Journal – Day 3

  I've learned that this Auric empire, as the people here call it, spans a vast portion of the known world. However, without a map or any idea of the planet's actual size, I can't say for certain just how large it is. I've heard of a library within the city—I'll see if I can gain access to it.

  In other news, my pact with the Knowing One has... changed. I am no longer bound to her but to something else. I have yet to determine what it is, but I'm certain it's different. My oaths remain the same: I cannot tell a lie, and no knowledge is too secret. I only hope it won't demand anything of me.

  For now, I can sense that it's asleep. And I have no intention of waking it.

  Entry Ended.

  Gine

  I pushed myself up from the cot, blinking as morning light spilled across the wall in golden stripes through the boarded window. My Elected Mind feat triggered, instinctively telling me the time—6:30 AM.

  My room wasn't large. In fact, it wasn't even technically mine. I was squatting in an abandoned building, though I preferred to think of it as temporary lodging. The only intact room belonged to the building next door, but no one wanted to use it—not since the alchemical poison explosion that had occurred there. It had been deemed safe and thoroughly cleaned ages ago, but fear lingered longer than logic.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “Mr. Walker, are you awake?” came Rex’s muffled voice from the other side of the door. “Sofie said to check if you’re up—breakfast is ready!” He didn’t wait for an answer before I heard him dash off.

  With a sigh, I got up properly and moved to the washbasin. The water was clean, but with a quick use of Prestidigitation, I warmed it before splashing some onto my face.

  Looking into the cracked mirror, my bright silver eyes stared back at me. My black hair fell messily over either side of my face, and my short but noticeable pointed ears—proof of my half-elf heritage—peeked through the strands. Sometimes it still startled me to see this reflection, a face both mine and not mine.

  With a resigned sigh, I reached into my bag and pulled out one of the more useful—yet initially joke-worthy—items that had come with me. A brush that undid knots in hair.

  "I'm so glad I kept you," I muttered, running it through my tangled hair. Within a few strokes, it was smooth enough to tie back with a dark blue ribbon, the enchanted bristles making quick work of what would have taken minutes otherwise.

  To finish, I activated Mask of Faces. Looking in the mirror, I hadn't changed much—just enough to dull my features. My pointed ears were gone, the more elvish aspects of my face softened, and my silver eyes now appeared a mundane gray behind my reading glasses.

  Satisfied, I tidied up and made my way to the door, unlocking the various bolts I had installed for security. Stepping out of the abandoned house, I crossed into my actual home, where the warm scent of breakfast greeted me.

  The children were already gathered around the table. Carefully maneuvering past an empty chair, I took my seat. Toasted bread with butter and a bit of jam sat on my plate.

  "Where did you get the jam?" I asked Sofie.

  She looked up from her food, brushing a strand of sandy hair from her face. "I didn't. Tobin got it for me."

  I turned to Tobin, who merely shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant despite the pride in his eyes.

  "Mr. Brany said he was willing to sell it cheaply for all the work I've done for him," he explained, licking a stray bit of jam from his lip. "Said I earned it."

  "Well, thank you for sharing, Tobin." His olive skin flushed slightly at the praise. "And thank you, Sofie, Alex, for making breakfast."

  The meal disappeared with little effort. Once everyone finished, I gathered the plates into a neat pile and, with a flick of Prestidigitation, cleaned them all. If everything went well today, I’d finally be able to use magic a bit more freely.

  As I stood to leave, adjusting my clothes to ensure my illusion would hold, I bid my farewells. Just as I stepped outside, Aayar stopped me, her slim fingers catching my sleeve.

  "Mr. Walker... are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked, concern lacing her tone. Her emerald eyes, far too old for her young face, searched mine intently.

  "Yes, it should be fine. I can't pass up the chance at a well-paying job."

  "But they won’t stop at this," she pressed. "They’ll keep digging, keep pushing until they know everything!"

  I couldn’t deny that I was secretive, but it always struck me as odd how Aayar was just as cautious—if not more—than I was.

  "I know," I admitted, "but living like this isn’t sustainable. I’ve set things up so they won’t have any reason to look too deeply into me. And once I have more money, I’ll be able to deal with their spying better." Not that I needed the money to do that, but it would make things look a lot less suspicious.

  She still didn’t look convinced, but after a long sigh, she relented. "Just… try to come back quickly. I’ve noticed more people moving around here than usual."

  I nodded, acknowledging her concerns. She had a sharp instinct for these things.

