With all her considerable willpower, Laurel pushed. The weight of a City pushed back. There had been Towns and Villages in her expansion so far. And smaller settlements without an active Core. They had all been absorbed without issue, into Verilia's quest to become a Capital.

Fontaine was a City in its own right, and the Core was fighting back. Westley, the local cultivator in charge of the Core, had done a respectable job building the City up as far as he had. With a population far less than that of Verilia, or even Lanport, he'd been able to quickly anchor the mana flows with a fraction of the natural treasures her own metropolis had needed. As the hometown hero that had protected the area from the rock wyrms that liked to nest in the local crags, convincing the populace to bind to the Core had been less of a struggle as well.

Now the Core felt no need to capitulate to her own dominion. That was fine. Laurel had come prepared for a fight. Was looking forward to it, as a matter of fact

Her consciousness fled her body, reaching down the channels of mana she'd carved into the world, to the City opposing her. The power of Verilia swelled at her back. Like a tidal wave, she crashed down on the opposing Core.

She was doing damage. In her mind's eye she could see flecks spiraling away from the crystalized mana. It would be fixable once she was done. Some damage was expected as she forced what had been independent to bow down to her own authority, and the Core to which she was bonded.

Still it resisted.

All within expectations. From her manifested hand, a blade grew. Made of solid plasma, encased in air, it glowed with the mana holding it in shape. It was only possible in this mostly spiritual plane. Her mastery wasn't yet at a place she could so easily pull a blade together, and she'd never successfully made one so small and tightly controlled.

It was a fearsome weapon, a pure representation of who Laurel was. A warrior, a defender, and a master cultivator. More than that now, a leader and a sectmaster. The steward of a Core that would evolve into a world capital.

She pointed her sword at the Core, and felt the moment it capitulated.

Mana coursed through the new connection. From her perspective, the golden light entered the Core of Fontaine, then refracted as the Core acted as a prism, proceeding to soak through the local mana network. As the connection stabilized, she felt an answering swell back in Verilia.

A flick of her will brought her consciousness back to her own Core. With the mana sloshing like a stormy ocean, it took a moment to reach. When she did, a facet of the crystal that had never existed before was illuminated in front of her.

New abilities scrolled in front of her. Some, she could feel instinctively, were not yet available. But plenty of others were. A thought left a message scrolling across the crystal, sucked down the connection to Fontaine where it would be displayed for Westley.

More exciting was the new possibilities opening up. Usually the domain of grandmaster spatial cultivators, a teleportation option was scrolling past her eyes. It would take some work, with matching installations needed on each side, but that was just a matter of time. There was no greater sign of progress than being able to instantly jump to another point in her domain.

She would relish the opportunity to tell the rest of the Council, and the look on the faces of the logistics-obsessed group when such an ability was revealed.

The mana calmed and there was one last thing to check. Laurel sent the question out and got back the same answer that had been there since the Core evolved into a City.

Verilia wanted more. More land, more people, more Cities as vassals. And more was what it would get.

Releasing her concentration, Laurel returned to her body.

On the opposite couch in her office, Martin lounged, swinging his legs as though there was nothing going on.

"It worked I see," he said.

"You could feel that?"

His hand tilted from side to side. "Sort of. But I could definitely see the glittery fountain that shot out of the ceiling. So I made an educated guess."

"Ah."

"Yeah. How was it then?"

"Good. It pushed back but with Verilia's mana, and Westley letting me past his defenses, it was about as smooth as I could hope."

"I'm glad. Now stop laying around."

Laurel got to her feet just as a thunder of approaching students echoed up the hall. They burst through the door into the rotunda, carrying streamers and launching confetti in a riot of cheers and shouts. She laughed at the reaction. They were still a long way from their goal, but they had learned over the last years as a sect. Celebrating the small steps was the only way they would make it to the end.

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So Laurel let the joy wash over her. When the students started singing she joined in. And of course, it wasn't a sect party without Esther pulling out some truly magnificent desserts. Laurel tried one of each, sectmaster privilege.

The party lasted well into the night. Nothing had really changed. The Order of Decorra was still ahead of them, still outnumbered their allies, still held a stranglehold on one of the most densely populated regions in the world. But on this night, Laurel saw a glimmer of hope. More than just her own stubbornness, tonight proved that they had a chance.

It was a feeling reinforced later that evening when she had time to read the latest notes from the palace. Their enemies were powerful cultivators, which meant their spies were mostly mundane in order to avoid detection. A few brave cultivators had joined them as well, but none were strong enough to get a true feeling of Laskar City's Core, and how developed it was. But they could watch for signs like the one she made tonight, and take some guesses.

If they were right, and that was by no means a certainty, then Laurel was catching up.

**********

"You know what this means?" Sabrina sipped her wine across from Laurel.

When the Skycrests suggested throwing a dinner party to celebrate the official linking to Fontaine, she had been happy to accept. Along with the rest of the sect officers.

"Tell me," Laurel said.

Before the ice cultivator could reply, Annette cut her off. "A new guildhall."

"Haven't we already got the branches set up all over the place?" Laurel admittedly didn't take too much interest in the guild, but she was sure they were active throughout the country.

"Yes, but it's too difficult to communicate across the country in any kind of timely manner. The other branches are basically their own mini guilds, loosely following our instructions."

