Diviners are a strange breed of Mages.

Diviners are the dowsing rods of the Spellcraft world, sensing danger by splitting the threads of probability. Yet, who could say that the stream of potential would remain unperturbed if a stone displaced the water? Fate was a fatal trio, or so the Greeks foretold— a cabal of incidence and chance. The sisters are fickle, and a change of luck brought untold, unforeseen calamities. The great American Diviner, Edward N. Lorenzo, once stated that chance was as delicate as a butterfly's wings - that one wrong flutter lead to hurricanes on the opposite side of the world.

Though hyperbolic, Lorenzo's warning regarding the dangers of unmitigated uses of Divination struck a chord with Magi and Magus of the craft, ultimately endorsed by the "Oracle" of Delphi herself.

Nonetheless, despite all the trials and tests carried out by Diviners in the age of objective Spellcraft, no answer could be found as to how their spells foretold the future. In any case, Lorenzo's warning endured.

Disasters were predicted and mitigated - but never averted. The public trust in Diviners remained sceptical. However, that didn't mean Divination itself was unimportant to the Mageocracy by any means.

The lower tier spells, perfected by Spellcraft research, worked wonders for Mages surviving in the wilderness or trawling through a Demi-human dungeon. Detect Magic, Detect Traps, Detect Thoughts, these were mainstays of the Divining school.

Likewise, Message, the quintessential spell in an age of information, was only made possible by weaving Divining scripts into augur devices, searching out individual recipients amongst the numberless multitude of humanity.

Likewise, for a globalising Mageocracy, the advent of enchantments utilising Tongues in conjunction with Message devices furthermore created possibilities of human communities working together as one to repeal the advancing tide of Magical Creatures.

As such, in a practical sense, Diviners were lauded and protected, much like the Clerical Healers, whose presence were essential for the survival of humanity in a hostile world.

These reasons were why Magister Irene Ferris of the Ordo Oceania was first and foremost a Diviner, then an Enchanter, followed by her ongoing vocation in the School of Illusion.

As a bloodline caster from a long line of Diviners, she could tap into the streams of the uncertain future, to read the eddies and currents of its passing. So long as it involved herself directly.

Could she foretell the future?
No.

Irene had not once inferred that she at all possessed such means. She was a master of the Scry, not a master of unthreading the infinitely complex sisal knots of fate.

What she possessed was instead a supernatural ability to sense danger, both for herself and those close to her. It wasn't something that foretold the future— but it had earned her enough prestige and support in her younger days to gather the necessary resources to achieve the rank of Magus in her thirties, and then Magister in her fifties.

Lucky Irene, they called her.

Her combat teams always escaped imminent danger. Her expeditions had avoided every ambush. Her experiments in Alchemy and Enchantment rarely went awry.

Slowly but surely, she gained a seat on Oceania's Grey Faction— becoming one of the three Magisters who believed in communicating and trading with the Demi-humans. Under her watchful eye, the Tower experimented with extra-species trade, bringing boons and gifts otherwise unattainable for the nation.

Rosebay was her mother-school. Irene possessed fond memories of the place; with its stern-faced but kind-hearted nuns who had been so good to her. As a Magister, she had used her influence to build the school into something marvellous and extraordinary. An Orthodox Catholic school, no matter how wealthy, struggled to escape its Frontier status. With her influence and the Grey Market, however, Irene could provide the school with a plethora of resources available only to the colleges linked to London, like Prince's.

Julia Fiore Muller was one such talent Irene had uncovered.

Julia was a prodigy of the Transmutation school with a ten-thousand-in-one talent of Para-Elemental Magma. Were it not for the fact that the girl was a Transmuter-Abjurer— Irene would have taken Julia on as her Apprentice.

The IIUC was Julia's chance to shine; then unexpectedly, like a bad joke, her protege was defeated by Gwen Song.

Irene didn't know what to think other than how deep Henry Kilroy had hidden his pet sorceress. She could hardly keep her own heart from wringing in her chest when the girl demonstrated a talent Irene had only read in the Tower's annals.

A Void Mage.

There had been a Void Mage in the past - Henry's infamous wife, Elizabeth Winsted Sobel, who had died while serving in Europe. The girl, Gwen Song, even looked like Elizabeth in her dossier photos - dark hair, bright eyes, pale white skin that had an ethereal, deathly pallor.

Irene had never met Henry's late wife, but like all Mage who grew up during that time, she had heard of the legend. Elizabeth was the woman whose involvement in the war forced the Mermen to relocate their cities, whose Void abilities had frightened the superstitious Saurians into the deep Queensland jungle for two decades.

Now, Henry Kilroy was raising another Void Mage.

Irene couldn't even begin to imagine the ramifications of that decision.

Irene was a Magister who believed in mutual co-existence with the Demi-human races. She wanted to see a world where man and the magical races were made equals, respected one another, engaged in open trade. She loathed the notion that Mages hid behind the Shield Walls and pretended those other races, whose age and existence far exceeded humanity, didn't exist.

Now she must entertain the possibility that Henry Kilroy could somehow reignite the Mageocracy's glorious past. What would happen when his Void Mage matured? Would Gwen Song bring about another renaissance of human dominion in the region? Would the tribal Demi-humans again fall to their knees in helpless worship of a power they could not resist nor repel?

More questions awaited her deliberation, but Irene had no more time to think.

The battle reached its climax and Irene saw her protege use yet another Polymorph to escape the Dark Tentacles. It was a good move, Julia was deserving of her title as a genius of the Transmutation school.
Then Irene saw it.

When the vision came, Irene herself was astounded by its intensity.

It had been some time since she felt that familiar rush of crisis that played like a stop-motion montage before her mind's eye. After all, a Magister rarely ventured out to risk their skin. They had other Mages for that, and Irene was a capable administrator.

It was only a flash, but what Irene saw a horrid sight that knotted her guts and set her spine quivering with alarm.
Pale skin.
An alien swarm.
Void.
Tendrils.
Lamprey's mouth.
Shattered glass.
Blue eyes.
Blood and offal.
Irene had no idea what it meant, but she was confident that it had to do with the pale-skinned, blue-eyed girl before her. And that was why she launched herself at the rails and demanded the cessation of combat.

Her grand-student, Julia, stopped; she transformed back and stared accusingly at her Grandmaster.

Irene felt her blouse drenched in cold sweat.

She turned to Henry Kilroy.
The man must know; the damned old codger had to know.

"Henry," she said quietly, her mind lost for words. "What the hell did I just foresee?"

Henry Kilroy, Master of the Ten and head of the Ordo Arcanum Oceania, felt utterly vindicated. His student, Gwen Song, was enduring the Void Element, learning to abuse its strengths and circumvent its weaknesses. Furthermore, she had none of that paranoid insecurity that his wife had shown, no waking nightmares that he knew of, no fits of rage and destruction that required copious volumes of his life-force to sedate. No accidental diminishments of innocent life that were needed to feed an endless, voracious hunger.

At least, not yet.

Hopefully, with his guidance, Gwen would grow into a fine young sorceress, one that would bring hope and prosperity to the Frontier.

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"If you must know." Irene's opponent raised a cup mead to his lips and took a casual, languishing sip. "I must charge a price."

"What does the mighty Henry Kilroy desire?" Irene asked drily, licking her parched lips.

To her surprise, the underdressed Dryad passed her a wooden cup of the golden liquid. Irene couldn't help but notice a distinct similarity between the Dryad and Gwen, forcing her to raise an eyebrow.

"Thank you, dear," Irene replied politely, allowing the mead to touch her lips. She tasted the vitality brimming about the viscous liquid, shooting down her throat like a surge of wildfire. Though only for a moment, Irene felt a few years younger.

No wonder they call him Deathless Henry, Irene pondered to herself. The man drank the manna of the Gods like a clerk drinking cheap coffee. How much life did Henry have stored in that body? Irene couldn't begin to imagine what capabilities Henry hid underneath that decrepit visage of mild senility.

Henry continued.

"I desire your dire confidence in exchange for information on the Void Element, as well as a token gift as an assurance for my future apprentice."

"You're that confident in me, are you?" Irene scoffed.

"Should I not trust you?" Henry offered serenely. "Are we not colleagues?"

Irene sipped the mead, but couldn't help but think of her vision. It had felt so real. If so, had she averted disaster? If so, it would be a first.

"I want to know what that thing is, Henry," Irene said seriously, thinking of her vision. She had to confirm the thing that she saw. Was Gwen the reason for that flashforward? If so, Irene might have to exercise extreme prejudice against Henry's Apprentice. It wasn't going to be pretty.

