For what felt like a Microsoft minute, Gwen's blanked-out mind showed "page not found".

When her thoughts came to, her protest choked up with offence and outrage compounded by outright existential woe.

Opposite, the Arch-Warden watched her expression for a while, then raised a hand to halt her increasingly outlandish emotions from erupting between her ears and blowing her brains out.

"Magus, your Void is leaking." Eldrin's golden eyes gleamed. "Do not fret. You are not a member of the Accord yet. Even if you are eager to participate, it takes decades to prove one's mettle. There will be tests of loyalty and dedication, and the temptation to use the information we provide to the advantage of Humanity will be many. When you are ready to join, you will have no such qualms."

"J-Join?" Gwen spat, glaring at Eldrin with undisguised aversion that she allowed a Gwenism to lapse. "Why would anyone with any sense of goodness put themselves in that position? Gods! This is just another Coalition of the Willing, isn't it? Thanks for the knowledge, Arch-Warden, but no thanks."

"Do you consider your disregard as good as our experience?" Eldrin appeared genuinely amused that he had a resistive sorceress on his hands. "Then again, your kind do proudly pronounce that ignorance is bliss. You are not wrong. For a short-lived species, many generations may yet pass in prosperity and peace. Many of your rulers would consider that arrangement completely acceptable, so long as their generation blooms and wilts without suffering. Nonetheless— the Accord would not want one of its future members to take the wrong, nor would Henry if he were alive."

Gwen took a deep breath.
She re-arranged her thoughts.
If the Arch-Warden thought he could bully her into obedience, then the bastard had a whole Caliban coming for his buns! Nonetheless, she wasn't drunk enough on Lighting Affinity to try and headbutt the Elves, at least not with a face as delicate as hers.

What should she do then if she could neither accept nor outright deny?

"Has Tryfan ever pruned itself?" Gwen asked, her tone growing churlish, probing Eldrin for cracks.

"No," Eldrin categorically denied her accusation.

"Well, well, doesn't that come as a surprise. Would you do it if it came to it?"

"A moot question." Eldrin shook his head. "Another member of the Accord will perform the deed if a race's members will not. You need not dirty your hands. That is also a part of the Accord."

"How bloody convenient." Gwen's mind raced. "I guess that makes reaping your blood all the more acceptable. So long as you're not strangling any babies— it doesn't matter how many dozens perish in a fire, right?"

"Your vitriol art misled," Eldrin replied with an annoying amount of patience. "Allow me to elucidate— what you proposed as self-pruning, Magus Song, is something that need not occur if your people exercise self-governance. In this, we have set an example as the Hvítálfar. For all our might, we have constrained our numbers for aeons and restricted ourselves to our modest living space. Even Guardian Tyfanevius, whose kind possess a natural inclination you know well, is restricted within the Great Tree, much to his frustration."

Gwen half-listened to the Arch-Warden, her mind still bushwacking the dark to escape the Elf's grim entanglement.

"To take your people as an example," Eldrin continued. "Humanity's vivaciousness is beyond belief. Even when the world was young and your kind was without sorcery, you thrived, going so far as to manifest ripples in reality through sheer force of belief. You are aware of how voraciously your species has progressed, Magus Song, are you not?"

"Maybe, enlighten me."

"'Spellcraft', the source-arcanistry Humanity now wields to sustain its seat of power," Eldrin said. "Has its origins in us. Your kind has taken the gentle boon we bestowed to ease your resistance against the Planar-usurpers into something that strains the Prime Material. In aeons past, the Accord's early progenitors consented for your people to inherit vast tracts of Terra that would fall into ruin and disjunction to Core-bearing colonists. Yet now, your kind has grown numerous enough to test the Astral fabric's elasticity. Your cities..."

Eldrin shook his head.

"We've grown too powerful?" Gwen raised both brows.

Eldrin's lips grew mocking. "Too prideful, too ambitious, too intemperate."

"Okay— so NOT too powerful, but annoying enough to be of concern," Gwen minced the Elf's choice of diction. "Exactly how much of our Spellcraft is based on yours?"

"I believe that's enough talk of the Accord." Eldrin stopped her with a dismissive gesture. "Any more, and our allies would accuse me of bestowing undue partiality. Perhaps they already shall, but that would be a burden I have brought upon myself. You are very astute, Gwen, for one so young. So, how now?"

"One last question." Gwen raised her voice. If she desired to delay, then the first thing she had to do was set fire to Eldrin's evergreen coolness.

Inhaling deeply, she settled on delivering a kidney blow.

"Tell me true, Arch-Warden. Was Sobel one of yours?" Her voice rose an octave as she circulated the overspilling Void mana throughout her conduits, priming her accusation with an aura similar to that of the Elizabeth she had encountered in Sydney. "If you want me to join, then tell me the truth. Was Lizzy a willing agent of the Accord or a rogue one?"

The Arch-warden's golden orbs shrunk as motes of Druidic mana coursed through the Elf's conduits, reacting to her Void aura. His brow gave the slightest wrinkle, which she took to mean annoyance.

Before she could pull back the pressure, Eldrin responded.

A near-physical wave of Dragon-fear radiated from the Elf, almost balling her over with its intensity. Fighting the unbidden butterflies taking flight from her abdomen, Gwen kept up her demanding gaze even as her skin grew clammy and the hair on her thighs stood on end, rising from her knees to her neck then back again like a Mexican wave.

"That's a nice reaction." Gwen felt a thrilling surge of masochistic satisfaction as yet more demands danced on the tip of her tongue. Eldrin's Dragon Fear was purer than even Golos' as it strummed her every nerve, mangling her innards and rousing Almudj's irritated Essence. Forcing her jaws to unclench, she continued her barrage. "Ha! How about this, then? Will the Hvítálfar abide by the Rule of Law and prune the Svartálfar or the Ljósálfar?"

"If it comes to that…" Eldrin scowled.

"So, you HAVE exterminated Álfar before?" Gwen pursued with a quick follow-up. "Has the Accord had a go at a Dragon yet? Are the Asiatic Drakes a part of the Accord? How about the Merman of the Seven Kingdoms? — Holy shit! Was the Mermen invasion of Sydney the work of the Accord?"

Against Gwen's barrage, Eldrin's expression grew darker and darker until Gwen finally saw the blood clotting against his pale, flawless skin. The fire in the Arch-Warden's eyes likewise grew in intensity. When she resorted to taking his silence as a "Gotcha!" the Dragon Fear radiating from the Arch-Warden became solid tendrils kneading her trembling figure, grasping at her neck and running spindly-little spider-fingers down her spine.

"Magus Song—"

"There's the rub! If the Elemental remains active, does that mean Humanity's safe so long as the Fire Sea remains a present threat? How about the North Korean Undead and their Juche? How do the Undead figure into—"

She raised her voice and asked more questions, allowing the word vomit in her mind to pour out and drench the scoundrel from head to foot like Void bile from Caliban's gut.

"— and the Dwarves! How about Deepholm's troubles, are you guys in cahoots with Calamari—"

"Enough—!"

Finally, to her immense relief, just as she flinched in anticipation of a smack on the mouth, Eldrin growled, turned, then walked headfirst into a newly-formed trellis Portal. Before Gwen could finish her tirade, the Arch-Warden dematerialised.

For several seconds, she drank in the blessed silence, the elevated emotions in her chest finally returning to a mortal plane. After calming her nerves, she breathed long and deep, picking her spent sanity off the floor.

She wasn't Prince Hamlet, but she knew well the value in delaying her "benefactor" with false fire. Sometimes, the only way out of a blind date was to meander breathlessly about cats, then sneak out for a bathroom break from which there was no return—

Unfortunately, her resounding success in annoying the elder Elf had now left her stranded in a room atop a World Tree, where wandering without a guide may annoy millennia-old Elementalists by the hundreds.

"Solana?" she addressed the wall. "Are you watching?"

No reply came.

"Come on, I know you're watching." She furrowed her brows. "It must get pretty boring up in the atrium with the Heartwood, what with no midday Vid-cast programming and all."

Eeeearygh— The vine-barrier leading to the balcony yawned open.

Gwen snorted. It didn't take a Meister to know that the leader of the Elves was watching her performance. Eldrin might have a temper, but she was under no delusion that Solana would be tricked. In fact, now that she thought about it, maybe Eldrin just couldn't be bothered playing with a lesser individual like herself.

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With her spirits dampened, she made for the door—

"Magus Song!"

— And almost ran face-first into Sanari's silk-bound bosoms.

"Lady Sanari—" Gwen stopped herself just in time to prevent unintended intimacy.