"It seems to be working," Laurel said.

"But this will be even better," Sabrina's eyes gleamed. "We'll be able to coordinate instantaneously between the two. Which will mean getting much faster information across the entirety of northern Merista. I'm just glad it won't be my job to set it up." She mimed toasting the others and took another long draught of wine.

"That happy to be done with it?" Laurel asked.

"Yes. Breaks twice a year aren't enough. I miss the mountains, and the Coven. Pavan will do a good job keeping things afloat."

Annette pursed her lips, but Laurel noticed she couldn't come up with a reason to contradict what Sabrina had said. Despite being overworked in the extreme, her intrepid Quartermaster was angling for her own term as Guild Head. It would happen eventually, but selfishly, Laurel was in no hurry to share Annette's talents when the sect still needed them so frequently.

A harried but smiling Theresa sat down to join them. "I hope you're ready," she said, looking at Laurel. At a nod one of the Skycrest servants brought the lady of the house her own glass of wine. "Mansfeln is so excited about the instant communication, I swear I saw him giggle at the last council meeting."

"The messaging seems popular. I would have thought the teleportation was more exciting," Laurel mused.

"From Kurt's perspective, he'll already have soldiers stationed around the country. If he can communicate quickly, we hopefully won't need teleporters."

"Not to mention," Theresa continued, "the idea was giving Curson fits. How do you keep track of what is flowing between the cities? How do you tax it? Who should get to use it? The woman is more than up to the challenge, but I don't think designing a new economic framework was how she expected her late career to go."

"It's only going to get worse for her," Laurel said, not apologetic at all. "Next stop is Devon up in the mountains."

"To our success, of the capital and the Capital." Theresa raised her glass and the others joined in on the toast.

**********

George wandered the streets of Verilia in the early spring evening. Spring here was a frigid winter back where he grew up, so he was still bundled up against the wind. But not as much as he would have been years ago. Advancing to Adept had been eye-opening.

The process had involved flooding his whole body with mana. Even a year later, he was surprised sometimes at the changes that had come over him as a result. He was more resilient, to the cold, to the rain, to pain, to everything. And that was the least of the changes.

His spiritual sense, which he'd always been so proud of, was more. Not only did it extend farther, but deeper as well. Like the information he got back was more detailed, but he had no problem processing it at all.

Which led to why he was wandering the streets. The mana of a City was unlike anything he had ever comprehended. That wasn't news. Even before he had heard of the Eternal Archive, he knew it had been getting harder to cultivate in cities. The many theory lectures he'd sat through in the years since had told him just how much more mana there was, and how turbulent it would get without careful control.

Knowing was one thing, understanding another. In his advancement, he felt the City more than ever before. Verilia thrummed with power, flowing around in an unending torrent. Looking at the local magic was like seeing an ocean being held back by sheets of glass. Terrifying. Exhilarating.

His newfound strength allowed him to feel when the City Core's power expanded, subsuming Fontaine as a vassal Core. He had been walking the streets in awe for the days since.

Not all of his time was spent marveling. There were plenty of other things to think about. Like how the magehunters had come for the sect. He felt haunted, a part of his past that would never leave him alone, no matter what he did or how far he ran.

The scent of woodsmoke teased his more sensitive nose, drawing him into a tavern that hadn't yet bought one of the heating stones so popular in the wealthier districts. George would never admit it at the sect, but he preferred a real fire, with real wood, over any of the magical alternatives. Heat without fuel couldn't comfort the same.

And he needed comfort. Most of the others had brushed off the attack on the sect. The worry was still there, if he paid attention. In the new rules about guests, and in the initiates keeping weapons at hand when they went about their business. In the bags under Adam's eyes and Laurel's quiet fury.

But it seemed only he was struggling with what to do about it. For the others it was simple. They were attacked and would defend themselves. There were complications for George. Not that any of the others agreed, but he felt guilty, as though he had brought the evils of the magehunters with him to the sect.

It didn't make sense, but guilt and grief rarely did, in his experience.

As he sipped on an ale, George thought about what he wanted. It was not something he'd had much practice with as a young adult, but swearing into the sect had brought an almost boundless freedom. He was bound tighter than he ever had been as a magehunter, but he could learn what he wanted, go anywhere, do anything.

And for the last few years, he had. His goals had been small. Kill that beast, protect that town, get Annette's family to like him when they were dating. More and more in the last weeks, those small dreams were no longer cutting it.

Bigger words were swirling in his thoughts, none he was brave enough to say out loud. Things like redemption, power. It wasn't enough just to survive anymore. He would get powerful enough to strike back at the magehunters.

He fiddled with the letter that had been delivered from Fort Sarken. The one he'd taken to carrying around like a talisman since he received it. The contents were simple, but he hadn't stopped obsessing over it for days. The army was going to fight back against Laskar. Slowing down the advance and making it clear that Merista couldn't be attacked without consequences.

They could use his help.

It would be fast. He'd be back for the tournament at midsummer. Unless anything went wrong.

He finished the ale and called for another.

The fear of the magehunter captains was ground deep into his psyche. But he wasn't the scared 16-year-old they were molding into a weapon. And he wasn't the desperate 25-year-old that had fled them years later.

He'd learned, he'd grown. Maybe it was time to show them just how much.

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