The morning sun cast long shadows across the square as Elise traced her fingers along a flowering vine climbing the stone wall. Its leaves trembled at her touch, responding to the subtle currents of life aether that flowed through the city. She paused, noting the pattern in her journal.

  Twenty-three points checked, four more to go. The routine had become second nature over her years as a Watcher, but for the last two weeks, something felt different. The ambient aether levels were elevated, fluctuating in ways she'd never recorded before.

  A surge of energy hit her as she rounded the corner into the main square before the city gates. The force of it drove her back against the nearest building, her knees threatening to buckle. Colors exploded behind her eyes, not physical sight but the overwhelming sensation of pure, unfiltered life aether flooding her senses.

  Her trembling fingers fumbled with her satchel, withdrawing a brass device with a delicate spinning needle. The instrument's needle whirled frantically, unable to settle on a direction. Elise forced herself to breathe slowly, fighting down the nausea that accompanied such intense aether exposure.

  She pulled out her calculation packet, her charcoal stick moving across the page in swift, precise strokes. Distance measurements, intensity readings, triangulation formulas, the numbers flowed from years of training and experience. But the results couldn't be right. She double-checked her math, then checked it again.

  The source became clear as she looked toward the gates. A company of rangers walked alongside a column of refugees, their armor dusty from the road. Nothing unusual there, except... Her eyes fixed on one figure in particular, a ranger walking beside a red-haired woman. The aether around him pulsed with impossible intensity.

  Elise's hands shook as she made one final notation. In five years of observations, she'd never recorded levels this high. Not even during the spring equinox, when the Oakspire's natural aether flows peaked.

  She tucked her instruments away and moved through the crowd with deliberate casualness, fighting the urge to run. Her path took her to a small garden where an ancient oak spread its branches over a quiet corner of the square. A quick glance confirmed she was alone.

  Three quick taps with her knuckles, followed by two slower ones. A pause, then two more quick taps. The bark beneath her hand shifted, revealing a narrow opening. Elise slipped inside, the passage sealing behind her as silently as it had opened.

  The hidden corridor stretched before her, illuminated by patches of phosphorescent fungi carefully cultivated along the walls. Their soft green light pulsed in time with her rapid heartbeat, responding to her agitated state. She clutched her journal tighter and hurried deeper into the Seeds' sanctuary.

  ----

  Dawn filtered through Val's window, casting long fingers of light across his simple bed. For what felt like the first time in weeks, he woke without jolting upright in panic, without the lingering dread of imminent attack. Instead, consciousness returned gradually, his body reluctant to abandon the comfort of actual sheets and a real mattress.

  He lay there for several minutes, savoring the quiet. No sentries calling warnings, no wounded crying out in pain, no urgent strategy sessions. Just the distant sounds of Oakspire coming to life; merchants setting up stalls, guardsmen changing shifts, the occasional call of a street vendor.

  He stood and stretched by his window, Oakspire was beautiful in the morning light, the cobblestone streets washed golden, the white-plastered buildings gleaming. From this vantage, he could see a slice of the upper city, where the Oakspire itself rose majestically above the buildings, its massive trunk and sprawling canopy dominating the skyline. The great tree seemed to pulse with the life it fed to the city around it.

  When he finished, Val selected clothes from his small wardrobe, simple attire rather than his uniform. A tunic of soft, undyed wool, leather breeches worn to suppleness through years of use, and sturdy but unobtrusive boots.

  As he dressed, Val's thoughts turned to Elara. That night in Willow Creek had changed something in him, awoken a hunger left dormant for years. In the chaos following the battle and evacuation, they'd barely had time to speak, let alone address what had happened. Now, with the immediate danger behind them, Val found himself wanting to see her, to make sure she was all right, to understand if what had happened between them was simply the product of extreme circumstances or something more.

  He splashed water on his face from the basin, ran wet fingers through his hair to tame it, and stepped out into the awakening city. The sun had fully cleared the eastern mountains now, painting Oakspire in warm light. Val breathed deeply, savoring the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery mingled with the ever-present undercurrent of green growing things that permeated the city. He nodded to the few people he passed, mostly early risers heading to work or returning from night shifts. Most were strangers, but a few recognized him with a wave or a respectful nod.