"Are we friends, Irene?" Henry said. "As a Diviner, what do you think of Gwen and her prospects?"

The man may have misunderstood Irene's intense interest, but he wasn't about to let an advantage just escape his grasp. Irene understood that after Magister Walken's antagonism, Henry was offering the Grey Faction an olive branch. That way, he could both gain something for Gwen, as well as resolve some of the tension their factions shared. After all, Gwen would likely be as pivotal to Sydney's future. The Void sorceress could be their boon, or she could be the bane.

For now, it was best to pay up. Irene had to confirm if the girl indeed was the second coming of Sobel.

Irene vehemently slid something from her finger and tossed it towards Henry. Sufina caught the trinket before it reached her Master. She opened her palm carefully and presented the prize.

"Are you sure, Irene? Your's is a rare gift."

"I am not professing to be her enemy, not unless you're going to die anytime soon." She shrugged, relaxing her shoulders.

Henry chuckled.

"I believe the Cathedral has a confessional cloister, no? I shall bring Gwen there. We will need some privacy if you wish to see Gwen's Void Beast."

Irene nodded, the space on her right ring finger felt poignantly amiss.

"Did you apprentice the girl yet?" she asked.
"What do you think?"
"Not publicly, though?"
"I shall, soon."
"I see."

Irene flew from the balcony, aided by Winged Boots under her robes, appearing as a vision of calm and authority. She drifted gently towards the Rosebay team. All of the girls were crying, a few bawled, while others hung their heads in shame.

"Girls." Irene opened her arms. "Don't be upset. You did your best."

Conversely, Gwen's team embraced and hug.

Watching his secret Apprentice, Henry felt such joy and delight that his complexion grew pink. Quietly, he coughed once, his old wounds stabbing like knives into his diaphragm. In the next moment, he felt seized by a violent fit, and it took his all to suppress the wrenching muscles rioting within his chest.

"Give this to Gwen, Sufina. Tell her to meet me the cloister once she is finished— There is no rush. I need some time to recollect my old bones."

Sufina touched a wooden finger down the curvature of her Master's gaunt face; then she was away.

Gwen meanwhile was entirely in a world filled with jubilation.
Teamwork!
Accomplishment!
Victory!

Besides Gwen, Yue was pumping her fists in the air in a most un-ladylike manner, shouting the occasion obscenity to their mutual embarrassment.
Elvia's face was plump full of apple-pink excitement, breathing heavily and excitedly through her cute button nose. Debora remained disbelieving that they had won, and was looking around with a dazed expression, savouring the moment. Only Whetu seemed like he'd expected it all along, and was happy to stand grinning besides the huddle of girls giggling like a gaggle of geese.

Gwen watched Sufina lower herself via a tendril to the training grounds, striding upon her long, stilt-like legs towards the team before embracing her with such force that the wood creaked.

"You've made Master very proud, and very happy. Here, your reward." Sufina urged Gwen to open her palm. Gwen complied and was gifted yet another ring.

"Thanks, Sufi, you helped me a lot in training as well, this is as much our effort as it is yours also." Gwen praised her Master's companion. "What's this?"

"From Magister Ferris." Sufina grinned suggestively. "She wanted to know more about you, and Master sold you for this ring."

Gwen made a face. The Dryad laughed.

"Master says to take your time. He's going to have a rest."

Gwen returned her attention to the ring.

"What does it do?" she asked, sizing the magical trinket on her right index finger.

"It's a Ring of Evasion," Sufina explained. "It has an enchantment carved into the core of a displacer beast, which allows better survival against AoEs, sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Who knows?" Sufina shrugged. "They were pretty common in the war; all the high-level Maguses had one. It's a Diviner—luck thing."

"Sufi's right," Alesia, the team's instructor, wrapped an arm around Gwen's shoulders. She flashed her dainty looking hand, and Gwen noticed that three of Alesia's fingers possessed Rings. "I got one too, saved my ass more than a few times."

Gwen examined her new ring appreciatively before slipping it upon her right index finger, observing the band contract until it attained a snug fit. She didn't feel any different, seeing as the phenomenon was reactive.

"Gwen! Join the huddle!" Yue urged.
It was embarrassing, but Gwen joined nonetheless. Even Alesia joined in.
"All for one!" Gwen tried again.
"For Blackwattle!"
"For Gwen!"
"To you guys!"
"Huzzah!"

Oh well, Gwen thought. Maybe she has to pen the story first. If so, she would have to adjust the context to fit the nature of her new world. In her story, Yue, Debora, and Elvia would be Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. For as D'Artagnan had changed his life by defeating Cardinal Richelieu's guards and wounding Jussac; so Gwen had now changed her life and the lives of her companions by entering into the Inter-High.

Gwen thought about what her Master had told her and pondered the road ahead. The victory was merely the crack in the door; now, she had to wedge it open.

"Gwen!" Her mental celebration was interrupted by a pair of warm, moist hands that grasped her own.

Gwen looked up to see Debora, her eyes gleaming with emotion.

"Thank you, Gwen, for giving me this opportunity," Debora intoned. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You did your very best, Debs." Gwen hugged Debora. "You deserve everything."

Unexpectedly, they were joined by the Magister Irene Ferris, together with the representatives from Rosebay.

"Girls, congratulations, you as well, Mr Taranga. Magus de Botton, it is good to see that you remain so lively."

"Magister." Alesia inclined her head, barely.

"Magister!" Gwen and the girls curtsied more meaningfully. Whetu likewise bowed smartly, bending his body to achieve the desired state of genuflection.

"A most astounding victory, Gwen Song. I had no idea Magister Kilroy had a trump card such as yourself, hidden so well."

"You jest, Ma'am," Gwen replied formally. "I am a novice."

"Hardly. Anyway, as I am sure you know by now, these are the girls whom you had bested. They wish to exchange greetings with your team."

"It would be both an honour and a pleasure, Ma'am." Gwen curtsied again.

The girls from the two schools then exchanged handshakes.

When Julia and Gwen passed one another, she felt the larger girl grip her hand, her eyes full of both conviction and tenacity.

"I won't lose next time. I hope your future victories will bring greater glory to our re-match." Julia shook Gwen's hand with deliberate slowness.

"Sure thing, I'll be waiting," Gwen replied seriously.

"It was a good fight. I'll be watching you."

"As will I."

Meanwhile, the other girls were all making moon-eyes at Whetu, making him glower a shade of carmine over his mocha skin.
"Are those tattoos real?"
"What are your sizes? Your arms are massive!"
"Mmm, his legs are like tree trunks."
"Huge feet."
"You know what they say about huge feet."
"Shush! The Magister is right there..."

Irene Ferris found back the unease that still haunted her Divination senses.

Watching the youths exchange greetings and establish rivalries and friendships, Irene Ferris took the opportunity to examine Gwen up close, to see if she could discern what had made the girl so dangerous.

With great subtlety, she activated an array of detection spells, indulging her eyes with a silently enabled True Sight.

She first scanned the Blackwattle students, noting the motes of mana cascading from the Evoker and the Transmuter. The Mineral Mage, Whetu, was an array of mixed elements, both Positive and Earthen. Beside the boy, De Botton was a fount of fire.

Gwen Song was an interesting exercise in itself. The girl had motes of mana that seemed to circulate her in oppositional pairs. Irene squinted, there was something else as well, a strange mix of primary elements that reminded her of Henry's Dryad - Sufina. Had Deathless Henry marked the girl already? That was no surprise, though. Irene would have done the same in his shoes.

Just as Irene was about to speak, she again felt her hair rise to a stand-still.

Without warning, Irene's ocean-blue eyes clouded over with a faraway look as a vision took her.
Void.
Cathedral.
Mermen.
Panic.
Shatter.
Pain.
Despair.
Void.
Students.

"Ma'am?"

The Magister felt her consciousness return. The vision consumed no more than a second.

"Ma'am?" Gwen Song was addressing her with a puzzling look.

"Gwen Song…" Irene tried to reply but became struck by yet another dire omen. Irene knew that her visions had a particular aspect to them - they only applied to a crisis that Irene herself was about to experience.

Any moment now, shit was going to hit the fan.
A hundred questions assailed the Diviner.
Why would the defeated Mermen assault the city now?
How could they get past the Shield Wall?
Was her vision a snapshot of a future foretold?