Sanari stood awkwardly by the door, evidently blocking the exit with her body.

Gwen chose not to force her way past the flustered Elf but instead waited to see what the Hierophant had to say. The female Hvítálfar's golden eyes were rich with clashing emotion, revealing far more than the cold, metallic rings in Eldrin's dying-star orbs.

"The Bloom in White has a gift for you." Solana produced a vibrant-hued satchel woven from two leaves, each half the breadth of the female's impressive handspans. Upon closer inspection, Gwen realised both blades' veins had fused so that the entire leaf-purse appeared a single living organism. "It's for your venture in the Northern Steppes; Lady Solana says that this would be of help."

Tilting the satchel, Sanari allowed a handful of dots to fall from the pouch's slit-opening.

"Seeds?" Gwen possessed no knowledge of botany beyond basic Google image. All of her indoor plants had died to neglect or her cats. A green-thumbed colleague once remarked her winter garden of starved or overwatered plants was a one-woman botanic Holocaust.

"Starling Tomatoes, Jade Cucumbers, Polar Beans and Sunburst Squash," Solana counted the misshapen forms with the gentleness of one bobbing the heads of her children. "All produce commonly planted here at the tree. With Lady Solana's blessing, they're able to thrive anywhere on the Prime Material, provided there's sun, soil and water."

"And these are for me?" Gwen asked, wondering why Solana would gift her plants. Considering the nature of the Black Zone, wouldn't a suit of what Eldrin wore be more helpful? "What am I to do with… squash?"

Sanari's consternation indicated one innocent of esoteric knowledge.

"Don't worry. I'll not look a gift-slav… horse in the mouth." Gwen reflexively passed a hand over the container. "Ow—!"

The mana feedback gave her fingers quite the kick.
Nursing her bruised hand, she looked at Sanari.

"This is a spatial container for living things," Sanari quickly explained. "You cannot store an item such as this in your crude spatial devices."

"Ah." Gwen realised her error. In the human world, seeds were not alive, nor Bags of Holding. From the looks of it, the seeds contained in the Elven "living" Bag of Holding was not only brimming with vitality and Essence, but even their container was ripe with the lifeblood of the World Tree. "It's a bag specialising in storing things with life?"

"It nourishes the seeds." Sanari nodded. "All Druids have one."

"And… it's for me?" Gwen grinned with teeth, all repression from Eldrin's bullying forgotten in the face of glorious loot. In a world where hand-bags were no longer necessary, having a cute Elven satchel was all kinds of tasteful.

"Yes…" Sanari regarded Gwen's avarice-misted eyes with hesitation.

"Is this available for trade at the way station in Trawsfynydd?"

"This is a gift." Sanari looked scandalised. "It's for Druids, Magus Song! How can such a sacred thing, woven from the leaves of the World Tree, be bought with human currency?"

"Of course, you're right." Gwen nodded in disappointment. It was a shame that she couldn't get one each for her female companions, at the very least for Evee, who could surely make use of such an item better than she did.

Sanari exhaled. "And this is for you as well. It needs to be kept in the Druid Bag to remain hale."
The Heirophant produced a green parchment.
At first, Gwen had thought the thing a document, but the inscriptions on the irregularly shaped piece of vellum-like material did not mask the fact that it was once fresh foliage. Its Elvish patterns— ones she recognised as Hvítálfar Glyphs of sorts, had been applied so intricately and in such complex, microscopic detail that there existed no possibility it could be done by hand.

"What's this?" Gwen received both items. Sanari looked like she was giving up a child.

"A Llais leaf, the kind that inspired the rough sorcery of your Divination Mages," the Druid explained while wincing. "If you would nourish the leaf with your Essence, it is possible to transmute thoughts and Messages to the Bloom."

"Really? But I'll be out of the range of any Divination Towers," Gwen said, her fingers shaking a little. "How would this work?"

"So long as The Bloom's Essence remains nourished and the vine-script remains intact, the Llais leaf will speak to its progenitor. Our Druids who staff the Grove of Voices may then transmute your Message through the trunks of the Great Tree, though our Lady in White would require no such intermediaries."

A Thundering Shatter rang out in the interior of Gwen's skull.
She studied the leaf, her lips suddenly more parched than when she mouthed-off Eldrin. A rising wave of entrepreneurial enterprise stirred within her, warming her from belly to chest, bringing the blood to her cheeks.

"You didn't mention the range." Her voice trembled. "What's the range?"

"Within the Great Tree?" Sanari's brows furrowed.

"Within the Prime Material…"

"The Great Tree IS the Prime Material."

She had to circulate several jolts of Void to crush the madcap endorphins now inundating her brain. Eyes gleaming, she caressed the leaf, all the while studying Sanari's disturbed-mien to see if the Druid was boasting. When the Druid said nothing else, she returned to holding the Llias leaf like a Knight Templar holding the One Grail.

Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Did the Elves have any idea?
Did Solana have any idea what the Llais leaf meant for a race struggling to get a Message from Central to Katoomba, much less London to Istanbul? The sheer cost in diplomacy, HDMs, Tower investments and maintenance of a Divi-Tower network could bring a city-state to its knees! Not to mention someone could blow a Tower up! If the Isle of Man were to lose its Divination Tower, then the lower half of Ireland, not to mention Northern Ireland, would fall into darkness. There would be no coordination, no reinforcements, not even news. No one would know if the Fomorians swept the isle and wiped away all human habitation in a week-long Wild Hunt! Most importantly, low-tier Contingency Rings would be useless!

Was this knowledge a part of the Accord?
Or could a pretty girl simper her way into acquiring the design?
Or mayhap Sufina could manage a simulacrum of the same sorcery?
Her mind was suddenly pregnant with possibilities, her imagination bathed in the wonders of Elven Magi-tech and the opportunities it brought for Legion.

She should apologise to Dickie; Gwen felt stuck by a stray thought, her heart suddenly filling with unbidden love for the dickish Duke of Norfolk who had begged her to speak to the Elves. To think she had put off visiting Trawsfynydd for so long! For almost a year, she had communed with her Dwarven allies for possibilities of borrowing Echo Crystal technology, only to conclude that even if the Ancestors allowed such a trespass, there would be no Mother Lode to provide the raw materials without accessing Deepholm.

And yet, here, in plain sight, the Elves already had matured Magi-tech rearing to go.

She decided to double-check, lest her excitement mislead her reading of the situation.

"So, the range is unlimited?" she announced each word with deliberate care. "I can use this anywhere on Earth? How rare is this leaf?"

"The Llais Leaf only communes with the Great Tree of its origin." Sanari's expression remained perplexed. "For our kin, it is common practice to detour through the Grove of Voices if we are to venture far from home. As Lord Eldrin has said, our kind possesses little enough desire to leave our sacred grot, so when necessity calls, we always take its sounds, smells and Essence with us. Even if we were to venture to another Plane, the Llais keeps us tethered to Tryfan."

Jesus, a real-world manifestation of the Axis Mundi Theory, Gwen noted from her Planar lectures. Something that for Humanity was in the realm of quantum physics, but for their Elven counterparts, something of the fabric of life on the Prime Material.

"And this script…"

“A manifestation of Hvítálfar Druidism,” Sanari confirmed. "The Bloom in White said that if you are keen to learn…"

"I would have to join the Accord?"

"Correct."

Her boiling blood cooled.
Her trial period was over.

But what she uncovered was enough for now.
For the Llais to work, she needed three things— Essence, a World Tree tapped into the Axis Mundi, and Hvítálfar Druid-Arcanists.

Of the three, she could arguably access the former two if Sufina remained keen to play ball. As for the final component— there was no lack of Scholars in London obsessed with Elven sorcery. If Sulfina lacked the knowledge, perhaps a big-brained Meister somewhere could create a facsimile for ten thousand HDMs. If not, how about a hundred thousand? How about a percentile stake in the business? Undoubtedly, the driving force of greed and ambition would take Humanity to new heights once more.

Suddenly, the dream of owning a commercial, continent-spanning communication network didn't seem so distant after all.

"… The Bloom said that as the Elementals are our direst threat," Sanari, unable to fathom the strange excitement on her face, decided to continue delivering the Lady in White's sentiments. "You may ask her for advice. The Steppes is also a part of the Accord, and the preservation of the Centaurs natives is central to the region's stability."

"Centaurs have Cores." Gwen pointed out.

"They have habited the region far longer than your kind has possessed written language." Sanari pointed in turn. "Lady Solana says you mustn't take Lord Eldrin's approach of the Accord too seriously. In her eyes, the nurturing of life is far more important than the taking of it."