  Val knew Elara kept a small apartment nearby, not far from the Order of the Leaf's temple. He'd visited it once, years ago, when she'd been recovering from a particularly nasty wound. The memory guided his steps through the winding streets, past shops just opening their shutters and vendors setting up their stalls.

  Val found Elara's building easily enough, a modest three-story structure with window boxes full of herb plants. Her apartment was on the second floor, overlooking a small courtyard.

  He climbed the exterior staircase, noting the fresh scent of lemon balm and mint that clung to the wood, and knocked on her door. The sound seemed overly loud in the morning quiet, but no response came from within.

  Val waited, then knocked again, more firmly this time. Still nothing.

  "She's not there," a voice called from below. Val leaned over the railing to see an elderly woman tending to the herb garden in the courtyard. "Left before dawn."

  "Do you know where she went?" Val asked.

  The woman shrugged. "The temple, most likely. They've been working in shifts since the refugees started arriving. Haven't seen most of them come home for more than a few hours' sleep in days."

  Val thanked her and descended the stairs. The Order's temple was only a short walk away, but he hesitated. If Elara was working, she wouldn't thank him for interrupting, especially if she'd been at it all morning. Better to find her later, when she wouldn't be distracted by her duties.

  Instead, Val turned his steps toward The Burning Branch. Baret would be serving breakfast by now, and the prospect of a proper meal was too tempting to resist. Besides, he'd promised to meet Alea at the academy later, and Baret might know more about his daughter's plans than Val did.

  The tavern was already busy when Val arrived, its main room filled with the morning crowd. Laborers having a hearty meal before starting their day, merchants discussing business over coffee, and a scattering of off-duty guards unwinding after night shifts. The familiar scents of frying bacon and fresh bread wrapped around him as he entered, followed by the distinctive aroma of Baret's special morning brew, a rich, dark coffee enhanced with chicory and a hint of cinnamon.

  "Val!" Baret's booming voice cut through the general din as the big man spotted him from behind the bar. "Grab that table by the window, I'll be right with you."

  Val complied, making his way to a small table tucked into the corner with a good view of both the street outside and the tavern's interior. It was his preferred spot, offering both privacy and visibility.

  Baret arrived moments later, carrying a steaming mug of coffee and wearing a flour-dusted apron over his usual attire. "You look better," he observed, setting the mug down with surprising delicacy for such large hands. "Amazing what a real bed will do."

  Val smiled, wrapping his hands around the warm mug. "That obvious?"

  "Son, I've been serving hard working men and women for thirty years. I know the look of someone who's just had a good nights sleep for the first time in awhile." Baret pulled out the chair opposite Val and settled his substantial bulk into it. "Breakfast?"

  "Please."

  "The usual?"

  Val nodded, and Baret rose with a satisfied grunt, heading back toward the kitchen. "The usual" was a staple of the tavern. Hearty, calorie-dense, and designed to fuel a body that might not see another proper meal until nightfall: eggs fried with onions and peppers, thick slices of bacon, pan-fried potatoes, and fresh bread with butter and honey.

  While he waited, Val sipped his coffee and observed the tavern's patrons. Most seemed remarkably normal, going about their morning routines as if undead hordes weren't massing just beyond their valley. Yet, looking closer, he noticed subtle signs of awareness; guardsmen with more alert postures, merchants discussing supply chains with unusual intensity, laborers complaining about fortification projects.

  They know, Val realized. They understand what's coming, even if they don't comprehend the full scale of it.

  Baret returned with a loaded plate, setting it before Val with a flourish. "Eat," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

  Val didn't need encouragement. He fell to the meal with the appreciation of someone who had spent too long eating trail rations and whatever could be scrounged in emergency conditions. The eggs were perfectly cooked, the bacon crisp but not burnt, the potatoes seasoned with herbs from Baret's own garden.

  "Alea already left," Baret said, resuming his seat while Val ate. "Stormed out at first light, muttering about 'incompetent apprentices' and 'critical deadlines.' You know how she gets when she's deep in a project."

  "Did she say what she's working on?" Val asked between bites.