"Gwen Song…" Irene repeated herself, lost in her thoughts, watching Gwen patiently and politely awaiting her response.

Where was the danger though? The visions hadn't involved the only two Mages who could challenge her here, Henry and Alesia.

Irene Ferris studied Gwen's face, noting with surprise that unlike when Gwen was in combat, her eyes were, in fact, a vividly striking amber-green.

"Aeeeeeeeargh! NO!"

A sudden shriek disrupted Irene's riotous train of thought.
Besides the girls, Sufina fell to the floor and began to scream.
As a Dryad, the Demi-human's soul-rending cry was a primal outpouring of ear-splitting agony.

Instantly, Sufina withered, her green bower limbs grew old and dry, and her branches shedding its emerald cargo. The Dryad appeared to shrink at once, her stature diminishing immensely, transforming from a lithe doppelganger of Gwen into a sickly girl-child.

The girls around Irene seemed stunned by the sudden transformation.

Irene, however, kicked her mind into overdrive.
Had something or someone attacked Henry Kilroy?
Who'd dare attack the Deathless magister of Oceania himself?
What on earth could do so much damage to the most potent soul-linked Familiar Irene had ever known?

Her academic mind wanted answers.
But her Divination had other ideas.
It told her to run.


Like most classic Edwardian designs, the cathedral's soaring frontage began with twin columns of stained glass split across two towers. Its adjacent buildings came later, built along rectangular walkways with an elegantly arched gallery that ran the length of the back quadrangle. Together, the system of buildings formed a kind of abstract cross-section, linking the cathedral, the old covenant, and the newer quarters for student and staff. And in between the shadow of Rosebay's high walls and impressive pillars, ran the cloister.

To access its pious serenity, one must first venture through the property's side corridors before coming into the quad, an elegant garden adorned with a central water-feature of chubby cherubs at play.

Henry Kilroy, Master of Sydney Tower, quietly pushed through the entry and allowed himself into the sanctified space.

He had never been a religious man. The horrors of the Brisbane Line and the Coral Sea had made sure of that - but it didn't mean he couldn't feel the pietistic peace that resonated in places of worship such as these.

He walked along the arcade but didn't venture into the centre, where the garden stood, satisfied that at this moment, in this place, there was peace enough for an old scarecrow.

The tranquillity allowed his beaten body a sense of restfulness. He no longer felt so fatigued by the many burdens strapped onto his war-wary back, gaining a little understanding of why some Mages could stomach the tedium of becoming a monastic scholar.

As he made the rounds through the gallery, he noted a door that was ajar, from within which a warm light permeated.

Though it wasn't in his character to be a stickybeak, Henry felt curiously drawn. Mayhap it was the mood of the place. Or perhaps, it was the triumph of his apprentice; Henry Kilroy felt such invigoration in years.

Shuffling quietly, he moved into place as to avoid disturbing whoever was in prayer. In front of him was a shine, a small one converted from what must have been a storeroom.

Within, he saw the petite figure of a nun, a young one from the looks of it, kneeling before a Sacred-Heart altar.

A sense of déjà vu engendered, as delicate as gossemer.

There was something familiar about it the scene— a chamber lit by low candles, dozens of them, encompassing an intimate space that was flicking with haunting shadows. The altar itself was nothing unusual, a few candelabras with dribbling wax, a container of incense smoking quietly, beside a statue of Mother Mary maternally offering the benediction. There was a sense of nostalgia, too, one that brought on an acute heartache.

Softly, Henry tapped the double-doors, wincing as the hinges groaned.

"You came," a strangely familiar voice addressed his disturbance. It was the nun. "I had waited an eternity."

"Do I know you?" Henry inquired, the timbre of his voice quivered with unbidden disbelief.

"Has it been that long?" came a reply both melodious and sultry. "It breaks my heart to hear that you have forgotten your dearest after only three decades."

The nun stood slowly, the loose habit falling about her small, petite figure. It hid the woman's figure well, but Henry could recognise the silhouette anywhere, underneath anything. He knew that body all too intimately.

Henry wordlessly watched the unveiling of the spectacle before him. It was impossible, of course, that this might be happening. He'd seen the woman die, after all. Mark, who had hated her more than anything, had verified that there were no traces of her left.

There was no returning from the Void. Mark hard verified it.

But then again, the neophyte Necromancer had also stated that he was wrong. Mark had told him that Elizabeth didn't respond to the summoning of the dead.

The nun slowly turned her face; Henry's breath quickened.
First came the blue eyes, so blue they were the sky and the ocean, baby-blue, like lapis laid within sapphires, blue enough to make him ache. Then, that unforgettable face, the small button nose, the delicate English features, the elegant cheekbones, the well-framed chin, the curvature of her jaws. Her red lips, like a dash of vermillion, fresh as blood, bright as ruby against a complexion of pearl.

"Impossible, how?" Henry mouthed, his mind reeling with shock.

"Hello, Henry. Did you miss me?" the nun asked winningly, her lips blossoming as she spoke. There was a winsome quality to it all that stunned him. "Don't recognise your beloved anymore?"

"Elizabeth..."

Elizabeth ran her hand over her habit. To Henry's surprise, it fell away into nothing, as though the cotton was only a wisp rather than a piece of cloth. She was now resplendent in a white chiffon tulip-dress, just as he remembered her, the last morning he'd kissed her goodbye as she ventured into the Hungarian town.

Henry swallowed as her voluminous dark hair fell about her head and shoulders, framing her lovely, heart-shaped face.

"How can you..?"

"Be alive?"

"Be still so young..."

Elizabeth giggled; her laughter tinkled like a nightingale's trill.

"Do you remember the vineyard, Henry? It was nice, wasn't it?"

"The vineyard…yes, it was nice," Henry choked, his voice trembling.

"It was our private paradise."

"Paradise... yes."

"Do you recall? What do you remember?"

What does he remember? Henry tried to think, but his mind felt as though smothered with wool. All thoughts of Gwen, of Sufina, of Irene, of Rosebay, fell away, replaced by faraway bedroom.

There was Elizabeth, asleep, buried in a tangled mass of soft pillows and white sheets. Her complexion was bloodless, her aristocratic veins blue against her flawless skin. She slept carelessly, a wayward sheet scandalously covering her body, her petite breasts forming the slightest of mounds. Henry savoured the moment, for here in one bed lay his whole-wide world.

Henry smiled. Lizzie was right; those were the happiest days of his life. What was his life now? Endless days of dealing with the petty politicking of the Tower; training an Apprentice that may one day usurp him— dealing with ingrates who disobeyed his orders and had the intelligence of a mallet. Moulding another Void Mage to show the world he was right? What an absurd idea.

He thought instead of the past, of those days after the war in Hungary. He could sense it now, he could feel it! He smelled her sweet scent upon his collar.

And there she was! Elizabeth— twirling in a white chiffon tulip dress that reached her knees. He felt overwhelmed with joy; his heart seized with happiness.

Unbidden, Elizabeth now languished on their bed, stretching as the white sheets slid from her torso. The bay windows were ajar, and the careless wind lifted the curtains playfully. He blushed as his wife laughed, moving to close the drapes, her riotous tittering behind him as she pulled him back to bed.

In the next moment, Elizabeth greedily stabbed at a Presszókávé and Flódni. Henry smiled when his wife's small red mouth caked with crumbling bits of sweetness. Lizzie closed her eyes and savoured the taste. She looked like an angel.

Visions upon visions assailed Henry. He was drunk on the nostalgia, intoxicated with illusory happiness.

Henry felt blissful at last. Happy enough that he could let go of the crisis of the moment. Glad enough, that he hardly noticed the dark things slithering from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void, birthing onto the floor wetly. As one, the creatures' lamprey's mouth opened and closed, revealing barbed-teeth and curious, pink tongues.

The lamprey things coiled along Henry's body, attaching themselves here and there. To his arms and legs, to his neck, to his torso.

With a nod from their mistress, they began to feed.

"Gwen! Do you know where Master has gone?" Alesia was shouting, her voice ringing with fury and alarm.

"Sufina said to meet him in the cloister behind the Cathedral." Gwen couldn't make head nor tails of the chaos. The Dryad was fine one moment— then screaming and shrivelling the next.

"Stay here! I'll check it out!"

Before Gwen could say another word, Alesia uttered the incantation for Flight and launched herself into the air, making a bee-line for the quadrangle.

"Be careful!" Gwen shouted at her sister-in-craft.