Gwen pursed her lips to stop herself from unveiling a sardonic smile.
Solana, the good cop. Eldrin, the bad cop. One white, one bl— Gwen quickly derailed that train of thought. The point was, had she been a "real" young woman with only a few years of adulthood nursing her brain, she might have exhaled with relief and believed Sanari's innocent and somewhat vacant eyes.

"Her magnanimity has put me to shame," Gwen said. "I understand. Is that all?"

"Yes, that is all."

"Then one more thing," Gwen reiterated. "The seeds are a personal favour Solana is gifting to the Centaurs, and the Elias Leaf is free of charge. The use of either will not accidentally land me in the Accord, correct?"

"Correct." Sanari appeared insulted by her insinuation.

"Alrighty then." Gwen dared not demand that she needed Solana's word. To do so would harm her social capital. By that same measure, asking Sanari to give hers would serve no purpose other than making the situation more awkward.

"Shall I see you out?" Sanari appeared relieved by her willingness to leave.

Gwen looked around the balcony, then at the splendiferous view of the deadly Planes.

She looked toward the tree's apex and decided to express her gratitude. "Thank you, Lady Solana. I very much appreciate what I've learned during my visit, and I'll make VERY GOOD use of your boons, I promise. And of course, I'll take care of the Centaurs."

There was no answer to her farewell, or if there was, it was only the susurration of the World Tree, yawning gently toward a radiant Plane of eternal light.

The day before NYE, at a carefree luncheon with Lady Grey at Peterhouse, Gwen received a Message from Meister Bekker to be on her way. The disruption was very business-like, signalling that her student days of drinking and flying wherever she pleased, whenever she wanted, were likely at an end.

According to Jean-Paul, the situation in the Golden Pavilion was rapidly developing, and that the Nayzağay Qanī was on the move to meet the Elementals in the region. The Meister and her Flights were to reinforce the Magisters working at Kaplankyr effective immediately, meaning Gwen had the option of travelling with them or travelling alone to find them.

The latter was unacceptable, as not only was the danger excessive, the Meister was counting on her Divi-Orb to guide them hastily toward the Golden Pavilion.

Immediately, Gwen Messaged Walken, who had completed the inventory with immediacy. As for her new battle suit, Yossari regretfully conceded that Gwen's variant would likely arrive weeks later, at which point she should be planning for Elvia's arrival. The Cleric and her knight could, therefore, take delivery of all their items.

"Milady, what's Ollie doing these days?" A nervous administrator's sweaty face flashed through Gwen's mind as she bid the Marchioness happy holidays.

"He's enjoying his promotion, though he's gone home for the holidays." Lady Grey's smile was all-knowing. "Shall I call upon him? I am sure he'll be useful even in the Steppes, assuming you can find a use for him. That said, you're an assistant administrator, a student under Meister Bekker. To have Ollie as your assistant would put him in an awkward position, don't you think?"

"… Yeah-Nah," Gwen affirmed the Lady's wisdom. "Ollie needs a break."

"That he does." The Lady's eyes were kind and pure, not at all bloodshot with sadism as Gwen's appeared. "He's an earnest boy, but he worries too much."

"Well, then." Gwen invoked her Flight Spell without the need for somatic nor verbal components. "I'll return with the good news."

"I am sure you will, dear." Lady Grey toasted her with a cup of gently steaming Earl Grey. "Venture forth, sweet sorceress. Deliver unto the Orientals the best of our majesty and mercy, but if need be, spare not the rod of the Mageocracy!"


Gwen met with Jean-Paul and his Meister at Heathrow's ISTC station in a segregated tier set aside for military operators.

"… I'll go change," was Gwen's first reply after seeing the austere group's equipment. Of the middle-aged men and women gathered upon the oval long-range platform, all wore combat suits of one kind or another, their auras dense with Abjuration. A few who had the usual physique of Mineral or Earthen Abjurers even had Dwarf-forged plates, ensuring they towered over their contemporaries. Others sported enchanted leather or cloth-plating, crafted from synthetic, quasi-magical materials resembling Gwen's Shen-Teī.

"... Sorry, I should have said something." Jean-Paul's stooped figure blushed among the group. He had informed her of everything, including a long checklist of survival staples, but not that she had to preemptively dress for the occasion. As a result, the young sorceress looked startlingly out of place in her flared blouse, ankle-jeans and black heels, enticing wide, appreciative grins from her audiences' faces.

Gwen herself had anticipated that they would muster at Volgograd, but developing events meant Bekker had the intent to travel continuously.

"Take your time. We're waiting for the ISTC to calibrate." Meister Bekker did not appear to mind, though the Magisters and Maguses behind her all chuckled at the inexperienced "first-timer". Within the group, only the gloomy and solemn Jean-Paul shared her role of Magister-in-training. With Gwen joining the group, a nice splash of youth and zest was added to the otherwise severe war party.

When Gwen re-appeared, she wore a custom-spec bodysuit attune to both Lightning and Void in navy and black. The British-made ensemble she had told Walken to requisition was made-to-order and modified by Dwarven Runesmiths. From the unanticipated aesthetic improvements, Gwen could only deduce Walken knew her too well and presumed too much. For example, atop the sculpted knee and shin guards, the armour irrationally deployed a cloth skirt, much like her made-for-TV Shen-teī, an impractical design with no real purpose akin to Supergirl's predilection for cheerleading miniskirts. In actual practice, at high flight speeds, the mini-petticoat bellowed out and increased drag, especially if she were to fly backwards. Likewise, the suit's torso material adhered tightly to her svelte, eye-catching silhouette rather than sporting a hard-frame cuirass, directing many a raised brow and pats to the back of a breathless Jean-Paul.

"To be young..." the sentiment audibly spread among the veterans.

"To think..." one of the men sighed. "You used to look like that—"

"You're begging for death, Taylor," a female voice answered from the crowd.

The cabal of Magisters and Maguses laughed.

"You look lovely," Jean-Paul stammered.

Gwen gave the young man a one-over. "You're quite dashing yourself."

In reality, Jean-Paul's battle suit, together with the aura he gave off, gave the impression of a high-rent gimp suit. It was because the enchanted Griffin-skin was tanned black and then double-treated with sacred oils, giving the minimalist surface a unique lustre. According to the Void Mage, Jean-Paul's armour was one-of-a-kind and hand-Enchanted by Arcanists serving under Meister Bekker, making Gwen sentimental for her lost Master.

Her saltiness was quickly transmuted into sugar when she saw a familiar sight.

"Magus Kott!" It was Major Nils Kott, her Abjuration tutor. Reasonably, she had imagined the man returned to Germany after his exchange period was over, and their lessons had ceased the week prior. "How come you're here?"

The Magus' Gunther-esq bearing filled her heart with gladness. Of all her tutors, the laconic Nil was her favourite next to "Mistress" Le Guevel.

"I have decided to take on a well-paying quest before I return to Berlin." The Abjurer's smile made her feel strangely flustered. "It was a good deal of CCs, offered by a certain Lady from Ely."

At Nil's confession, Gwen no longer felt the sting of jealousy. If Jean-Paul had his Meister, then she had her Marchioness! In this regard, they were equals!

"Magus Nil remains a part of my team," Bekker reminded Gwen to wipe away her foolish grin. "You'll get your turn, but only if we can spare the Abjuration slot. If every Magister-in-training received a war hero Abjurer as a bodyguard, the Tower's testing system would collapse within the year…"

"He-he-he—" Gwen snickered, fluttering her lashes innocently at her disapproving elders.

Kott rolled his eyes.

Bekker shook her head, then introduced her to the rest of the team.

There were four Boer Mages among the lead Flight, Bekker's old crew from Tukkies, the same as Alesia's foursome of tightly-knit followers.

These were Magister Altus Schoeman and Louw Jonke, joined by Magus André Jouberts and Adriaan Pietersen. Together, the four made up Bekker's London Imperial Task Team. Gwen shook each of the men's hands and noted their similar features, such as their shocking heads of fair hair and their lightly-hued eyes. Considering Jean-Paul's origin tale and the men's mid-thirty ages, she couldn't help but wonder if the four shared a bit of history with the Void Mage.

The Shard Flights consisted of two teams, both lead by Magisters, each fielding four Maguses.

The Magisters were both men, one a Transportation Specialist, Colonel Eli Hill, the other a ridiculously handsome Diviner with an Ambassadorial rank named Frank Taylor who also served as the team leader.

The other eight Maguses, inclusive of Nil, Gwen greeted one by one, memorising their names and ranks. Altogether, the three Flights fielded One Meister, Four Magisters, ten Maguses, one Jean-Paul and Gwen, a strategic "War Mage".