  Baret shook his head. "Mage business. Though, she did mention expecting you at the academy later." He paused, studying Val with the perceptive gaze that had read thousands of patrons over the years. "Something important?"

  Val hesitated. He wasn't ready to discuss what had happened at Willow Creek, not until he understood it himself. "Just following up on some things from the field," he said finally, a half-truth that Baret clearly recognized for what it was but kindly chose not to challenge.

  Instead, the tavern keeper switched to safer topics; the latest city gossip, updates on mutual acquaintances, the new regulations implemented by the council in response to the growing threat. Val listened, letting the normality of the conversation wash over him, a welcome counterpoint to the chaos of recent days.

  When he'd finished eating, Val pushed the empty plate away with a satisfied sigh. "That was exactly what I needed."

  Baret beamed, collecting the plate. "Always is. You rangers never appreciate good food until you've been eating trail rations for a week."

  "More like three weeks," Val corrected, draining the last of his coffee.

  "All the more reason to enjoy it now." Baret clapped Val on the shoulder, the gesture affectionate despite its force. "Go on, then. Don't keep my daughter waiting. You know how patient she isn't."

  Val laughed and stood, reaching for his belt pouch to pay for the meal. Baret waved him off with a scowl.

  "Your coin's no good here, and you know it. Consider it payment for keeping that girl of mine alive out there."

  "If anything, it was the other way around," Val admitted. "Alea saved more than a few of us at Willow Creek."

  Pride flickered across Baret's face, quickly masked by his usual gruff demeanor. "Well, then consider it payment for putting up with her. Now go on, get out of here before the morning rush really hits."

  Val clasped the older man's forearm in thanks, then made his way out into the street, which was noticeably busier now. The sun had climbed higher, burning away the morning mist and bringing the city fully to life. Vendors called their wares, apprentices hurried on errands for their masters, and guardsmen patrolled in pairs, their armament heavier than usual.

  The walk to the academy would take the better part of an hour from the lower city. Val set a leisurely pace, letting his body adjust to movement without the urgency that had driven him for weeks. As he walked, he observed the changes that had overtaken Oakspire since his last visit.

  Every smith's forge was active, the rhythmic clanging of hammers sounded from every road. Apprentices hurried between workshops carrying bundles of arrows or stacks of freshly forged spearheads. Warehouses that had stood nearly empty were now being filled with supplies. He saw barrels of preserved food, crates of medical supplies, stacks of timber being carried back and forth.

  The population density had increased noticeably too. Refugees from outlying settlements crowded the lower city, their possessions piled in corners or loaded onto carts. Makeshift shelters had been erected in what had once been public gardens, and communal kitchens operated in open squares, providing hot meals to those displaced by the undead advance.

  Despite the crowding, Val saw little of the chaos or desperation he might have expected. The refugee influx was being managed with surprising efficiency, with Order of the Leaf healers tending to the sick and injured, guard patrols maintaining order, and city officials organizing shelter and provisions.

  As he approached the gate to the upper city, the difference became stark. Where the lower city teemed with activity and adaptation, the upper city maintained an illusion of normalcy, its elegant buildings and spacious streets seemingly untouched by the crisis. The gate itself, usually open during daylight hours, was now closed, with a squad of guards checking credentials before allowing passage.

  A line of people waited for inspection, mostly workers who lived in the lower city but served in upper city households or businesses. Val bypassed the line, approaching the checkpoint directly, which earned him several dirty looks from those waiting.

  "Identification," the guard demanded.

  Val produced his ranger insignia, a small silver pin shaped like an oak leaf with crossed arrows behind it. "Ranger Valtha Hearne, Company Two."

  The guard examined the insignia closely before nodding. "Purpose in the upper city?"

  "Meeting at the Academy of Aether Arts," Val replied, restraining his impatience.

  Stolen story; please report.

  After a moment's consideration, the guard stepped aside, gesturing for him to pass. "Stay on the main roads. Certain areas are restricted due to security concerns."

  Val thanked her and passed through the gate, emerging into the upper city's comparative tranquility. Here, the streets were broader, the buildings more elegant, the gardens more meticulously maintained. The upper city housed Oakspire's governance, its wealthier citizens, and its major institutions, including the Academy of Aether Arts.