She turned her attention back towards Sufina, whose child-like form was even now visibly becoming weaker, her bark-like skin crusty with old age, what little leaves that remained rapidly fell from the vines that made up her hair. Gwen knelt beside the dryad and placed her hands upon the woodland-being, wondering if she could somehow transfer the vital energy of the scale which she loved so dearly.

A dozen possibilities flitted across her mind.
She didn't know much about Dryads, but she wasn't about to do nothing.

"Elvia! I need positive channels now! Jody, you too, please! Any other healers?! Please! We need your help!"

Elvia didn't question Gwen's command. She immediately dropped to one knee and began pumping Sufina full of vital energy. Jody looked at Julia, who nodded, and likewise began to channel a flood of positive mana into the Dryad.

Immediately, the healers knew that something was awry.

"Arrrgh!" Elvia fell backwards, but her hand was still firmly attached to Sufina. "Gwen! Something's got me! It's draining us! I can't release the conduit!"

"Julia!" Jody screamed, "I can't let go!"

Both Gwen and Julia cursed and reached out to embrace their friend, physically pulling them away from the frozen and unmoving form of Sufina by tugging in opposite directions.

The girls parted from the Dryad; their bodies fell, akimbo with flailing limbs.

"Something is draining her vitality," Jody stuttered, weak with exhaustion.

"It's true." Elvia's complexion was a laundered sheet. "It feels like when you're using my positive channelling to fuel your spells, but far hungrier and malicious."

Gwen gazed in the direction of the cathedral. She had to find Henry somehow. Sufina wasn't completely withered yet, and that meant her Master was alive. She just had to stop whatever was draining her Master, and by that extension, Sufina. What was Alesia doing anyhow? She wondered. Had she found Master yet?

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

She looked towards Magister Ferris, who still seemed paralysed by it all. The Magister appeared to be caught in a continuous vision, her mind not entirely in the present. She was now staring towards the ocean, towards the Shield Wall.

Gwen followed her gaze, feeling a knot tighten in her gut.

She too was suddenly overcome with an ominous surge premonition.

"Magister—" she began.

_BOOM—CRACK!_

An explosion in the distance drowned her appeal.

There was a shimmer at the edge of the horizon, akin to the flash one saw when a bolt of lightning lit up the outback sky in silvered silhouettes.
Then an all-enveloping explosion rocked Sydney Harbour, sending out a rippling shockwave of white churning water.

_BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—_

Another and another, and another explosion rang out, a dozen in all.
The gathered host of school girls stared at the horizon, unable to comprehend what was happening to their peaceful world. The senior Mages all knew though, especially those of them that had survived the Coral Sea conflict. They'd seen it once before and had hoped never to see it again.

The Shield Barrier had collapsed.
Here and now, Sydney was a sitting duck.

Gunther Shultz stopped mid-sentence during his dressing-down of the Tower's new Acolytes. The Mages before him regarded their instructor quizzically, wondering why their austere preceptor had paused. They were all elites, graduates from the top-tier universities, ranging from Senior Mages skilled in their craft to young Magus coming into their power. By becoming members of the Tower, they gained access to the Tower's resource and knowledge, as well as the potential to be apprenticed under one of the Magisters.

"Whoa—"

An abrupt shudder shook the antechamber, sending a few of the acolytes skittering across the atrium floor.

Gunther furrowed his luxuriant brows, his instincts informing him that a catastrophe had just occurred.

_DING! DING! DING—_

Then a dozen Message spells struck him at once, blasting coloured Glyphs visible only to himself. He picked one from his assistant, an intelligent and humorous Diviner who showed great promise.

"Sir!" Ensign Carey's honeyed voice came across the message spell in a panic, completely lacking her usual fineness and control. "We just received an urgent Message from Station Forty-One at Watson Bay! Just now, an engineer reported an attack by an unknown party who sabotaged the Shielding Stone."

"What's the condition there now?" Gunther demanded with a measured voice brimming with suppressed emotion.

Damaging a Shielding Station was a capital offence. What "Human" in their right mind would sabotage a vital infrastructure that shielded the city? Sydney wasn't the Ivory Coast or the Silk Road. Neither was Australia at war with their neighbours.

"It's chaos, Sir! The explosion has caused a chain reaction along with the Watson-North head enclosure! We are registering a total failure of over a dozen stations!"

"Get your division to link up with the Frontier Military. I need all the available operational data in the next thirty minutes. Sound the coastal alarms on the entire Eastern seaboard. All Combat Mages tier 3 and over are to report to battle stations. Start evacuations immediately for the affected areas, tell the councils to start moving their NoMs to shelters—and find me the Mage who called in, I need more information."

"Yes, Sir!"

Gunther willed another Glyph to flare into activation; it was from the intelligence division's Oracle station.

"Sir! I am getting pings from all over the Tasman Sea! The Mermen are mounting a major incursion! I am counting a dozen Krakens— there's even a Leviathan!"

Gunther cursed under his breath, wondering how the hell his world went to shit in a heartbeat.

The acolytes in front of him were each receiving their Messages and showing evident panic. A complete collapse of the Shield Barrier had not occurred for at least two decades, but the stories remained.

Ding! "Sir!"

It was Carey, his assistant.

"I've found the Mage who was overseeing Station Forty-One, he has requested to speak with you, shall I patch him through?"

"Do it."

There was the sound of a third voice joining the conversation.

"This is Gunther Shultz, Paladin. Who am I speaking with?"

The voice that came through was smooth and controlled, not at all panicked and worried as Gunther would have expected.

"So you're Gunther Shultz huh?"

"I am, who am I speaking with?"

"Morye Song, Regular Joe Abjurer, second class Engineer, Watson Bay. I got a request for you, Mr Shultz."

Moyre Song? Gunther felt some distant memory at the back of his mind pinging. Why was the name so familiar? Where had he heard it before?

"I will grant you what I can, Mr Song, but first, you must let me know what the condition is over there, where are these assailants, or might I say, terrorists?"

"Terrorists, huh? Close enough, I suppose. The Shielding Stone is busted, so I am afraid there's not much I can do about that. As for the baddies, well, they're dead."

Gunther felt as though this Moyre Song was tooling with his intelligence, was the man a traitor who was trying to provide them with false information? That didn't make sense either. Presently, the Shield Barrier had fallen, the station was lost, what point was there in exposing himself?

"How do you mean, Mr Song? You need to be more specific, can you tell me what happened exactly?"

"Sure, but you need to grant me my request first." The man must feel confident that Gunther would comply.

"Fine, what do you want?"

"I need you to find the location of my two children, Percy Song and Gwen Song."

Carey interjected.

"Don't be absurd, Mr Song! You can't expect Lord Gunther to bother with finding your children in a crisis like this! We have Mermen trying to breach the mainland for God's sake!"

"Ensign Carey. Do shut up." Gunther said. "Did you say… Gwen Song?"

"Formerly of Forestville, she's currently attending Blackwattle Bay High School. If you can get your Divination boys to give me a location, I'll be more than happy to provide you with the low-down of what's happening here."

"How dare you—"

"Ensign—"

Carey stopped speaking at once.

"Go and check up on my orders. I need a sit-rep in the next few minutes. Also, go pull up a location on Percy Song, he's been filed already under Gwen Song's dossier, he should have his school's tracker with him."

"Yes, Sir!"

Gunther turned his attention to Gwen's erstwhile father. Erstwhile, because he'd believed Gwen had cut off all contact with her old man.

"Gwen Song is currently in Rosebay," Gunther informed the man. "She is there with Magister Henry Kilroy, undergoing a test. As for your son, give me the information first, as our Diviners would require some time."

"Fine," the voice that came through sounded relieved.

"I assure you, Gwen is perfectly safe with the Lord Magister. Now, please inform me of the events that lead to the collapse of the Shield Barrier."

"The assailants are mid-tier Mages, pretty well trained. I suspect they're someone's private army, feels like the kind that the Houses keep as their reserve militia. They had an insider or had the right glyph to access the door, who knows, but they got in unchallenged. They came in spells blazing, killing every Mage they met until they got to the main chamber. Now, they must have had some kind of magical device, because they managed to breach the Warding Glyphs in about ten minutes flat. I suppose that's what's causing the reaction too because a whole daisy-chain of resonating power just fed down the line."

"Where are they now?"

"They're dead," the voice said flatly.

"How?" Gunther demanded.