Of their sorcerous classes, most of the Mages were multi-talented. Nonetheless, for their principal occupations, they were two Evokers, three Abjurers, an Enchanter, three Transmuters, two Conjurers, one Illusionist, one Cleric, and two Diviners.

As for their secondary schools, almost every member of the party could fight as individuals through Evocation or Transmutation, and over half of the party could act as temporary Abjurers. According to Jean-Paul, the gathered Mages possessed enough clout to plough a Frontier if need be.

By the time Gwen finished shaking the last woman's hand, they were approached by two customs officers.

"Magister Bekker, the ISTC array is primed and ready."

Bekker patted Gwen on the shoulder to stop her hobnobbing with the crew.

"Final equipment checks!" Bekker called out. "Confirm your manifests!"

"Confirmed!"
"Confirmed!"
"Confirmed..."

"I am good." Gwen scanned over her multiple Storage Ring and the Elven Bag of Holding. Her standing order was to bring whatever she deemed necessary at her own expense. Jean-Paul's portion included food, water and shelter for them both; hers involved enough supplies to feed a Battalion of NoMs for months.

"Hope you all had a light breakfast," Bekker informed the Mages. "All of you, grab a buddy. JP, stay with Gwen. Move out!"

The Kyiv interchange took less than ten minutes, giving Gwen nary a look at Boryspil. However, from her furtive glimpse, she could deduce that the ISTC station was near-new, as indicated by its extensive use of aluminium and glass. It was also a way-station, involving only a single building with three service tiers. Comparatively, Heathrow sported four international and one domestic exchange relays, each buzzing like beehives.

Post Kyiv, the parties materialised at Volgograd, a town briefly renamed Stalingrad after a particular outburst of Communist fervour in Gwen's world, an administrative centre with half-a-million residents.

In this world, the Volgograd Frontier grew infamous after a bloody defence against German aggressors during the Pan-European War. In the wake of a battle in which NoM-staffed armies tested the new limits of Spellcraft. In the aftermath, with over a million NoMs and thousands of Mages' corpses littering the city, the Frontier abruptly grew into a hot zone of Necromancy, suffering yet another brief lull of war and turmoil before reconstruction could begin. In the end, it took until the 60s, after the earth was salted and blessed and the bodies were incinerated, that restoration began.

Then came the Beast Tide, and Volgograd's rebirth halted for another two decades. During this time, the Russian Frontier overran with every medium of native Elementals from Water Devils in the Volga, Harpies in the skies to Lycanthropic Hordes in the countryside.

Her Volgograd, therefore, had an age of no more than two decades.

"Are you alright?" Jean-Paul tugged her fingers.

"Perfectly fine." Gwen inhaled the silvery motes of Conjuration. The ISTC station here wasn't in the best condition, and its Mandala array had to burn off excess mana, vastly extending the cooldown timer.

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Just outside the ISTC array with its plinking Glyphs, the group was greeted by the local Tower Master, Khokhlachev Eduard Mikhailovich, or Edik for short. Together with Meister Bekker, the two exchanged documents, news, then a handful of Storage Rings. After that, the group politely withdrew from the gawking crowd gathered in the array.

Outside, the sky starkly streaked with grey, its temperature as unforgiving as Frost Wolves.

"HOLY HELL!" Gwen quickly circulated Essence until her body warmed up. "It's minus twenty here!"

The rest of the parties also invoked various cantrips.

"About six under." Magus Bekker casually invoked a Resistance spell. "Not the best conditions for high-speed flight. You now know why we left earlier than needed."

"No joke." Gwen watched her half-gloved fingers return to a healthy pink. "Strewth, I am Australian, for God's sake. In my first fifteen years, I've seen snow once."

"The temperature can drop to minus forty or more while we fly," Major Kott notified her and the rest of their crew. "Magister Jonke and I will provide Cold Resistance buffs. We will refresh the necessary protections every 12 hours. Once we reach the Fire Sea, the weather should warm up significantly."

"Gather around—" Jonke lined up the team for Abjuration.

"Gwen, once we're on the open water, use the orb," Meister Bekker informed her.

"Gotcha."

"Good luck, Magus and Magisters." Tower Master Edick bowed his head. As a Frontier Master, a London Meister was arguably leagues above his station.

The other Magisters gave affirming return-nods.

Gwen bowed her head. When she looked up, her eyes met the Tower Masters.

"Sir?"

"You're Kilroy's Apprentice." The Tower Master stated.

"I am," Gwen replied, squaring her shoulders.

"I am sorry for your loss." He held out a hand. "Master Henry was very kind to me in the past. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"I won't be a stranger." Gwen smiled. Even now, it amazed her how often her Master's name cropped up out of the blue from the mouths of strangers in high places.

"Good. I look forward to your safe return. Don't take either the Elementals or the Centaurs lightly."

"I'll take care." Gwen bowed again, this time from the waist.

"You can catch up with Gwen on her return." Meister Bekker patted the man on the shoulder with a friendliness she did not usually offer. The reason for Bekker's rare show of deference, Jean-Paul explained in a whisper, was because their first stop in the instance of their Contingency Rings triggering would be Volgograd Tower. The Rings Bekker had transferred across served both as gifts and as an emergency stash if the Frontier lacked in upper-tier materials, equipment and Potions. With Edick's confessed support for Gwen, Bekker did the polite thing by professing mutual support for Edick.

Gwen nodded in turn.
Even gestures as simple as this was an important lesson for future Magisters like herself and Jean-Paul. In the real world, little details made a Magister's work more fluid, and such things weren't taught in a walled garden like Cambridge.

The River Volga flowed from Volgograd toward the Caspian, so it wasn't difficult for the party to follow its blue-white length.

"In summer, the river is stunningly beautiful," the party's Diviner and a veteran diplomat to the region spoke as the Flights flew, transmuting his thoughts while bathed in a radiant halo of light.

The spell active around Magister Frank Taylor's head was a fifth-tier Divination staple called Circle Scry, a pulse-based, wide-range Divination spell used to detect unusual mana signatures and overt hostility with a radius tethered to the caster's Affinity tier. While the Ambassador remained somewhat aloof toward the others, his attitude toward Gwen, an Omni-Mage, War Mage and a fellow "Diviner" was softer than most.

Of course, Gwen suspected her achievements had a great deal to do with the Magister's friendliness as well. As a Diplomat Corp member, the man understandably placed her upon a pedestal due to her aristocratic connections and her successes in the Murk.

At the fore of the party flew Meister Bekker and her crew, while above them, shielded from potential attacks from below, drifted Gwen and Jean-Paul. On their present trajectory, across the vast expanse of water, the party's objective was Aktau, once the trade city of White Cliffs.

However, the distance to be covered involved three hundred kilometres down the Volga, followed by another four hundred kilometres of open water in soul-freezing weather.

At noon, the party officially exited the boundaries of human occupation and penetrated the Oblast Frontier. As a meandering serpent, the icy Volga wound through the frost-bitten landscape, a blue bruise across a vast expanse of unblemished snow.

"It wasn't this cold before the Tide," Magister Taylor's radio host voice broke the shield-induced silence. He would comment on the splendiferous landscape whenever Bekker led the group lower in altitude to prevent their barriers from building up entirely with ice and snow.

Even with their Mage Shields and Resistances active, Gwen could sense the chill from the whipping, howling wind outside, sending sheets of occasional sleet clattering against their oblong shells as their Flights pierced the wintry cold.

"Why is it colder now?" One of the Maguses asked. "More tears into the Para-Elemental Planes of Ice?"

"Not exactly," Taylor elucidated the group. "It's microclimate from the Fire Sea. You'll see what I mean once we get closer to the Caspian. The hot air heated up by the Prime Material's weakened fabric against the Elemental Plane of Fire is driving moisture into the upper atmosphere. It travels north, rapidly cools against the sea and the northern winter then falls as snow and sleet."

"Are we expecting rain on top of this?" One of the Magisters sucked in a breath of cold air. "Christ, no wonder it's a Black Zone."

"That's why we're avoiding the mountains and taking the route over the sea," Taylor said. "If we do run into storm clouds, we'll have to fly around them or drift closer into the Fire Sea."

"Will we run into Elementals?" Gwen asked after requesting permission to speak.

"With the Astral noises our mana signature are making?" Taylor gestured to the halo scanning for foes around his head. "Undoubtedly. The only question is, will they engage?"

"You and Jean-Paul can use our future foes for practice," Meister Bekker's words filtered through the Divination relay. "Have you fought pure Elementals before? Humanoid variants or otherwise."