  The contrast with the lower city was jarring, the overall atmosphere remained one of contained calm. Citizens strolled leisurely along the tree-lined avenues, shops displayed luxury goods in their windows, and the cafés still served patrons at outdoor tables. It was as if the upper city existed in a bubble, acknowledging the threat but believing itself somehow exempt from the worst of it. Val found the disparity unsettling, a reminder of the divide that had always existed in Oakspire.

  The Academy of Aether Arts occupied a significant portion of the upper city's eastern quarter, its campus a collection of distinctive buildings arranged around a central green. Each structure represented one of the primary aether disciplines practiced in the valley: the Tower of Flame with its ever-burning beacon at the summit, the Hall of Earth with its fa?ade of intricately carved stone, the Dome of Air with its translucent ceiling that seemed to merge with the sky, the Pools of Water with their flowing fountains and reflecting pools, and the Gardens of Life with their perpetually blooming plants and trees.

  Connecting these specialized buildings was a network of colonnaded walkways, libraries, lecture halls, workshops, and dormitories for students and faculty. The entire complex was designed to optimize aether flow, with careful attention to the placement of each structure relative to natural aether currents and the Oakspire itself.

  Val approached the main entrance, an imposing gate flanked by statues of renowned aether masters from Oakspire's history. Unlike the city gate, this entrance stood open, though a pair of academy guards observed everyone who entered or exited. Their uniforms, deep blue trimmed with silver, marked them as separate from the city guard, answerable to the academy's leadership rather than the council.

  "Your business?" one guard asked as Val approached, his tone polite but firm.

  "I'm here to see Mage Alea Faet," Val replied. "She's expecting me."

  The guard nodded. "Sign the visitor's ledger and proceed to the central directory. They can direct you to Mage Faet's location."

  Val complied, scrawling his name in the massive leather-bound book that recorded all visitors to the academy. The page already contained dozens of entries from earlier in the day; suppliers, messengers, officials, and visiting scholars.

  The central directory occupied a circular pavilion at the heart of the academy's grounds, staffed by apprentices who tracked the whereabouts of the institution's hundreds of mages, students, and faculty. Val approached a young woman seated at one of the desks, her apprentice status indicated by the simple silver band on her left wrist.

  "Ranger Valthe Hearne. I'm looking for Mage Alea Faet," he said.

  The apprentice consulted a complex chart spread across her desk, running a finger down columns of names and locations. "Mage Faet is currently in Workshop Seventeen in the Artificer's Wing," she reported, looking up with a practiced smile. "Shall I summon a guide for you?"

  "Please," Val replied, knowing from experience that navigating the academy's labyrinthine layout without assistance could take hours.

  The apprentice rang a small bell, and moments later a young man appeared, wearing the distinctive gray robe of a first-year student.

  "This visitor needs to be taken to Workshop Seventeen in the Artificer's Wing," the apprentice instructed.

  The student nodded, turning to Val with an eager expression. "Follow me, sir."

  Val followed as the young man led him through the academy's grounds, past groups of students practicing basic aether manipulation techniques, scholars engaged in animated discussions beneath shade trees, and mages hurrying between buildings with purposeful strides. The atmosphere was one of focused intellectual activity, seemingly untouched by the crisis beyond the academy's walls.

  "Are you a ranger, sir?" the student asked as they walked, eyeing Val's with interest.

  "I am."

  "That's fascinating! I've always wondered about the practical applications of aether in field conditions. The theoretical principles suggest there should be significant variations in ambient aether concentration depending on proximity to natural features, but of course, controlled experiments are difficult to conduct outside laboratory settings."

  Val suppressed a smile at the young man's enthusiasm. "The theory holds true in my experience. Aether availability varies dramatically based on location, weather, and time of day."

  The student's eyes lit up. "You can sense ambient aether levels directly? Without instruments?"

  "To a degree," Val acknowledged, not wanting to get into the unusual nature of his abilities.

  "Remarkable!" The student looked like he wanted to ask a dozen more questions, but they had reached their destination. "Here we are, Workshop Seventeen. Mage Faet should be inside."