  "I'll be back soon. Keep the others close, and I'll check in when I return." I patted her shoulder before leaving, casting an illusion to blend into the slums as I moved, just another unremarkable figure in the flow of Iron-Port's forgotten masses.

  The testing hall at the university stood in stark contrast to the slums I'd left behind. It was an impressive building with soaring arches and gleaming windows, a monument to the privilege of knowledge in this world. Even without actively using my magic senses, I could feel the powerful enchantments covering the building—layers of protection, detection, and enhancement woven into the very stones.

  Outside, Lord Bertram waited, his portly figure unmistakable even at a distance. His face brightened as he spotted me, a genuine smile spreading beneath his peppered mustache.

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  I let a small smile form on my own face as I approached him. "Lord Bertram, you seem in an enjoyable mood. Should I take that as a good sign?"

  "For you, my friend, yes. I was able to ensure Lady Fairchild isn't among the examiners, so things should proceed smoothly." Lord Bertram extended his hand, which I shook firmly, grateful for his intervention.

  As we conversed, I noticed a young man approaching us. He bore a resemblance to Lord Bertram in his facial features—the same dark hair and brown eyes—but he was younger, slimmer, and his skin carried a slightly darker complexion.

  "Uncle, is this Measter Gine?" the young man asked, his gaze appraising me with barely concealed skepticism before arranging his features into a polite smile that wouldn't have fooled even the most naive observer. Nevertheless, I extended my hand, which he shook with practiced precision.

  "Yes, this is Measter Gine," Lord Bertram confirmed. "And Gine, this is my nephew, Alistair Jonathan Sage. He's an aspiring Biomancer, already proficient in second-circle magic and rapidly approaching the third." Bertram spoke with evident pride, either oblivious to Alistair's thinly veiled disinterest in me or deliberately choosing to ignore it.

  "Is that so? That's impressive progress for someone so young. Have you created any homunculi yet, or are you pursuing the medical field?" I inquired, genuinely curious about his answer. Though not formally a Biomancer myself, the combination of my Earth knowledge and what I'd learned from Gine's books and library research had given me considerable theoretical expertise.

  My question seemed to spark a flicker of interest in Alistair's previously dismissive expression. "Yes, I have, though nothing particularly noteworthy. Only third-circle homunculi are even worth discussing." I held my tongue at that shortsighted assessment. "I wasn't aware you were familiar with Biomancy," he added, a hint of surprise in his voice.

  "I'm not a Biomancer by training," I clarified, "but I've studied the theoretical aspects extensively." With that admission, what little interest he'd shown evaporated like morning dew in summer heat.

  "Uncle," he said, turning to Lord Bertram, "I came to inform you that I won't be attending dinner tonight. Lavinia and I will be dining at the Golden Wheel instead."

  "Of course, Alistair. I'll inform the staff," Lord Bertram replied agreeably. Then, turning to me, he added, "There will be several other guests attending today's examination. The nobility does enjoy witnessing displays of magic." He gestured toward the ornate doorway. "Shall we begin?"

  I nodded, offering a polite farewell to Alistair, though he was already striding toward a different entrance, his mind clearly elsewhere. Lord Bertram and I made our way into the testing chamber—a grand space reminiscent of a colosseum in design, with elegant tiered seating surrounding a central platform where three figures sat in imposing chairs.

  The man in the center commanded immediate attention despite his advanced age. His wizened face was a topography of deep lines and wrinkles, mapping a lifetime of scholarly pursuits. Wispy white hair crowned his head like a winter halo, and his posture, though slightly stooped, still conveyed authority. He sat behind an intricately carved mahogany desk, his gnarled fingers resting on an ancient leather-bound tome that seemed almost as old as he was.

  Looking up from the book, his pale blue eyes settled on me with surprising sharpness. "So, Mr. Walker," he began, his voice dry as desert sand yet carrying clearly across the chamber. "Before we proceed to the practical portion of this examination, we must address some preliminary questions." He straightened slightly in his seat. "But first, allow me to introduce myself and my colleagues. I am Sir Marcus Brown. To my right is Sir Wright Brozon-Wind."

  The man he indicated was in his early forties, with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard that accentuated his strong jawline. His dark hair was pulled back into a short tail, revealing intelligent hazel eyes that studied me with clinical interest. His midnight blue waistcoat was adorned with a silver chain that glinted with a hint of magic.

  "And to my left is lord Harry Fairchild."