"Collective suicide," Moyre suggested cryptically. "Look, the point is, they had an inside man, someone had given them the codes for the Glyphs shielding the Stone, and now we're all in deep shit. I am going to find my kids because there is nothing else I can do here, the city's toast and you should be calling in the Towers from Melbourne and whatnot. So, where is my son?"

"Carey?"

"They've located a match for the boy. He is—"

The spell died. It was blaring a moment ago, and then it was gone.

"Carey? Mr Song?"

Gunther incanted his Message spell again. Nothing. His brows furrowed. What in the world could disrupt a Message spell? Unless—

From the looks of his acolytes, their calls had likewise cut off.

The Paladin of Sydney felt a chill forming deep in his gut, running its way up through his spine with an unease he hadn't felt since the Coral Sea conflict.

"NOW ENTERING QUARANTINE MODE."

A female voice, synthetic in intonation, echoed through the Tower's internal communications systems.
"What?!"
"Quarantine?"
"Against what?"
"Lord Gunther?"
"What was happening?"

"What the fuck is going on?" Gunther let himself go.

It was one surprise after another. Even Gunther felt the dire need to express his mounting frustration and anger. Quarantine mode? That was only possible when Magical Creatures or foreign Mages breached the Tower. Even if the Mermen were on a Leviathan, it would take two to three hours before they were even remotely close enough to enter the city.

Gunther issued a command toward the Tower's autonomous Spirit systems, demanding that it explain the reason for its quarantine mode.

"Lord Shultz, your command privileges have been revoked. Prepare to be ejected from the Tower in sixty seconds."

"Shit!" Gunther could no longer maintain his cool in the face of mounting absurdity. "Does anyone have a working Message device?"

The Acolytes shook their heads.

How were his privileges revoked? He was the fucking Paladin of the Tower! It's guardian! Only its Master could revoke the access. The only manner in which the Right of Command could be usurped would be if—

It can't be! He told himself. That was impossible!
His Master was Deathless Henry for a reason!

He tried to Message his teacher, but the Divi-Towers were down entirely.
He tried to Message Alesia. Nothing.
He tried to Message Gwen, and likewise, there was no sign that his Message spell had manifested at all.

Someone had activated one of the Tower's most potent mechanisms - a Scry Jammer capable of nullifying Divination effects— and by that measure, all communication spells.

Once active, the jamming retarded the part of Sydney's communication infrastructure. The problem was, the powerful warding shouldn't affect allies like Gunther, who had the right glyphs to nullify its effects.

That his Message jammed could only mean one thing.
It meant that Gunther was no longer an 'ally' of the Tower.

The faux daylight lighting of the tower suddenly died. A red haze took over the Mage's surroundings, cast by maliciously glowing mana-cores that were now a dull, hostile red.

"NON ASSOCIATES OF THE TOWER WILL BE EJECTED IN 3…"

Gunther swore.

"Everyone! Shield up! Everything you have!"

"2… "

"DO IT NOW! Don't question me if you want to live!"

"1…"

"USE FLIGHT! Feather Fall!"

There was a flash of silvery Conjuration Mana.

Gunther and a few hundred others found themselves outside the Tower, in mid-air, and falling.

A host of scattered 'Feather Fall!" and "Fight!" resounded through the air.
There were a few brief screams, then Gunther saw too late that at least a dozen or more young Mages, guards and clerks, had fallen from the great height, ending up on the cityscape below as bloody and broken stains.
The Tower loomed before them, floating in mid-air, half a kilometre from the ground.

The Tower was a floating fortress. That was the reason it was deemed so unassailable, so impenetrable. In its magnificence, his Master's abode was a brutalist fortress, resembling three bisecting rectangles stacked atop a floating island platform.

Having been ejected from it by force, Gunther and the other Mages were pushed away from the central structure by the repulsion field.

"Lord Gunther!" someone called.
"What do we do?"
"What the hell just happened?"
"I head there are Mermen incoming?"
"What about the shield wall?"
"Fuck, I can't believe Timothy just fucking died!"
"Sir! We need orders!"

The descending Mage all called out to Gunther, but what could one man do without Message spells? They all believed that the infallible Lord Shultz had the answers, but Gunther knew he was just as confused and surprised as they. He wasn't a God, despite what the rumours suggested.

He regarded those who were flying and falling around him. Suddenly, an epiphany came to him.

These Mages— they were all from the Middle-Path and the Militant Factions! Where were the Greys?

Magister Irene Ferris was the first to recover her senses. Immediately, she began commanding the Rosebay girls to take shelter in the cathedral. The old building was a bastion that had once served as a sanctuary. In theory, it should weather whatever was coming their way far better than if they stayed in the open. If need be, Irene could also teleport them away somewhere safe, such as the Tower itself, which was impervious to invasion.

"Leave the Dryad, Go inside!" Ferris commanded Gwen and the girls, but the Blackwattle team refused to heed the Magister's command, choosing instead to stay with Sufina. When she commanded them again, and it was clear that Gwen was not leaving the field, the Diviner turned to orchestrate the evacuation instead.

"Shit! My Message spell doesn't work!" someone muttered beside them. "Magister, all long-range communications are down!"

Ferris tested her magic.

"You're right, only line-of-sight communication still works. Someone's started the jammer."

She glanced skyward, but couldn't see the Tower anywhere in sight. Where they infiltrated by foreign Mages? That was an absurd and impossible notion. She had to get back to the Tower as soon as possible, but she didn't want to abandon the children here. They were her life's work! The future of Rosebay, of Oceania! She had a responsibility to their parents, who had entrusted her with their lives.

"Forget it! Get the kids to safety! Go through the Catacombs! Get to the Teleportation Chambers. Four to a group!"

At once, the gathered Prefects and Mages mobilised, organising the young ones into orderly files that marched towards the cathedral and the shelter of it's thick, enchanted walls.

"Gwen." She turned to Gwen seriously. "I don't know what's happened to Henry because the Tower is preventing me from using my Divination spells. That said— once the kids are safe, I am going to teleport myself and my staff into the Tower. Whatever happens, we need to take back control of the Tower and shut off that Message jammer. Are you coming with us? We could use your help. Your Void abilities are essential for taking down physical barriers."

Gwen looked at Sufina, still fading fast, and nodded.

"Meet me down in the teleportation room. It uses the same system your group used to arrive but located underground. Just follow my staff's directions."

"I need to find Alesia," Gwen mouthed, her eyes still lingering on the Dryad. "Sufi's suffering."

"Gwen, we need to go…" Yue said worriedly. The girl didn't want to leave Sufina either, but the situation was too dire for bravado.

Elvia was silent, still unable to comprehend what she was seeing, especially after the physical trauma of being drained by Sufina earlier.

Whetu was looking at the open sea with a grim face, reliving some distant memory which Gwen needn't guess, given Auckland's history.

Debora appeared to have made up her mind. The girl pulled at Gwen's arm to try and make her budge. Looking at Debora's pleading eyes, however, Gwen felt suddenly struck by a recollection from the Outback.

She reached behind her neck and plucked at her Almudj's scale, willing it to remove itself.

"What are you doing?" Debora cried out sharply, stepping back with a look full of disbelief. "You're using THAT? Now of all times?"

Gwen ignored her and instead cupped the now diminutive Sufina in her arms, parting the withered vines extending from the back of her neck.

_Please let this work!_ Gwen prayed to whoever ruled over this world of magic and monsters, then placed the scale on the back of Sufina's neck.

"Almudj, please help us!"


Morye Song was supposed to have the day off.

Now, he lined up against the wall with his fellow engineers, prisoners awaiting their firing squad.

It all began when his current girlfriend Yurin, one of two women he was seeing, suddenly demanded that he should meet her parents. The request meant that it was time to make a clean break, as things had progressed from harmless fun to quagmire.

The problem was that Yurin was one of those women with almond-brown puppy eyes that turned liquid when pleading for something, and Morye was weak - indeed, very weak, to the pleading of the fairer sex.
And so, Morye had traded his Wednesday shift for Thursday and had to spend an awkward night being glared at by Yurin's parents, who were utterly surprised when he confessed cleanly to having two children and an ex-wife.

Yurin may not have cared, but no one wanted their little girl to be the second, or in Morye's case, the hundredth fiddle. Morye apologised and left the house. Yurin's father shook his fist, and Yurin cried and tugged on her father's sleeves. Morye took a punch to the jaw but was thankful for the clean break. He had no desire to entice her illusion of marriage. They had their fun, and that was that.

Then it was Thursday, and all had been right with the world.