  Val thanked him, and the young man reluctantly took his leave, clearly disappointed that their conversation had been cut short. Val turned to the workshop door, a heavy wooden affair reinforced with metal bands and carved with symbols that he recognized as fire-containment wards, a sensible precaution for Alea he thought with a chuckle.

  He was about to knock when the sound of breaking glass came from within, followed immediately by a stream of inventive curses in Alea's distinctive voice. Val hesitated only briefly before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

  The workshop was a large, high-ceilinged room dominated by a central workbench cluttered with an assortment of tools, materials, and half-completed projects. Shelves lined the walls, holding books, jars of ingredients, and various mechanical and magical components. Several large windows provided natural light, supplemented by glowing crystals set into brackets along the walls.

  And in the middle of this organized chaos stood Alea, or at least a figure that Val assumed was Alea beneath the layer of soot that covered her from head to toe. She was frantically patting out small flames that still flickered along the sleeve of her once-white work robe, her red hair escaping its tie in wild disarray.

  "Fucking shit-eating excuse for a containment matrix!" she was snarling, stamping on what appeared to be the smoldering remains of a leather-bound journal. "Three weeks of calculations, gone because some first-year apprentice can't tell the difference between stabilized and raw fire essence!"

  Val cleared his throat, and Alea whirled, her soot-streaked face registering surprise before settling into a scowl.

  "Don't just stand there," she snapped, gesturing to a bucket in the corner. "If that fire reaches the essence storage, we'll be having this conversation from the afterlife."

  Val moved quickly to the bucket, finding it full of sand rather than water. He scooped up a handful and sprinkled it over the still-smoldering journal, effectively smothering the remaining embers.

  "Thanks," Alea said, running a hand through her hair and succeeding only in spreading more soot through it. A streak of black marked her cheek where she'd absently wiped it, and her eyebrows appeared to have been singed to half their usual length. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, her amber eyes seemed to glow with heightened intensity against her soot-darkened skin.

  "Bad morning?" Val asked mildly.

  Alea's laugh held an edge of hysteria. "You could say that." She gestured to the workbench, where the remnants of what might have been a complex apparatus lay scattered among broken glass and spilled liquids. "Three weeks of work, literally up in flames because my so-called assistant decided to 'improve' my design without telling me."

  She began pacing, her movements sharp with restrained energy. "Do you have any idea how rare stable fire essence is? Of course you don't, because you're not a fire mage who's been trying to create a sustainable portable aether source with completely inadequate resources and incompetent help!"

  Val had seen Alea in this state before, what her father affectionately called her "creative frenzy." It would pass, but attempting to reason with her during these moments was like trying to reason with a forest fire.

  Instead, he surveyed the workshop, noting the scorch marks on the ceiling and walls that suggested this wasn't the first explosive failure to occur here. A worktable in the corner held what appeared to be the successful version of whatever Alea had been attempting. A metal lantern of unusual design, with intricate runes etched into its surface and a crystalline chamber at its center where a small flame burned with unnatural steadiness.

  "Is that what you were trying to replicate?" he asked, pointing to the lantern.

  Alea followed his gaze, some of her aggravation subsiding. "Yes. The prototype works, but it's inefficient. The essence consumption rate is too high for field use away from the Oakspire." She sighed, running her hands down her face and leaving fresh soot streaks. "I was trying to improve the containment matrix to reduce leakage, but now..."

  She gestured to the destroyed workbench, frustration evident in every line of her body. It was only then that Val noticed the burns on her hands and arms, angry red patches where her skin had been exposed to magical fire.

  "You're hurt," he said, moving toward her with concern.

  Alea glanced down as if noticing the burns for the first time. "It's nothing. Hazard of the profession."

  "It's not nothing," Val insisted, taking her wrist gently to examine the worst of the burns. "These need treatment."

  "I don't have time," Alea protested, though she didn't pull away. "The academy council wants a demonstration tomorrow, and I've got nothing to show them now except a pile of ashes and excuses."

  Val maintained his grip on her wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his fingers. "The council will have to wait if their fire mage burns herself to cinders before the demonstration."