Gwen thought of Ellen, Dean Luo's Familiar. Richard's Lea was a "pure" Elemental as well. Both demonstrated a way of fighting that was frightening to behold. Lea could turn herself into an invisible mist, after which she could instantly coalesce Water Tombs to trap Mages and prevent them from casting. Ellen, assuming she possessed similar abilities, could be even more dangerous, though, for outliers like Gwen, air lacked water's incompressible physics. If in her practice duels with Richard, she could shrug off Lea's Entombs, she did not believe Ellen's disruptions would fare better, at least not without Stinking Cloud.

"No, not wild ones," Gwen confessed. "I—"

"— CONTACT!" Magister Taylor's voice cut through the conversation like a Flame Blade through butter. "— but keep talking. It's nothing too serious. I just thought you'd like to see some of the locals."

Taylor's warning was itself interjected by the emergence of a dozen spears flying from the top of tree tips the three Flights of Mages passed.

"Trolls?" Gwen's Essence-enhanced vision needed no Scry to spot the shapes hidden in the evergreens. "Forest Trolls?"

"They must be very hungry and desperate." Taylor adjusted the party's flight path so that they fell just out of range of the spears. Nonetheless, a few clattered against the underside of Meister Bekker's barrier-protected party. "The changing weather has driven them upriver. They'll be sieging Volgograd soon, given another year or two."

"That won't happen though," the voice of another Magus answered Magister Taylor. "We'll send in a request. Berlin will Purge them before anything happens."

"Naturally," Taylor replied. "That is the way of things."

"Our workshop could do with some Troll-skin and Cores, actually," the Enchanters remarked. "Not much coming out of Red Peak these days, thanks to the Dwarves."

"You mean, thanks to Gwen?"

While the rest of the Mages chuckled at their sorceress, Gwen's heart grew heavy.

Purge.
Prune.
Monkey see— monkey do.
She was starting to see where the Mageocracy gets its peculiar vernacular.

At dusk, the Flights alighted in the shadow of a city that once housed close to a quarter of a million souls. Three decades ago, when the Black Dragon "roused" the Elementals and its rage had torn a tear large enough for the denizens of the Planes to eek through, Astrakhan was the first major Human settlement in its path.

As a result, the city's skeletal ruins splattered the linen landscape like a dried blood clot; its spindly streets flattened like the splayed ribs of a dead Titan.

The party landed atop the kremlin, the only structure to survive the Elementals' northward sweep.

"Lord Magisters!" a fur-clad group of Mages saluted them from knee-deep ice and snow. Their leader, as far as Gwen could see, was a Russian military officer. Quickly, the man presented his insignia Glyph; an announcement soon returned by Magister Taylor. "Captain Turgenev, 23rd Recon, Moscow Tower. Welcome to Astrakhan, milords and matrons, please follow me."

Gwen knew from Meister Bekker's earlier conversation that the 15th-century fort wasn't their final destination but a stopover.

Below, once the Mages made their way through a series of stone warrens, their present objective elucidated itself.

Eli Hill, their Translocation Officer, produced a Storage Ring for the Captain. "Here you are. Please double-check the list."

While the Moscow Captain emptied the supply of cans, food, HDMs and materials into neat stacks, the other military Mages approached with hot cocoa, coffee, tea and biscuits.

Unsurprisingly, Gwen became the foci of the young officers, who were all keen to know a future "Magister", or at least bathe in the presence of a War Mage as accomplished as she was comely.

While the older folk exchanged details of the Frontier and the Elemental Sea's latest news, Gwen did her best to integrate Jean-Paul into the conversation. Unfortunately, Jean-Paul's ability to socialise was as woeful as his outward appearance, a fact that compounded the difficulty of his future leadership endeavours. When Gwen furthermore noted that Meister Bekker's attention kept wandering toward them, she couldn't help but query if getting Jean-Paul closer to her involved a purer motive. Though it was arrogant to think so, Gwen did not doubt that there weren't many Void Mages who could hold up a party like she could or supply emergency vitality to a fellow Void practitioner if the matter was life-or-death. Bekker herself could look after Jean-Paul, but her Apprentice would spend more and more time away from his nest in the days to come. If anything, seeing Jean-Paul's woeful ability to string together trustworthy allies, the unflappable Mevrou must be fuming something serious deep inside.

After consuming half-a-dozen scones, two cups of hot cocoa and a week's worth of biscuit rations, Gwen left the amazed junior officers' presences and joined the main party's departure from the fort.

Gwen breathed in the frigid air.
Her Message Device read midnight.
Yet, the light filtering from outside the stone walls told her that there was still lingering daylight.

From the howling outside, it didn't take an Air Mage to know the winds had grown sadistic.

Emerging into the cold, Gwen's pupils grew abruptly large.

In the distance, stretching from horizon to horizon, emanating from the centre, then growing gradually blue and then dark, was an impossible sunrise in vivid hues of orange and magenta.

The Fire Sea! Her mind finally connected the name to the place, acknowledging the impossible visage.

Refracted upon a million-million sheaves of flint light, a great gate of heat and light thrust itself against the weight of a blue-dark sea, setting its long banks alight with supernatural fire, transforming the unfathomable waters a jadeite-green.

From a midnight Astrakhan, grey weirs of water rolled against the banks, snarling at the cold twilight as the hot air billowing from the distant shore drove north the freezing wind with long lines of lion's teeth in scintillating marigold. Everywhere, the Prime Material's natural clime snapped at the impossible aurora of eternal combustion, snarling and baying, fawning and mouthing to reclaim its domain, helpless with frustration.

_The Fire Sea!_

The domain of the Djinn! Beings utterly alien to human life, with physiologies and motivations unfathomable by creatures of mortal flesh!

"When we cross the mid-point," Bekker's voice drifted across the murk. "Re-buff for heat resistance. All Flights, prepare for engagement."


Upon the horizon, the Fire Sea glimmered, refracting across the blue dark, transforming the Caspian's southern shores from cerulean to turquoise.

Gwen now knew why the Meister was utterly confident they could cross the Caspian by night. Where she had imagined zooming through a pitch-black, fingerless murk, aided only by the Omni-Orb, the surreal reality was that they would soon be flying through an eternal sunset.

According to Bekker, an Elemental encounter was inevitable. It wasn't a question of if, but when, and for that, Gwen asked if it was possible to first bring out her Familiars or perhaps Golos.

"If you open a Planar Portal to the Quasi-Lightning here, you're going to draw every Elemental being, wild or otherwise, from Baku to Amol!" Taylor spluttered at her request. "Just stay behind us. If it's safe to test your mettle, we'll let you know."

Gwen concurred.

From Astrakhan to Aktau was two hundred kilometres as the crow flew. With the sunburst from the Fire Sea and the increasingly volatile weather, even an experience navigator couldn't say they would travel in a straight line.

"Use the Omni-Orb," Meister Bekker gave the command, and Gwen obeyed without delay, producing her wondrous object for all to see.

A few of the Mages whistled.

"Incredible!" Magister Taylor was all kinds of impressed. "You know, they say the Dragons of Asia use a completely original form of Divination based on ley-lines called Fengshui. They're particularly good at dousing paths to natural resources, like water and minerals. Mayhap this is one of those objects?"

"This one kind of just goes… where it thinks where I ought to go," Gwen explained. "I have no idea how it works, but I get there."

"No doubt." Taylor ran a quick diagnostic Divination on her Orb.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Sir," Gwen offered a polite warning.

"Taylor, unless you want to pay a personal visit to the Dragon that gave her that thing..." Bekker snorted at the Diviner from the Shard. "You should also know that her Wyvern, the tyrannical Golos, is the brother to the owner of the Orb, so good luck."

"But of course," the Magister was quick to apologise. "I did not mean to offend. Forgive my academic interest."

Gwen was sure that the man was lying through his teeth, though falsehoods from a noble countenance were easier to swallow. Fighting the urge to believe the smiling dandy, Gwen reminded herself that Taylor was a diplomat and that deception was his bread and butter.

"Don't get distracted—" Bekker rallied the crew as they took into the air. "Abjurers, you have priority access to Circle Scry. If we run into something, Purge it, else we will withdraw northward. Hughes and Kott will be our rear guard."

"Yes, Ma'am." The three Abjurers gave their affirmations, as did Angela Hughes, their Illusionist.

It took the party ten minutes to clear the rest of the frigid, frozen forest, after which the open sea burst upon them as a limitless, lightless horizon to the east and a marigold aurora to the south and south-west.

The eeriest thing, Gwen noted, wasn't so much the light and dark— but that she couldn't see a single star as a result of the light pollution and heat haze from the south.