Morning shift at a Shielding Station was a quiet and tedious job, especially at a remote headland like Watson Bay. Greeting the dozen or so guards he'd known for years, Morye made his way into the belly of the beast. Within, a deep shaft a dozen meters wide held a levitating ultra-high-density Crystal six meters in diameter and about eight from tip to tip. Here was the heart of the Shielding Station that kept the city safe.

As an Abjurer, Morye's job was to monitor the hundreds of glyphs that surrounded the crystal, shaping its mana to create that unique resonance which made up the 'barrier'— an oscillating wavelength of mana that passed between stations.

His place of employment, North Head and Watson Bay made up the city's two principal stations. Here, the barrier was so strong as to form a shimmering white wall above and below the ocean and reaching the seabed, so penetrative as to be tangibly felt seen in the Astral Plane. What it accomplished was the repulsion of all creatures with Cores, causing discomfort, distress and ultimately destruction. The larger the beast, the more damage the resonance achieved, the more mana was consumed.

"Senior Engineer Song." his colleague had greeted him.

"Engineer Wenner." Morye had replied.

"How was your date?"

"With Yurin?"

"Yeah, the Korean one."

"As expected, angry old man, upset mother. I was half expecting the old feller to duel me when I told them I had two kids."

"Aren't you an old man too, old man?" Wenner laughed.

"Oi, I am only forty! Besides, I am young at heart."

"Ha! You're certainly not living any longer if you don't tier up your Spellcraft, hows your Abjuration?"

"You know me. I rather spend the night in the soft, white arms of a woman rather than the cold, hard pages of a textbook."

"Ah, come off it Morye. You've been here for almost what, fifteen years? Come on, Mate, we all know you can do better than Senior Engineer, I've seen your work."

"Too lazy!" Morye lamented dramatically. "Get promoted? It's just more work. I'd rather finish my calibrations in an hour and work on my naps."

Wenner shook his head in disbelief.

"How're your kids these days?" Wenner changed the subject.

"Percy's with his mother, so I'd dare say he's suffering for it. Gwen's doing pretty well. Did I tell you? She's awakened to Lightning. She's got more potential in life than me, that's for sure."

"'Grats, Mate! I still remember that time you brought her to the Christmas Party, she must be a lovely young lady now."

"Interested? Your son's still a bachelor?" Morye asked jovially.

"Damn straight he is. Yeah-Nah, your girl's too good for him."

"Aww, come on Ed, don't say that, Sam's good bloke."

"He's a regular Abjurer, low Water-affinity. He'll be satisfied with a regular gal."

"They're just kids, Ed, who knows? Gwen needs someone to show her how normal people behave. She's too much like her mother sometimes, full of shit and high sentence. It worries me sometimes."

Edward Wenner shook his head again. He'd seen some lumen-recordings of Gwen that Morye had gotten from his filthy-rich brother-in-law, doing her Lightning thing. The girl was heads above Sam's wildest dreams. Having the two of them meet up would just destroy the boy's self-esteem. Morye meant well, but then again, he usually pitched above his class. He dated girls in their twenties; he dated girls from NoM ghettos. He dated women who were older too, not caring even if they were Senior Mages or Magus.

Wenner was just about to say something when they heard the distinct sound of the middle barrier-gate opening. The hydraulically controlled portal consisted of Glyph panels made from transmuted steel. The seamless metal always made a suction sound as they opened, making a silent entry impossible.

He checked his watch.

"That's weird, George is not supposed to be here until 1400, reckon the guy cocked up his timetable? I'll go check."

Morye shrugged. Come hell or high-water; he's got a break to catch and a snooze quota to fill.

"ARRGH—"

A muffled scream echoed. Then silence.
Morye twisted his lips.
Next came the sound of boots moving through the compound. Whoever had just accosted the guards was now making their way down. Morye had just settled himself into a comfortable tub-chair when the door to the break-room opened.

"Hands up!"

His feet on a stool and a cup of tea in hand, Morye regarded two Mages whose combat-robes shimmered with Mage Armour. They looked well provisioned, each of the Mages had a bandolier full of potions, a wand by their side, and minor Storage Rings on their fingers.

"Hands on the back of your head! Move it!" the men commanded.

Morye complied unquestioningly. Unauthorised entry into a Shield Station carried stiff penalties. These men, assuming they were here to loot or steal, appeared in their element. Why were they here? Morye wondered. If he had to hazard a guess, he would imagine that they were pawns in the factional infighting that constantly accosted the Tower. When elephants fight, the grass gets trampled. Maybe the men would do what they need to do, and then leave? Morye hoped for the best, or else there would be trouble.

When he made his way to the antechamber, all the Engineers, Wenner included, lined up against a wall. The Director, McBride, was being questioned by a young man with what looked like mechanical, golem-like arms and legs.

"The encryption key— give it to me!" The Machine-man was making threats. It was a laughable gesture, of course — engineers were bound by Geas to never real the Glyph keys.

Morye felt puzzled. What happened to the guards on the first level? Why were these men capable of entering the Shielding Station unmolested, but had no access to the Glyph for the device itself?

Typically, the Tower issued both at the same time.
It could only mean that the individual who gave out the code for the Shielding Station didn't have access to the Glyph. Morye thought about that and didn't much fancy the answer at all.

"STOP! It hurts! I can't tell you even if I wanted to," the Director begged.

With exaggeration and wanton cruelty, the one-legged feller kicked and punched McBride, spittle flying this way and that. When the bloke tired of the sport, he straightened up and stretched out his golem-like limbs.

"Let's do this the hard way then," the blond announced.

The Mages behind the man were all dressed in grey-silver combat robes that were rather indistinct. There were six of them, all equally well equipped. Morye could see blood on their boots.

The blood, Morye supposed, explained at least some hint of where the guards had gone.

Were these a mercenary militia? Morye wondered, they looked the part but were too disciplined. A Shielding Station wasn't anything special, but it did have stores of crystals and other precious materials which would be more than enough to whet the appetite of a few greedy spells-for-hire.

That left only one other possibility that these men were private soldiers born and bred in-house by some noble family or perhaps some Trans-national conglomeration corporation.

To Morye's surprise, the blond Mage was not only a Conjurer but was also an Enchanter! Not just a regular Enchanter either, but the worst kind. His element was highly unusual as well. Was it Ash? No, Morye thought to himself. Ash was too rare. It was Dust.

Jesus, Morye stifled a whistle. When was the last time he had seen a Dust Mage? At any rate, they were in trouble. Mages who trafficked in forbidden spells and dangerous elements were not in the business of leaving witnesses.

While Morye was still pondering his options, the Station Master was screaming his lungs out. Blood drained from his wrists as the young man held a hand to his forehead. Motes of dust were moving in and out of the old Master's facial orifice, sending out spittles of blood and other bodily liquids through his nose, lips, and eyes.

What a cruel little shit. Morye thought distastefully, wondering how he should deal with this dilemma without catalysing more drama for himself. Outright resistance was likely impossible for the moment, at least not with six guard dogs watching his every move.

In a minute, the talkable ringleader seemed to be done, letting the exhausted old man drop to the floor in a ragged heap.

"Tell me what the glyph code is," he asked carefully.

To Morye's surprise, the Station Master began to recite the sequence like a mantra. The poor sod was on his second repetition when the Geas must have triggered, for he began to bleed violently from his facial orifices. Ten seconds later, the man was dead.

"Chit!" The young man spat. He turned his attention to the rest of the engineers.

"The rest of you, if you want to live, then go to your stations and do what I tell you."

The remaining Abjurers regarded one another.
They weren't heroes.
But they knew the importance of a Shielding Station.

"Fuck you!" A middle-aged woman shouted defiantly. "I am not letting any of you go near that Shield, you rapscallions!"
"Bess! No!"
"Shut up, Bess!"
"She didn't mean it, your eminences! She's just a foolish old woman's all," Wenner pleaded. "She doesn't even have access to the work station."

Beatrice was their Transmuter. She repaired the structure as it grew weathered by the brine from the east-northernly wind. She had a strong sense of justice but a limited grasp of common sense.

Morye wondered if he would regret not helping the poor woman. After all, he'd been to her house, attended a few luncheons with the rest of the staff. The mother of two was happy with her lot. She must have been thinking of her sons, still safe behind the barrier when she made that call.

"I am not fond of old women, but I am less fond of rudeness," the young man intoned. With a word, the Dust mage moved his invisible Dust-beast over to Beatrice. Then, he squeezed her like a lemon.

