Student Egobar, since you’re finished, would you kindly avoid disturbing the others and come over here?”

Carefully sidestepping a classmate from the Jurisprudence Faculty struggling with something fiery and lopsided, Ardan quickly left the group.

“Take a seat.”

“Maybe I could just-”

“Take a seat, student Egobar,” Lavrilov repeated firmly.

Ardi sighed and sat down. For a moment, they watched in silence as protective spells flared around the platform, absorbing the students’ broken seals and saving both them and their classmates from unintended effects. Without the boundary in place, there was no doubt that someone would already have been burned, splashed by acid, or — if they were truly unlucky — riddled with spikes.

“And what was that performance all about?”

“What do you mean?” Ardan asked, feigning innocence.

“Don’t play games with me, student Egobar,” Lavrilov groaned. “I’ve been working with you for almost four months now. Your physical fitness is as good as if you’d trained for an infantry stormtrooper test. As for your combat Star Magic… every time, student Egobar, every single time, your performance is exactly average. That might happen once or twice, but consistently? This means you have perfect control over your Star, something most of your peers can’t even dream of.”

Lavrilov took a paper from his uniform pocket. It was clearly an official document, bearing the dean’s seal.

“This is my recommendation for you to be transferred to the first group,” Lavrilov confirmed his suspicions.

“But I don’t want to go there,” Ardan objected. “I’m perfectly fine where I am, and…”

Lavrilov slowly turned to him with a glint in his eyes that was so harsh that Ardan was startled. Lavrilov, usually so gentle and considerate, was suddenly radiating a chilling, merciless intensity.

“You, student Egobar, are a future officer of the Empire,” Lavrilov ground out through clenched teeth. “And, if drafted, you’ll be sent to places you won’t want to tell anyone about. People will rely on you. And your magic will determine whether their loved ones will see them coming back from the front lines. So, I don’t give the slightest fuck about your preferences. You’ll be trained according to your abilities, not your desires. As of the next semester, you’ll be in the first group. That’s all. You’re dismissed.”

Ardan rose and strode toward the exit from the training grounds.

“And remember our first conversation,” Lavrilov called after him. “Limit your arsenal… Student Pietov, aim at the target, not yourself!”

In the end, what difference did Lavrilov’s transfer make if Ardan wouldn’t even be here next semester…

***

Waking up, Ardan slid off his bed, stretched, and got to his feet, nearly tripping on something. Looking down, he saw his analyzer, which had rolled off his nightstand.

It was a metal plate fastened to a leather strap with four buckles. The analyzer had taken much longer to arrive than even Bazhen had anticipated.

In the end, Ardan had only picked it up from the secretary’s office at the start of the month and had barely used it since.

In all honesty, he didn’t see any immediate, practical use for it. Except, perhaps, the fact that now he didn’t need to carry around the explanatory slip that permitted a mage student to walk around the city without an analyzer, which was normally required of them.

There was even a reason for the rule. They’d covered it in Jurisprudence, but Ardan could barely remember the explanation. It wasn’t an exam topic, so the information had drifted away under the torrent of other, more pressing details.

Strapping the analyzer onto his arm, Ardan directed it at Davos’ ring, which he’d been trying to examine the previous night. He was trying to figure out what kind of trinket it really was.

But, as always, dark letters flickered across the metal surface, forming the phrase:

<Ley ring made by Varanys & Partners. Information unavailable.>

Ardan already knew the ring was a Star Magic artifact, and yet he had no idea how to activate it. The Sight of an Aean’Hane only showed him that a Red Star’s energy was coiled around the ring, but nothing more.

And so, the analyzer, as it always seemed to do with Ardi, had proven useless. Although, starting from the second semester, it would be required for his practical lessons.

But what difference did that make to Ardi, who’d not be here next semester? He surveyed his room, where everything remained in impeccable order (aside from the first three windows plastered with endless seal sketches… And the wall above his desk, also covered in seals… And the closet doors layered with his seal designs), washed, dressed, and, grabbing his staff and grimoire, headed out.

He had plenty to take care of today. First, he needed to visit the bank to send another installment of his debt repayment to the Anorsky family, then head to the Grand to check his exam results. For what reason? Well… Who knows? Even if he had somehow qualified for a scholarship, what difference would that make now?

Afterwards, he planned to stop by the station to purchase his ticket to Delpas. Then he’d go back to pack his things and collect his deposit from Arkar.

“Ard.”

Ardan barely stopped in time, nearly bumping into Tess, who was coming up the stairs toward him.

“Good…” He glanced at the window. “Morning.”