Now in the Black Zone proper, the party kept a semblance of Divination silence, with only Taylor giving commentary. By the Diviner's estimate, the journey should take around an hour and a half before the abandoned Sea Fort at Shevchenko came into view. Should the landmark present itself, it would indicate that they were going in the right direction.

Should they fail to see Kazakhstan's headlands, then it would be safe to assume that an Air Djinn or Water Marid had managed to waylay their path, that or Gwen's Omni-Orb wasn't all it cracked up to be.

"Look below." After an hour, Magister Taylor decided to point out some interesting sights for the two novices-Magisters in training.

Gwen's gaze dipped below, catching sight of an enormous shape moving through the dimly lit waters. From the looks of it, the colossal thing was at least the size of a frigate.

"A whale?" Gwen's mouth fell half-open. "Here? In an inland sea?"

"Impressive, isn't it? It's a Titan Class Bone-spined Sturgeon," the Magister's tone shared her awe. "Long said to be extinct. It's amazing what's coming back now that the Planar fabric's torn. More than likely, the Marids are responsible for such a thing. Within their coral palaces, they keep vast aqua-farms of Elemental monstrosities for sport and sustenance."

"Incredible," Gwen marvelled.

Momentarily, a portion of the Sturgeon ascended, breaking the surface with ridge after ridge of protruding soft-shelled carapace.

"There are some in the Militant Faction who say the return of Titans such as these to the Prime Material is a good thing," Taylor remarked after what seemed like a whole minute when the final segment of the fish disappeared. "I, for one, have my doubts. Titan-Class Cores are welcome and all, but the proviso is that someone has to hunt them down and de-Core these things before they grow hungry enough to visit one of our cities. Take the Caspian, for example. Even if we manage to transmute a deep-sea port into existence, who would dare fish in waters such as these? It would take a supertanker to dissuade such a monster from coming near the fleet. Likewise, left un-hunted, an overt density of these Magical Creatures would only destabilise the fabric of the Prime Material."

Despite having captured a supertanker in Singapore, Gwen felt she had nothing of substance to add to the Magister's musing and so said nothing.

"Bloody Militant meddlers—" Their Illusionist, the woman who had scalded Taylor in London, spoke up. "Who told you this?"

"Oh, the usual suspects. You know, our friends from Devonshire."

"Of House Exeter? You're in rare company these days, Frank."

"It's an occupational hazard, Angie, though you certainly didn't hear anything from me. Should anyone ask, I shall call you a witch," Taylor spoke in mirth. "What's your interest? Does the Fifth Cabal want the time and place, name and associations? I am happy to entertain your interrogation in private."

"You wish, Frank."

"I mean, I didn't see anything untoward. It's not a crime to complain about state policy." Taylor's tone grew mischievous. "At least to my knowledge, voicing one's opinion in public isn't yet sedition. There was a respectable amount of liqueur involved, I'll have you know, and a great deal of tobacco."

"I am sure there was." The voice of Angela echoed through the Divination channel. "You know, I am curious. Regarding our present purpose, you didn't take a bribe from the Militants, did you, Frank? You should know better…"

"Of course I did!" To Gwen's surprise, their Diviner burst into laughter. "Naturally, I passed it forward to my superiors. Not taking it would be suspicious and unnatural. We're not the Royal Griffin Guards, you know?"

A few chuckles escaped the rest of the party. Gwen laughed out loud as well.

"Which Faction are you? Magus Song?" The party's probable Fifth Cabal observer suddenly enquired of her political standings.

"Er…" Gwen wasn't sure she wanted to answer that question.

"She's a bit young to be involved in Faction politics, no?" Taylor said. "Come on, Angie, that's a question you shouldn't ask lightly."

"What's there to fear? You forget who her progenitor is—" One of the Evokers butted in.

"What, the Lord Ravenport thing?" Another voice spoke up. "I thought that's a crock of bull?"

"Well, Magus Song?"

"Angela, leave her alone." Magister Taylor, who appeared to stand firmly in Gwen's camp, interrupted the chorus of competing banter. "That's her business and none of yours."

Taylor's undiplomatic decorum appeared to annoy the Illusionist. From their banter, Gwen could tell the two had history, which also informed her a little of Taylor's deference for herself. Gwen wondered if she should speak up but chose the better option of focusing on her Omni-orb. After ten more minutes, she noted the appearance of a vague silhouette on the horizon.

Once she was entirely sure of what she'd seen, Gwen made her discovery known. "Land-HO!"

"Truly?" Taylor's voice returned a moment later. "I can't see anything in this light. Lord, what I'd give for a Divi-Tower on that headland."

"Neither can I," Major Kott affirmed their Diviner's observation. "Although Gwen's physiology is more peculiar than ours. What are you seeing?"

Gwen channelled both Essence and mana to her eyes. "... Tall cliffs, a peninsular of sorts, followed by a flat expanse that stretches into the horizon. There are buildings beside the cliffs, and what look like ruins of a town? Or a base."

"Sounds like Bautino," the Magister asserted her verdict. "Do you see an abandoned port? Look for round things, like grain silos and warehouses. There should be what's left of an industrial pier as well."

"I see it." Gwen breathed out a sigh of relief. "Yes, there are two tanker-piers still standing."

"Good eyes." Taylor sounded impressed. "Any enemies?"

Gwen squinted. "I see silhouettes moving about, a lot of them. My, they're awful diminutive, and yes, there's a lot of them."

"Diminutive? I see the reports were right," the Diviner said. "Meister? Your recommendations?"

"Prepare for combat." Magister Bekker slowed the Flights to a crawl. "Abjurers, Resist Disease! Defence against Projectiles."

Of the three Abjurers, Nils Kott was the combat specialist and so provided Mage Armour for all. Pietersen, Bekker's ordained Abjurer, renewed Elemental Resistance while the Cleric, Sarah Nurse, Blessed then fortified the party with Resist Disease.

"INCOMING!" Magister' Taylor's voice cut through the chatter. "Eleven O Clock! Three Air Elementals, one greater standing by, two mediums coming toward us."

Gwen's pupils refocused in the low-light. From afar where the fort once stood, she could see roughly humanoid shapes approaching from atop the ruins toward them.

"Gwen, Jean-Paul, standby for engagement." Bekker gave the command. “Schoeman, Jonke, take lead. Taylor, cover our flanks."

"Yes, Meister!" The men gave their affirmations, as did Gwen and Jean-Paul.

The Mage Flight dispersed at once, sending the Shard's Mages to the left and right while Bekker and her team moved to the fore, leaving Gwen and Jean-Paul holding the middle.

The three parties hovered forward for another fifteen seconds before Gwen caught her first glimpse of a Djinn.

The two that now approached were one female and one male, both as anthropomorphic as the tales foretold. The female was slender of form, with a sky-blue complexion framing an exotic face of no particular ethnicity. For attire, the creature may as well be wearing wisps of air, while dark blue strands of dew-laden hair fluttering from a strapped ponytail tethered with a brass bangle. In her right hand, the Djinn held a shimmering whip formed from condensed mana.

Comparatively, the male was lank but possessed well-defined musculature. On both arms, the creature wore enormous brass gauntlets crackling with electricity, while on his hip, a slim scimitar etched with squiggly runes loosely hung around a thick, copper-threaded belt.

Both, Gwen noted with awe, had their lower body taper to a tip until it resided in a golden receptacle. These, according to her Magister-instructors, were the Elementals' way of staying in the Prime Material— by anchoring their Essence in a container that shielded their Cores, a device no less difficult to destroy than a Lich's phylactery. This very same methodology also made Elementals prime targets for Core harvesting— assuming the sorcerous hunters weren't first enslaved or made into sport by their prey.

"Halt!" The male Djinn glided into place, his voice the sound of a howling gale. "Humans! Why do you pollute our presence with your befouling mana?"

"Djinn of the Air—" Bekker likewise declared in Elemental, a language impossible to invoke without the aid of upper-tier Ioun Stones. "Why do you bar our way? You who art merely travellers through our home and hearth?"

The Golden Rule, Gwen had learned from her instructors, was never to show your proverbial back when dealing with the Djinn, Dao, Marid or Efreet— one because these were beings who thrived through controlling "lesser beings", the other because there was nothing "dishonourable" about stabbing creatures the likeness of chattel in the back, even if they talked a good game. To a Demi-human Elemental, respect for mortal citizens of the Prime Material was akin to acknowledging a talking dog walking on two legs.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"Your subordinates appear able and useful." The female of the Djinn possessed a voice like a chilling breeze. "Our Master can offer you a chance to serve and ascend the mortal coil. There's no shame in offering oneself wholly to a greater being."