The rest of the staff watched as Beatrice suffered, whimper and begging for death until all that remained of the once vibrant mother was a dried husk that crumbled onto the floor with a clattering of fossilised flesh and bones.

"Disgusting," The young man scoffed, seemingly unsatisfied. "Any other volunteers?"

The rest of the staff moved to their stations; watched by the cowled Mages in their silver-grey robes.

With the Master's glyph code, the young man manipulated the central control system of the station. He gave orders expertly, as though he knew exactly how each Glyph switch within the system worked.

_THUMMMMM—_

The central crystal grew dull.

Morye watched as the Dust Mage approached, placing a hand upon the crystalline structure. There was a surge of violent mana, impressive both in volume and control. With a slight shimmer of space-time, the young man's Storage Ring consumed the stone.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

To the staff's surprise, the Dust Mage raised his other hand and summoned another stone similar in size to replace it. This one was etched with sigils and runes, covered from tip to tip with malevolent looking Glyph-scripts. With some alarm, Morye realised that this was the stone that was stolen from the Barrington Top station some three months ago.

The others reacted too.

They were all Abjurers here, and it instantly became evident what these men intended! What little naive hope of survival the staff had of surviving the encounter faded away. Now, it was a fight to preserve both their lives AND the lives of those in the city.

"Stop them!"
"Chase them out!"
"Morye, help me!"

Instantly, Shields of all kinds, stone, earth, water and pure mana erupted here and there, protecting their casters from the forces that sought to access their control consoles.

The problem was that they were all Abjurers.

The guards who were supposed to be protecting them were all dead. The battle, if there ever was one, was over the moment these Mages had gained access to the lower chambers.

Morye too erected his shield. Unlike the others, his barrier was a bright, comically pink series of jagged stone.

Outside, he heard the sound of spells clashing against his barrier, wondering how long his colleagues could keep up until help could arrive.

If an Abjurer was to turtle up, they should be able to withstand attacks for some time. With the correct sequence of Absorb Elements, Elemental Warding, and proper management of mana recycling, a prolonged hold-out was possible.

_Tink—TINK!_
 _BOOM-CRACK!_

Chaos reigned as Morye carefully uttered the necessary meta-magics used to delay the spell he held in reserve. With each passing minute, however, the sound outside grew quieter, fainter and less pronounced.

Then the battle ceased altogether, and Morye knew that it was soon his turn.

A glyph bloomed in the dark of his rock-pink crystal shell.
To this surprise, someone was Messaging him.

"Hello?" Morye answered the spell.

"Hey, it's me, Edgar, the one outside who just killed your friends."

"…"

"Listen, I am not going to kill you."

"O, thank God."

"I need you, Mr Song. For a mission that is even more important than this one, at least to me. Do you mind if we talk face to face?"

"... What choice do I have?"

Morye dispelled his Shielding, the pink-stones falling away until he revealed himself. Curiously, his fragments did not fade into motes of earthen mana. Instead, the manifested shell of his Abjuration shield scattered onto the floor, becoming crumbling pink-white particles that crunched underfoot.

In front of Morye was a massacre.

Shit, Wenner, Morye felt the corner of his eye twitch. Poor Sam. The others were dead too. Some were burnt alive, others crushed, a few drained until they were just husks.

Morye had no benedictions to give. He was not a religious man.

The Dust Mage, whose name was Edgar, stood not far from Morye. Behind him, his followers were busy rigging up the Shielding Stone.

"You know; when I drained this little old feller here." Edgar swirled a few motes of dust around his good forefinger. "I caught an interesting piece of information in your work roster."

"Go on."

"You are the father of Gwen Song, no?"

Morye raised a brow in surprise.

"Why does that matter?"

The Dust Mage— Edgar— suddenly took on a remarkably insane expression. His whole face grew contorted like that of a demonic mask, hideous with malevolence. The change was so drastic that for a moment, Morye questioned if the man had been taken over by some maleficent spirit.

"Why does it matter?"

Edgar ripped out a fistful of hair.

"Why… why does it matter— the father says!" Edgar paced back and forth, utterly unable to control himself. "Why does it matter indeed!"

Morye stared.
It was an innocent question.
He certainly did not expect the man to lose his mind.
Perhaps he should hazard a conjecture?

"Did Gwen… reject you at a cocktail party?" he asked dryly. That was the best postulation Morye could muster. He didn't think Gwen was the kind of girl to be hanging with psychopathic Mages, so the arsehole incarnate probably had spoken to her or something at some innocent social event— that he could believe. If anything, Gwen possessed her mother's talent for attracting attention, both good and bad. With her face and those legs, not many young men could resist an aloof princess. That and young cocks like Edgar likely had a low tolerance for disgrace.

"A party?! A fucking party?" Edgar tore at his robes to reveal the pallid flesh beneath.

"You're too skinny for Gwen's tastes." Morye sighed. Kids these days, so hot-headed.

"Shut the fuck up!" Edgar disrobed violently to reveal his clockwork limbs. He pulled at his face until the flesh bled, revealing what appeared to be tessellated mithril plating. "Your whore of a daughter gave me this! She took my fucking arm and leg! She took my face!"

Morye whistled impressively.

"I take it you didn't listen when she told you - No?" he quipped jovially. "You know, when a lady says no, they probably just mean no. It's an art to read the context, but if you're not sure, just stop."

Edgar looked like he wanted to rip out Morye's heart and eat it bloody and raw.

"You think you're funny?" he demanded.

"I am known to be jocular, yes," Morye's mouth twisted with mirth. "Did you know I wasn't supposed to be working today? Imagine that, you came all this way, and you could have missed me."

"I think death is too easy for you." Edgar's words had such poison in them that they spat from his lips toward Morye, who looked at the stains on his work uniform with wordless revulsion.

"I want you to know what I am going to do." Edgar seemed to calm himself and began to speak. "I am going to saw off your arms and legs. Then, I am going to cut off your tongue and your cock and balls. You're going to be just a fleshy stump, wishing for death. Yet, you're not going to die. We're going to heal your wounds, and make you suffer."

"Young man." Morye breathed out coldly. "You ever thought about seeing a Mind Mage about that attitude of yours?"

"You laugh now—" Edgar continued. "But when I find your daughter, you know what I am going to do? I am going to show her your stumpy, miserable form, and then she will share your fate. I will cut off her long white legs, sever her arms, and strap her into a harness, like so…"

Morye watched as Edgar's expression changed from rage to lust, then to eye-rolling desire.

"You liked that? Good," Edgar continued eagerly. "You know what's next? She's going to bear my children, carry my bloodline. Her dual Void and Lighting ability, all of her talents will belong to me. She's going to be nothing but a sow, a fertile little meat-machine for my litter of Void Mages. Your scions, my slaves for the next hundred generations. How do you like that?"

"She's a Void Mage? You say?" Morye's surprise was wholly genuine. "Jesus Christ. Really?"

"You didn't know?" Now, it was Edgar who stared, his voice incredible with disbelief.

"Nope. We're not that close, you know, so I don't think I'll make a good hostage." Morye confessed.

"I'll be the judge of that," Edgar collected himself. "Now let's see what's in that head of yours."

Edgar placed a hand on Morye's forehead.

Morye felt the invisible dust-conjuration moving behind him. Something with incredible force was now holding his wrists and ankles immobile, effectively paralysing his physical movements.

"I am not looking for a son-in-law," Morye wryly declared. "Take your filthy mitts off my face, boy."

"SHUT UP!" his assailant howled in turn. "Submit your memories to me! Give—"

The Dust Mage's golem-limb fell limp. The rest of the Mages stopped to stare. There was a layer of white crystals now covering the joint, paralysing the clockwork.

"Flesh to Salt," Morye incanted without any significant emotion.

Without warning, the world turned white.

"Arrrgh!"
"My leg!"
"No! No! No!"
"I can't see!"
"Master! Save us!"
"It hurts! Aeeeeee!"

With the utterance of the last syllable of the invocation, Morye's hidden Transmutation activated. It fed upon trails of salt, so carelessly scattered previously, minute and seemingly a part of the dusty decor of the sandstone interior. Mercilessly, these enlivened motes of salt now adhered to the assailants, boring into flesh and bone.

At once, Edgar's lackeys grew encased in tombs of salt that covered every inch of their body, growing as salt fed, becoming larger and denser. As crippling agony paralysed the Mages, the salt began their terrible work. In a moment, all moisture within the tender bodies of Morye's assailants were quickly extracted. Besides them, Morye stood impassive as a statue, not even noticing the desiccation.