“Morning,” she smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “How did your exams go?”

“I’m on my way to find out,” Ardan replied.

A brief, somewhat awkward silence ensued.

“Tess…”

“Ard…”

They exchanged glances and fell silent again. This time, she spoke first.

“For the holidays, I’m going home to my family in Shamtur.”

“Oh? That’s great! Give them my regards,” Ardi added, then almost kicked himself mentally. Why would they need greetings from him?

“I will,” Tess nodded. “I’ll be back on the seventh. Just before the Festival of Light.”

“The Festival, right…” Ardi awkwardly scratched the back of his head with the tip of his staff. “It’ll probably be beautiful.”

“Probably…” Tess echoed, her voice a bit quieter. She looked him in the eye and, stepping around him, continued up the stairs. “Have a good day, Ard.”

“You too!” He called after her.

Why did it feel like somewhere behind him, a little squirrel had buried his face in his paws?

Taking a deep breath of the crisp, slightly biting winter air as he reached the tram stop, Ardan joined the short line and prepared a few coins for the conductor.

Why had she brought up the Festival of Light?

***

Ardan found himself in line once again. This time, though, it wasn’t out in the bitter, minus-twenty-degree frost accompanied by a gusty eastern wind, but in a warm hall.

The white stone floor, a bit squishy with slush from the shoes of others who’d just entered, reflected the movement around it. Cleaners hurried by with long mops, rags, and buckets, waging an endless, if ultimately futile, battle against the mess. After all, it was what they were paid for.

Ahead, sitting behind a wooden counter with an iron grille fortified by a magic shield, were several tellers clad in white shirts that were processing the requests of patrons.

Behind the tellers, just a few paces back, loomed a wall painted the same shade as the counters. If one managed to catch a glimpse through the occasionally-opening doors, they might spot clerks bustling around with stacks of paperwork. The small, square offices bore nameplates on glass doors, and staircases led both up and down, presumably to the bank’s vault.

Several guards stood on duty, dressed in black uniforms, with revolvers holstered at their hips and batons tucked into their belts. A few had positioned themselves near the building’s entrance, while others strolled through the hall. Today, the crowd was especially thick as everyone hurried to settle their financial affairs before the start of the Ringing Decade — the two days before New Year’s and the eight that followed, a period during which all businesses except emergency services virtually shut down.

“Mama, Mama?” A little girl of about seven, dressed in a neat white dress patterned with snowflake-like designs, tugged at the edge of her mother’s coat. The woman was holding a miniature brown fur coat matching the girl’s vest, which she kept tugging at anxiously.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Her mother replied with a smile.

“Are we almost there?”

“We’re just behind this gentleman,” she nodded toward Ardan, who stood ahead of them. “And then only four more people, so we’ll be on our way soon.”

“To pick out new toys for the Tree, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And can we stop for pastries?” The girl asked hopefully.

“If you behave.”

“I’m being good now, right?” She asked, a note of genuine curiosity in her voice.

“You will be if you keep your voice down,” her mother said, stroking her golden hair before glancing apologetically at Ardan. “Sorry if we’re bothering you.”

“No trouble at all,” he replied earnestly.

Turning back, Ardan checked his watch. Though the line was moving, it was doing so at a frustratingly slow pace. If this kept up, he’d only make it to the Grand by the afternoon…

The snow leopard within him stirred suddenly, a prickle of unease rippling through his senses.

Ardan spun around.

“Mister, Mister, are you a mage?” The little girl turned to the elf who had approached, dressed in an odd, red coat like Boris’ and a bowler hat that seemed out of place for the season. He looked perfectly ordinary…

“Of course, little one,” the elf knelt down, extending his gloved hand. “Here, watch this.”

The elf’s lips didn’t move, but Ardi heard a whisper deep within his mind:

“Burn.”

An Aean’Hane!

A small, golden flame flared up in the elf’s hand.

“Move!” Ardan shouted, lunging forward. But the mother, acting on instinct, shielded her child, blocking him from reaching her in that vital moment.

The little girl, captivated, stared at the flame even as it began to grow, shifting from a harmless spark into something larger, a blazing orb. The firelight reflected in her eyes as she reached her hands out, wanting to touch it. Ardan watched in horror as the fire crept toward her hair, igniting it in a sickening flash. Her dress was next, the flames licking over it as the child closed her eyes, flames dancing around her like a twisted halo.

And then, in one shuddering instant, the blaze roared outwards in a fiery wave, engulfing the hall. The impact sent a concussive force rippling through the air as an explosion shattered the last vestiges of peace.

BOOM!

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