"I must decline the Caliphate's offer," Bekker replied without hesitation. "Though here's a counter-offer— the Mageocracy could always use mid-tier Djinns as Spirit Contractors. Isn't that better than serving your tyrants?"

The female Djinn chuckled, while the male Djinn laughed in Bekker's face. Gwen measured the pair with Detect Magic, determining the two to be about the seventh or eighth tier of pure power, though their Humanoid intelligence may well add two or more degrees to their threat level.

Unmoved by the mockery, the Meister's silent Message commanded them to hold their ground. She then signalled to Gwen and Jean-Paul via Taylor. "Gwen, Void Orb, two each to these insolent research specimens. Jean-Paul, I want a Maximised Void Vortex on that church spire to flush out the Greater Elemental."

Jean-Paul began to incant before his Master had even finished. Gwen quickly followed her team leader's command, ramming through the Elementally shifted Lightning Orb incantations.

Both Void Mages' pupils turned instantly midnight as the consumptive energy coursed through their conduits.

"Void Vortex"
"Void Orb!"

With Void vertigo caressing their allies, the pair let loose a torrent of Void spells at the Djinns.

The Elementals' mockery ceased at once as they attempted to dodge the seeking spheres hungry for immortal flesh. From their stationary position, the creatures slid backwards with an agility no human could manage, then flew forward toward the Mages, attempting to drive the seeking orbs into her allies.

"Perish, mortal!" The female attempted to envelop Bekker.

A shimmering semi-sphere of silver wrapped around the Meister, diverting the suddenly gaseous form of the Djinn.

"Dimension Anchor!" Kott wove a Glyph in each hand, drawing a temporary Mandala in the air.

Instantly, the Djinns re-materialised, their faces full of astonishment.

"Abjuring Ward!" Pietersen supplemented Kott's field control Abjuration with a defensive one, forming a perpendicular, concentric ripple of repulsive energy that prevented the Djinns from moving further into their formation.

In the split second that the Djinns and Mages exchanged spells, Gwen ensured that her attack struck true, forming four micro vortexes of all-devouring Void where the Djinns should be.

"Kott!" Taylor called out. "From below! It's the Greater Elemental!"

"Got it!" Major Kott laid out a dozen invocations at once. "Wall of Force!"

_THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!_

Dull, heavy thuds rang out as spears of air punched the enormous, invisible pane conjured by the Abjurer, making Kott grimace at the unplanned expenditure.

At the same time, Jean-Paul's vortex opened up as a miniature black hole, swallowing the withered spire's uppermost segment and drawing up all manner of detritus from the ruins below. Astonishingly, Gwen could also see hundreds of tiny, cowled silhouettes flying into the air, clinging onto the debris, or otherwise fleeing from the epicentre.

"INSOLENT MORTALS!" a thundering bark from below fulminated as rolling waves of thunder. Seemingly unaffected by the vortex's suction, the final Djinn, an enormous, four-meter male specimen bedecked from neck to wrist with golden bangles, tore itself from the diminishing form of Jean-Paul's spell. "How dare you interrupt our sacred labour!"

Bekker commanded her counterpart from the Shard.

"Spencer, Winston, you're up." Magister Taylor remained impassive, his ever-present halo of Divination scanning for additional enemies. "Suppress the Lesser Elementals. Kott, Mills, draw them away."

"Gwen, Jean-Paul," Bekker said to her students at the same time. "As your first test, the Greater Djinn is yours. You have a minute to Purge the thing. Else we do it for you."

"Yes, Ma'am!" The Void Mages obeyed.

"Firestorm!"
"Magma Cloud!"

The Evoker and Transmuter Maguses from the Shard let loose their unique spell variants, lighting up the night sky with pyrotechnics, driving the shifting Djinns from the party's air space through enviable displays of masterful spellshaping, aided by buffetting walls of energy that kept the Elementals from joining their superior.

Jean-Paul dropped from the middle of the three-Flight array and met the incoming Djinn head-on with his signature spell. "Usurp!"

The Djinn was far too fast for the Void user, but Jean-Paul never intended for the spell to connect. Instead, the imploding Usurp and its resultant burst smothered the Djinn's approach with fine particles of corrosive, mana-devouring Void.

Meanwhile, Gwen played it by the books by birthing both Ariel and Caliban in his Big Bird form, paying for the privilege with stowed vitality. With a wordless command, she sent her creatures forth, all the while fomenting a Chain Lightning of the Void variant.

"You would dare!" The enormous Djinn disappeared, then reappeared almost on top of them, its locomotion practically impossible to follow without Essence-enhanced eyes. With an outreached hand, it swiped right on Gwen.

"EE—EE!" Ariel delivered a foresightful warning.
Caliban dove, but was too late to act as a shield for its Master.

"Shield!" Gwen felt the pressurised air before the Elemental's gale struck. Her barrier instantly materialised, but unlike the Djinn, there was no way for her to anchor herself while in flight. Like a spiked netball struck by the equivalent of an empowered Bilby's Hand, she violently jerked right from the invisible assault, her body displacing so rapidly that she could feel her spine and neck crack from the whiplash. Her Void Lightning fizzled, sending a wave of sickness through her rioting conduits.

Jean-Paul let loose two more Usurp closer to the Djinn, aiming for the creature's tail Core. Effortlessly, the Djinn performed a reverse summersault through the air, at the same time tugging free an enormous, two meter-long copper blade patterned with runic etchings reminiscent of Damascus steel.

Before Jean-Paul's spell struck, the Djinn once more winked out of existence. The Void Mage allowed the attacks to implode anyway, noting that a portion of the tenebrous ink spray seemed to have caught something engaging in sub-sonic translocation.

Gwen used her Essence to banish the Void-sickness.

"Void Orb!" She sent forth four Elemental-seeking balls of black ink.

"Jean-Paul! Shield!" She then shouted from below, half choked with the effort of forcing down mana-feedback.

Jean-Paul chose to Blink instead, disappearing and reappearing at a random location away from the Djinn's trajectory.

Much to her relief, the creature's broad-bladed scimitar missed, though it did send a screaming crescent of high-velocity, volatile mana out in a vast, destructive arc.

Caliban swooped in, as did her Void Orbs.

But without Kott's Dimension Anchor, the Djinn merely dispersed itself, avoiding the brunt of both attacks, re-emerging with the equivalent of mere scratches marring its bronze armour.

"EE!" Ariel hoofed the air, lowered its head, then delivered a discharge of cobalt lightning.

CRACK!

This time, the solidified Djinn parried the blast with his copper sword.

"SHAA—!" Caliban's Big Bird turned, its white fingers reaching to crush the blue body, its tentacles flailing for Elemental flesh. The Djinn grinned, then swung the crackling copper blade at Gwen's Void Familiar.

"… Shit!" Gwen invoked her Shield once more. "Cali!"

The double-charged Chain Lightning from the Djinn arced across the horizon, first crashing into Caliban, then leaping from her Familiar onto its closest target, herself. Gwen's world turned white as her Shield distorted from the abjuring mana absorbing the electricity, after which the discharge leapt from her barrier onto Ariel.

"EE-EE!" Ariel likewise consumed the Elemental Lightning, then howled in challenge and protest. "EE!"

"Beast!" The Djinn howled. "Leave your mortal, obey me!"

From their Empathic Link, Gwen understood that Ariel wanted to redeem itself. Concurrently, Caliban quickly reformed its singed and erupted flesh and was ready to strike once more.

The Djinn quickly circled, reacquiring its attack path.

She and Jean-Paul locked eyes.
Jean-Paul's every-situation Void speciality was great, but first, he had to connect.
Her spells, as far she could tell, the Djinn could avoid with ease.
Naturally, this was a test, and Kotts would not be helping with his Dimensional Anchor.

Meanwhile, their minute was almost up.

Very quickly, Gwen made up her mind.

"Fine, you want to play silly buggers?" She taunted the Djinn by unleashing an unearthly volume of Elemental Lightning, unequivocally capturing the creature's attention. "Cali! Jean-Paul! Get ready!"

"Shaa!"
"Got it!" her partners returned her silent message. Ready to catch her fuck up should the worst come to pass.

"Lowly Elemental!" She blasted a Clarion Call at the Djinn. "Dare you to take on the might of my Lightning?"

"HA!" The Air Djinn, one she figured must be composed of a hundred per cent unadulterated pride, rose to the challenge with gusto. "Bold claim, mortal female. I like you. If you survive, this one shall leash you both and feed only the male to the rats!"