  The final examiner was younger, perhaps thirty-four, with a striking resemblance to Lady Eleanor that immediately set me on edge. He had the same midnight-black hair and olive skin, though his features were softer, less severe. Unlike his counterpart's perpetual scowl, Harry's expression was carefully neutral, his amber eyes inscrutable as they assessed me. His suit was a deep burgundy, embroidered with golden threads forming intricate patterns I recognized as the Fairchild house crest.

  I exchanged a meaningful glance with Lord Bertram, who appeared equally surprised by the unexpected panel lineup. He stepped forward with polite authority, adjusting his waistcoat.

  "May I inquire about Sir Gareth's absence?" he asked, his tone measured but curious. Clearly, Sir Gareth had been expected to serve on the examination board.

  Before Sir Marcus could respond, Harry Fairchild interjected smoothly, "He was unfortunately called away due to pressing family matters." His lips curved into what might have been a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I graciously offered to sacrifice my valuable time to ensure the examination could proceed without delay."

  Sir Marcus fixed Fairchild with a dry look, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. "Indeed. Now, if there are no further interruptions, Lord Bertram, shall we proceed?" The rebuke was subtle but unmistakable.

  Lord Bertram inclined his head respectfully and retreated a step. The exchange sent a ripple of murmurs through the chamber, drawing my attention to the growing audience. More spectators had arrived than I'd anticipated, though still modest in number. Among them, Lady Eleanor Fairchild stood with unmistakable satisfaction, her smile bordering on predatory.

  Sir Marcus cleared his throat, directing his attention back to me. "Measter Gine, for the official record, you, Gine Silverbranch Walker, claim proficiency in magic up to the third circle. Is this correct?"

  "Yes, that is correct," I confirmed, keeping my voice steady.

  "Is there anything this board should be made aware of before we begin the examination?"

  "No—" I began, only to be interrupted by Harry Fairchild.

  "You've resided in Iron-Port for some time, yet only now seek a magic license?" His voice was cool and measured, his face professionally blank, though his eyes held the same calculating quality as his relative's.

  I glanced toward Sir Marcus, hoping for intervention, but the elderly examiner seemed content to allow this digression. Turning back to Fairchild, I composed my response carefully.

  "I didn't previously see the necessity for a license as—"

  Fairchild cut me off again, leaning forward slightly. "You claim that, yet even now, you stand before this panel actively using magic." His accusation hung in the air, sharp and deliberate.

  I suppressed a grimace. Even something as simple as this couldn't proceed smoothly.

  "You seem to believe I'm using magic, Lord Fairchild?" I kept my voice steady. He was right, of course. I was using Mask of Faces. But it wasn't easily detectable. "Yet the wards aren't triggering." I couldn't lie outright, but I could certainly dance around the truth.

  Fairchild's face creased with irritation. "What does that have to do with anything? Just because the wards aren't functioning properly doesn't change the fact you're using magic, Eldorian!" His voice rose with each word, the final slur delivered with unmistakable contempt.

  A hushed tension fell over the chamber. Sir Marcus's weathered face remained impassive, though a subtle tightening around his eyes suggested disapproval. Sir Wright shifted uncomfortably in his seat, gaze darting between his colleagues.

  Before I could respond, Lord Bertram stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking decisively against the marble floor. Though his frame was portly, he carried himself with the unmistakable authority of a man accustomed to navigating delicate political waters.

  "If I may interject, honorable panel." His voice, though genial, carried a steel undertone that commanded attention. "This isn't a court session, Lord Fairchild, but an examination. And as the law is written—quite specifically, I might add—if a ward isn't triggered, there is no legal violation." He offered a disarming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Surely we haven't gathered today to debate legal technicalities when there's magical proficiency to assess?"

  Harry Fairchild settled back in his chair with practiced grace, though the rigid set of his shoulders betrayed his irritation. "No substantive concerns, Sir Marcus. By all means, let's proceed." His smile was thin and brittle. "I'm merely ensuring thoroughness, as any responsible examiner would."

  "Your diligence is noted," Sir Marcus replied dryly. He turned to me, the deep lines of his face rearranging into something almost kind. "Let's begin, shall we? First, please demonstrate that you can use magic. Any spell will do, but I suggest the highest circle you can cast, as that will be sufficient proof of your abilities."

  I smiled at the opportunity to show off a little, as it had been a long time since I'd cast anything above a cantrip. Several gasps erupted from the small crowd as I lifted off the floor, casting Fly. "I hope this is adequate proof that I can cast third circle magic."

  "Indeed it is," Sir Marcus nodded approvingly. "We just need to proceed through a few more formalities."