  For a moment, he thought she might argue further, but then her shoulders slumped slightly, the fight going out of her. "Fine. There's a healing kit in that cabinet." She nodded toward a tall cupboard in the corner.

  Val released her wrist and crossed to the cabinet, finding a well-stocked healing kit on the middle shelf. He returned to Alea, who had slumped onto a stool, the adrenaline of the accident fading to leave exhaustion in its wake.

  "How long have you been at this?" he asked, opening the kit and selecting a burn salve made with aloe and wintermint.

  "Since before dawn," Alea admitted, holding out her arms so Val could apply the salve. "I couldn't sleep. Too many ideas, too little time."

  Val worked in silence for a few minutes, gently applying the cooling salve to the worst of the burns. Alea's skin was hot to the touch, not just from the burns but from prolonged proximity to fire aether. It was a common side effect for fire mages who worked intensively with their element. Their body temperature rose, sometimes to levels that would cause fever in others. Her skin healed in front of his eyes, back to new within minutes.

  Alea flexed her fingers experimentally and grunted.

  "What exactly were you working on?" Val asked, replacing the healing supplies in their container.

  "A portable aether source for field use," Alea explained, some of her enthusiasm returning as she warmed to the topic. "The problem with fire aether is that it's constantly trying to escape containment. Without a steady supply, fire mages in the field can be left vulnerable if they exhaust their personal reserves."

  She gestured to the prototype lantern. "That's the concept, a self-sustaining fire that can be used to cycle aether even in aether-poor environments. The flame itself is stable, but the containment system leaks, meaning the essence reservoir depletes too quickly for practical use."

  Val studied the lantern with new interest. "And that would let you use your abilities near the Deadlands?"

  "That's the idea, more so away from Oakspire in general. Unlike you the rest of us are severely limited the farther away we get." Alea confirmed.

  She stood, surveying the destruction with a critical eye. "I'll need to start over. The calculations can be redone, but the essence..." She shook her head. "That's going to be a problem. The academy's stores are already stretched thin with all the defensive preparations."

  They set to work, Alea directing the cleanup while Val handled the physical labor of sweeping up broken glass, mopping spilled liquids, and carefully disposing of materials that Alea deemed unsalvageable. The process was slower than it might have been, as each item had to be checked for residual magical energy before it could be safely handled or discarded.

  As they worked, Alea gradually relaxed, her movements becoming less sharp, her commentary less caustic. By the time they had cleared the worst of the debris, she had transitioned from frustrated ranting to more constructive problem-solving, muttering calculations and revised design ideas under her breath.

  "I think we've got most of it," Val said finally, surveying the now-cleared workbench.

  Alea nodded absently, her focus already shifting to reconstruction. She had produced a small notebook from somewhere and was rapidly sketching what appeared to be a modified version of the failed apparatus, her burned fingers apparently forgotten in the excitement of a new approach.

  "Alea," Val said more firmly, recognizing the signs of her slipping into another work spiral. "You need to clean up yourself as well. And probably eat something."

  She blinked, looking down at her soot-covered robes as if seeing them for the first time. "Oh. Right." She touched her face, grimacing when her fingers came away black. "I must look a fright."

  "I've seen worse," Val assured her, thinking of the mud-covered, blood-spattered state they'd both been in after the battle at Willow Creek. "But you might want to change before we meet with Grandmaster Linden."

  That caught her attention. "Shit, I almost forgot about that." She glanced at the window, noting the position of the sun. "It's nearly midday already. We should get something to eat before the meeting."

  She set her notebook down and moved to a small door at the back of the workshop that Val had assumed led to a storage area. Instead, when Alea opened it, he glimpsed a compact living space beyond; a bed, a small table, a wardrobe, and what appeared to be a private washroom.

  "I'll just be a few minutes," she said, disappearing through the door. "Don't touch anything while I'm gone. Especially not the lantern."

  The door closed behind her, leaving Val alone in the workshop. He took the opportunity to examine the prototype lantern more closely, careful not to touch it as instructed. The craftsmanship was impressive, the metal housing decorated with intricate runic inscriptions that he couldn't decipher. The crystal chamber at the center held a flame that burned with unusual steadiness, neither flickering nor smoking as a normal fire would. Its color, too, was a deep, rich orange with undertones of blue at its core.