Ignoring the Djinn's taunt to put her in a Princess Leia outfit, Gwen held off until the last second before she infused her next strike with Almudj's Essence. With an audible grunt of effort, Gwen channelled her vivified mana through Ariel while separately squeezing out un-altered lightning as a feint.

"Barbanginy!"

Twin arcs of rip-roaring, air-igniting, reality-rending emerald emerged from Ariel's sixteen-pointed horns, instantly linking the Familiar and the Djinn.

The surprised Elemental expertly parried her bolt of blue, then twisted its torso in the manner of a contortionist so that it could meet Ariel's emerald thunderbolt.

_CRA-CRACK—BOOM!_ Half the peninsula lit up.

The energies' meeting manifested as a hysterical expansion of plasma, consuming not only the copper blade but the Djinn itself.

"Usurp!" Jean-Paul reinforced the impact with his Signature Spell, rapidly depleting the diffusing mana until his Orb grew into the size of a car. With a visible strain on his ashen face, the Void Mage allowed the stolen energy to "Implode!"

Not to be beaten, Caliban charged into the Void splatter, unaffected by the volatile element. When it emerged from the opposite side, it indicated the absence of a Djinn. Thankfully, her Familiar appeared to have recovered the creature's receptacle, now smouldering and sizzling the bird's eerie, white fingers.

Gwen breathed out, glad that her hypothesis of overloading the Djinn with Almudj's higher-order lightning worked out as anticipated instead of creating a super-Djinn cracking with emerald electricity to end them all.

Huffing with relief, she looked up toward Jean-Paul's Meister, fishing for approval.

The Meister and her crew looked down on them with big smiles, their fight with the two lower-order Djinns long over through means Gwen was too preoccupied to see.

"Well done," Meister Bekker congratulated them both as they floated up. "Now, let's see what our Djinns were up to, then quickly get out of here. It'll take no more than ten minutes before the next patrol arrives."

Rapidly, the party descended upon Baudino.

During their dogfight with the Djinns, the party's earlier conversation had already forewarned Gwen of the presence of whatever the Elementals were fielding on the old base. Even so, a scene of horror unfurled below her like a dystopian Neill Blomkamp movie trailer.

"Christ... are those... Rat— PEOPLE?"

Rats, or Rat-kin, to use a politically correct vernacular, were crowded neck-deep in an enormous, smoothed out pit where the old silo used to be. It was incredible to Gwen that even after Jean-Paul had cleansed the site's crumbling structures with a Void Vortex, there were still so many of the damnable mammalians huddled together in such a state.

_What wretched creatures_ , a thought came to her mind.

But that wasn't right either. Never in Gwen's life had she imagined that "wretched" could be so kind a word. Even in China, in District 109, Gwen had not considered that the Chinese NoMs lived in such dire straits to be beyond wretchedness. Yet here, in this town of no purpose on the coast of the Caspian, she once more gazed into an unfamiliar abyss.

The scene below was like the shipwreck of the Medusa, only now, it wasn't sailors scampering through the ghoulish painting, but thousands-upon-thousands of Rat-kin clambering over one another to escape. Whenever a dozen or so got close to the top of the wind-worn igneous "hole", the weight of their bodies would collapse, crushing those below, preventing escape.

The ones strong enough to flee had already clambered out, she realised from the earlier scene. What's left was the weak and the feeble, or merely the unlucky.

All around her, her fellow Mages shared her horror.

Their oppressive pressure seemed to agitate the Rat-kin even more, sending the darkling swarm into such a frenzy that to Gwen, it seemed like a riot of black bodies boiling over the side of an enormous crockpot.

Presently, the breeze from the ocean changed directions.

_Ye Gods!_ Gwen almost swooned. _The STENCH!_
Her hypersensitive olfactory organs jump-kicked her brain.
Even with the Fire Sea's sporadic wind washing over the pit, the smell did not disperse. There were all kinds of odours— rat excreta, sticky body fluids, smouldering rotten meat, spoiled feed and water— which was a stink in itself— mixed in a heavy, dank miasma. Where she could see the ground, the floor was churned to a consistency of warm putty by the milling of feet across sloshing puddles of faeces and urine. That was why the pit was so damn slippery. That was why no rat could escape.

Covering her mouth and nose, Gwen unhappily discerned that the Rat-folk were skeletons wearing skin, each one with gaunt faces and deeply set yellow eyes that glimmered from the light of the Mage's descent.

"What the hell is this?" She asked no one in particular. "I don't understand."

"The Steppes are famous for Centaurs, but it's the Rat-kin who make up the bottom rung of the Grassland ecology," Taylor explained patiently. "These local vermin fled en mass during the Tide, destroying the upper Steppes with their tunnel warrens."

The Mages from her team didn't appear to have an answer either, except Meister Bekker. "Do recall that I said things had changed since we planned our outing— this is what's changed."

"What's changed?" Gwen remained befuddled.

"Considering the context," the Meister said. "Are any of you familiar with the method of cultivating powerful quasi-magical ingredients used by the Indigenous witch women of Yunnan?"

To the party's wonder, Gwen's quivering voice answered the Meister.

"Yes— the practice of putting poisonous quasi-magical insects into a single Gu pot, then allowing them to cannibalise one another until only the strongest remain. Due to the magical nature of these creatures, battling and consuming of one's foes lead to powerful evolutions, assuming at least one combatant emerges victorious."

"Yes, 'Gu Cultivation' is a method that has existed since ancient times." Bekker glanced at the four Mages from Pretoria, who were each in their way, fascinated by the bubbling body-pit below. "You should understand better than most, Gwen, that same methodology is widely used by the Dragons. They would populate a mountain with their Essence-polluted kindred. After millennia, one being would consume enough others to emerge as a tyrant just below the power of a True Dragon. This being would then serve the Master of the mount until it either died, the Master ascends, or it was itself defeated and by a new guardian."

"What are they possibly hoping to achieve with the Rat-folk?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "What about the Centaurs?"

"This IS about the Centaurs." Bekker sighed. "I'll explain as we fly. Jean-Paul, Gwen, you have five minutes to restock your expended vitality."

Gwen gasped, her resistance to such a suggestion evident on her grimacing face.

Jean-Paul spoke beside her. "If we let them go, they'll be a plague. If Magus Spencer or one of the others cleanse them, it'll be a grotesque waste of vitality."

Gwen observed the still-churning bodies below.

"So either way, we're the good guys?" Her voice quivered with ambivalence. "What a convenient outlook."

Jean-Paul shrugged. "Umzokwe!"

An enormous white leech crash-landed into the pit, crushing a dozen rats attempting to scamper out of the way.

Gwen gnashed her pearly whites but couldn't find a way to refute Jean-Paul's twisted logic. Forcing the syllables to her lips, she invoked her Conjuration Sigil and brought forth her most efficient vitality-harvesters, the Hydras of Elizabeth's fame.

As the sounds of screeching diminished below, she contemplated if there was another route for dealing with these Rat-kin. The problem was one of insufficient knowledge, and it was one she realised Bekker had forced upon her. She had no idea why the Elementals were running a Gu pot with the Rat-kin, nor did she know the Rat-kin's natural place in the Steppe's hierarchy. Without either elucidation, how could she act? To do so purely out of moral sentimentality would engender a far greater danger, such as an actual plague, considering the state of these filth-ridden Demi-humans.

Gwen blinked as her final thought struck.

Earlier, Bekker had the whole party buffed with Resistance to Disease.

"Ma'am…" Gwen looked up at Meister Bekker. "Are… the Elementals trying to create some kind of super disease to plague the centaurs? Is that why... THIS exists?"

Bekker golf-clapped, evidently impressed by her deductive reasoning. "Excellent, Magus Song. That kind of intelligence will be beneficial when you're a Tower Master."

Gwen sucked in a mouthful of foetid air when Bekker affirmed her worst fears.

"The Djinns know how to use... biological warfare? Holy Cowtaurs…" Her perceptions turned upside down and inside out. These Elementals and their ability to deliver a ploy were beyond incredible. Uncontrollably, she shivered, realising that their foes in the Fire Sea weren't merely monsters, but a civilisation no less malicious than Humanity and just as exotically advanced as the Elves or Dwarves.

Just as she marvelled at her self-induced epiphany, a hand tapped her shoulder.

"What's up?" She engaged the concerned face of Jean-Paul.

"Gwen…" the Void Mage pointed a finger below. "The Rat-kin…"
"Yes?" She looked down.

Her pupils contracted.
Her Hydras were gobbling up the Rat-kin by the mouthful, but concurrently, the opposite was also happening.

"Yep…" Jean-Paul effortless inhaled a lungful of gut-churning miasma. "Gwen, I think they're eating your Hydra…"