It took half a minute before the spell ran its course, transforming all organic matter into pink-white rocksalt.

"You know," Morye said softly to the young man now resting on his back. "In my culture, salt is used to drive away evil."

Edgar stumbled backwards, a spell already upon his lips. His mind was a mess of fumbling ecstasy, the desire to escape defeating all rational thought.

He had to buy time to activate his Teleport. The station was done for—there was nothing this man could do to stop it now. The only miscarriage of their plans was the loss of his men, nothing more.

But why was Gwen's father a Salt Mage? Edgar's struggled to breathe, for such was the pain wracking his body. Why was a minimum tier 6 Transmuter Magus working as a low-level grunt in a Shield Station?

But none of that mattered now.
He had to live to tell the tale.

For as long as he had lived, Edgar only believed in his abilities and his singular survival. His Mistress may question him later, but what could he have done against a Salt Abjurer-Transmuter? The man had resisted his Absorb Memory earlier. But how was that possible? Only specialist Military Mages from tier 1 cities trained to inoculated themselves against Mind Magic. But Sydney was a remote Frontier! Morye was supposed to be a low-tier barrier Mage!

Quickly, using his agony as a distraction, Edgar completed one of his best spells.

"Cloud Kill!"

A mustard cloud sprang into existence surrounding the area where Morye stood. Yet, against all expectation, the acidic gas sizzled against Morye's salt-covered skin, ineffectively against the self-replenishing barrier.

Edgar's eyes bulged against their sockets.

He'd heard that salt was an extremely versatile element, supreme in defence and easy to manipulate, but this was absurd. What was the man's Affinity?

"Dusty! Get him away from me!" Edgar commanded, his golem's leg skittering against the sandstone floor.

With a roaring, his Familiar charged, bringing with it bits of salt, paper, and dust from the dead.

"Banish Evil!" his opponent incanted casually. True to his word, like an evil spirit banished by a hand full of salt, Dusty ceased to be.

"You fucking banished my familiar?"

Edgar was learning many new things today, such as that even in the Frontier, a spell existed which could force one's familiar back into its Pocket Dimension. To summon his familiar again required time, vitality, and mana, all of which Edgar couldn't spare. Only Abjurers of the middle tiers possessed such spells, and only if they hailed from centres of magical study.

"You got anything else to say?" Morye asked casually. "I am not a patient guy."

"Plague of Insects!" Edgar desperately retaliated with another spell he had been proud of, summoning a dark swarm of stinging insects that would harass his victims and drain their vitality.

"Banish Evil!" Morye incanted, throwing out a fistful of salt in a stylistic flourish.

Again, the conjured creatures disappeared without a trace.

Edgar now on the verge of perturbed hysteria, he'd never faced someone like Morye before in his entire twenty-five years. As a scion of a noble house, he had seldom face setbacks, save for his unfortunate encounter with Gwen. Now, at the hands of both father and daughter, he had tasted the bitterness of failure.

Half-wild, Edgar produced a scroll and began to read its contents, heedless of Morye's presence.

"Telep…"

"Disintegrate!"

Edgar's mind flared white-hot.
Impossible! Impossible! He screamed. Disintegrate was tier 6! How could there be a Mage capable of casting such a spell in so short a time here in Sydney?

A beam of white frost struck Edgars' golem's arm, turning it spontaneously into a pile of salt. Edgar dropped the Teleportation scroll mid-cast, the precious parchment falling into a crystalline pile as fresh and white as the fallen snow.

"Disintegrate," Morye repeated the spell, leaving Edgar was left without a leg to stand on. He walked over towards the two-limbed man with an expression full of sympathy.

"You know, I am curious to know who your parents are."

"If I told you, you wouldn't dare lay a finger on me!" Edgar screamed at him. "My father will skin you alive! Your kin shall be made into living specimens as future warnings!"

"Very scary," Morye intoned. "So, who's your dad?"

Edgar remained silent, crawling on his remaining arm and leg. Morye watched with great interest as the kid produced yet another scroll from his ring.

"Horrid… Wi…"

"Disintegrate!"

Morye had to admit. He didn't have too many of those spells left in him. The third Disintegrate had also missed— Morye had intended it to strike the boy's remaining hand, but now he took the kid's limb off at the shoulder.

"ARRRRGH— B-bastard!"

"Sorry, it's been a decade. I am out of practice."

Edgar lay in a pile of his flesh-turned salt. Screaming the scream of the oppressed, the very same he had heard so many times before.

Morye picked up a ring from the pile of salt, collecting his ill-gotten loot.

"Oh, my!" he muttered, impressed. With a few incantations, he dispelled the tracking feature. "Your father must surely be a scary man to give a brat like you a Contingency Teleportation Ring. One of these would keep me in style for the next ten years, you know."

Below, Edgar began to whimper. The salt was mixing into his wounds. Morye knew that the pain was exquisite, comparable to ten-thousand insects nipping away at one's shoulder stump.

"Please… mercy…" Edgar begged, the boy's voice cracking. "My father..."

"Where have I heard that before?" Morye stoically regarded his quarry. "You know, I am not usually a man partial to anger, but when you started yapping on about Gwen, it put me off."

Morye raised a jackboot. The Engineer's outfits had steel-capped boots made to resist dense crystal drops.

"What… what are you…"

Morye stomped down, hard.

A wail began to echo around the chamber, a soul-chilling vibrato that started as a bestial baritone and ultimately reached a castrato crescendo.

"Yeah, see, when you talk about other people's children, you have to be respectful." Morye pattered his pockets and pulled out a packet of cheap cigarettes. "All that talk of rape, I mean, seriously, guy? Who even taught you to speak that way? Are your parents inbred?"

"My— my— father will find you— he—" Edgar moaned wetly, squirming in a pool of blood and vomit.

Besides the duo, the corrupted crystal shuddered. Its resonance had corrupted the whole system, sending the surrounding stones and the station itself into a spiral of catastrophe.

"What are you guys trying to achieve, anyhow?" Morye lit up.

"I am… a Ravenport! I can't die here— I am— fo— Father—

Edgar, or whatever his name was, finally aid still.

Morye breathed out, watching the smoke coil and writhe.
Had any of the others sent off an SOS before their demise? Any fluctuations on the Shielding Grid should be automatically sent to the Tower. What Edgar and his men had done here should have been visible on the smallest augur engine.

Beside Morye, the corrupted crystal hummed and groaned, beginning to reach critical mass.

Morye pulled out the Teleportation scroll Edgar had so kindly left behind.

"Thank Mao." Morye toked on his tobacco. "Imagine having to fly out of there."

With a flash of Conjuration, Morye found himself beside the Queen Victoria Memorial. He wasn't sure how trustworthy the scroll was and had thus selected a place that was familiar and public. A few Mages glanced at him and quickly nodded their heads in apology before rushing away. Anyone using a tier 7 spell was above their station to question. The NoMs, however, gawked with the best of them.

Far in the distance, there was a sound of something exploding on the ocean — first one, then a dozen. While the NoM crowds paused, then persisted in their menial labour, Morye could see a few of the Mages receiving Message spells, then immediately began to panic.

With few more puffs, he finished off his cigarette. Them, he pulled out his message device and dialled in the classified Glyph for the Shield Station.

"Collective suicide." Morye didn't feel like explaining any more than necessary, he was already smearing enough shit on himself to last a lifetime. "Look, the point is, they had an inside man, someone had given them the codes for the Glyphs shielding the stone, and now we're all in deep shit. I am going to find my kids because there is nothing else I can do here, the city's toast and we should be calling in the troop carriers. So, where is my son?"

"Carey?"

"They've located a match for the boy. He is—"

The spell died. It was blaring a moment ago, and then it was gone.

"Gunther?" Morye spoke into thin air. The spell was dead. No, the whole fucking network had died. "Fuck."

Morye tried again. The Message spell was no longer functioning. He looked towards the sky, but there was no Tower visible. Whatever was occurring, the magical fortress was not in combat mode.

"Rosebay huh…" Morye mouthed to himself.

The city would fall; there would be no doubt about that.
He had time, a few hours at least.
Morye thought about Edgar's gloat.
Gwen - a Void Mage.
He rummaged for the cigarette packet and lit up another stick.
Inhale.
Exhale.

He wasn't even supposed to be working today.

Morye signed the sigh of fathers everywhere when their daughters were out past ten and had yet to call. Like two decades ago, Morye Song was at the crossroads.