  Val could feel the heat it generated, not just physical warmth but a kind of energetic resonance that seemed to call to his aether core. He found himself unconsciously cycling the energy it emitted, his core responding to the fire aether despite it not being his natural affinity.

  He pulled back, disturbed by the ease with which his body had begun the process. This new responsiveness to all types of aether, not just life energy, was yet another change he didn't fully understand. It was part of why he'd agreed to meet with Grandmaster Linden, despite his general reluctance to draw attention to his abilities.

  The sound of running water came from beyond the door, followed by muffled thumps and rustling that suggested Alea was changing clothes. Val moved away from the lantern, turning his attention to the workshop's other contents to distract himself.

  The shelves held an eclectic collection of books, materials, and tools. Technical manuals on aether theory sat alongside more practical texts on metallurgy and glassblowing. Jars of powdered minerals, dried herbs, and more exotic substances lined one wall, each meticulously labeled in Alea's precise handwriting. Various tools hung from hooks, some recognizable as standard craftsman's implements, others clearly specialized for aether work.

  One shelf held what appeared to be earlier prototypes of the lantern though smaller, simpler versions that presumably led to the current design. Each showed signs of use and, in some cases, failure, with melted components or cracked casings. The progression was visible, though, each iteration improving on the last, refining the concept toward its current form.

  It was impressive work, especially considering the time constraints and resource limitations Alea was operating under. Val had always known she was talented, but seeing the tangible evidence of her skill and innovation gave him a new appreciation for just how capable she had become in her chosen field.

  The door opened, and Alea emerged transformed. Gone were the soot and dishevelment, replaced by the professional appearance of an academy mage. She wore a fresh robe in the deep red that marked her as a fire specialist, her damp hair neatly braided, her face scrubbed clean. Only her shortened eyebrows and the faint redness of her healing burns hinted at the morning's mishap.

  "Much better," Val commented, smiling at the dramatic change.

  Alea rolled her eyes, though she looked pleased at the implicit compliment. "Yes, well, one can't meet a Grandmaster looking like a chimney sweep. Not if one wants to be taken seriously."

  She crossed to a cabinet and retrieved a leather satchel, into which she placed her notebook and several other items from around the workshop. "We should go. There's a café in the central courtyard that serves decent food, and we can discuss strategy for the meeting while we eat."

  "Strategy?" Val repeated, following her to the door. "I thought we were just going to ask about...what's happening with me."

  Alea paused, her hand on the door handle, and turned to face him with unexpected seriousness. "Val, we're not just asking for information. We're asking one of the most powerful and respected life mages in Oakspire to examine an unprecedented aether phenomenon in a ranger with no formal training or academy affiliation."

  She lowered her voice, though they were alone in the workshop. "Grandmaster Linden is kind, but he's also bound by academy protocols. If he determines that what's happening to you represents a potential danger or a significant discovery, he'll be obligated to report it to the full Grandmaster Council."

  Val hadn't considered that aspect. He'd been so focused on understanding his changing abilities that he hadn't thought about the wider implications of seeking official help. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

  "It's the only idea we have," Alea countered firmly. "You need answers, and Linden is the best person to provide them. Just be prepared for the possibility that those answers might come with complications."

  She opened the door, gesturing for Val to precede her into the hallway. "Come on. Everything looks better after food, even potentially life-altering magical examinations."

  Val followed, his mind now occupied with a new set of concerns. As they made their way through the academy's corridors toward the central courtyard, he found himself noticing details he'd overlooked before. There was an increased security presence at key junctions, the hushed conversations among faculty that ceased when they passed, the tension that underlay the academy's scholarly atmosphere despite its surface calm.

  The crisis beyond the city walls was affecting even this bastion of intellectual pursuit, though in more subtle ways than the obvious preparations in the lower city. Val wondered how many other projects like Alea's were underway in workshops throughout the academy, research accelerated by necessity, experiments pushed to their limits by the pressure of imminent threat.

  And somewhere in all this controlled urgency, he hoped, were answers about what he was becoming and what it meant for the battles that surely lay ahead.