"We absolutely cannot afford to send one of our best weapons off to the middle of nowhere. Need I remind everyone we are under attack?" Mansfeln was apoplectic, nearly spitting he was so upset.

"That's why we can't afford not to." Theresa's calm counterpoint only had the general puffing up even further.

"If I must be considered a weapon, at least it's the best one." Martin leaned back in his chair, balancing with only two legs on the floor.

"One of the best," Laurel countered, prodding him until he fell and had to sit back normally.

He sighed. It had been years since he'd gone farther than Lanport, he was getting twitchy. This was the longest he'd stayed in the same place since reaching adept. If he tried, he could drum up sympathy for the general's position. But it wasn't like he was going on a vacation.

Luckily he had a best friend who could make the point for him, who Mansfeln didn't fantasize about murdering every night.

"We are already stretched too thin. If we tie both of us to Merista, we'll lose the long game. We already know the Order has made overtures to Naxos. Oudigar is pretty much on their side, and how long do we think Elgin will hold out?

"The tribes don't have enough large settlements to need the Cores, and from what we've seen the Order has ignored them."

It was the explanation they were banking on. With so few masters they could reach out to for aid, they had spent the winter brainstorming other ways to get some allies. But no one worth recruiting was able to leave their own people long enough to help. Not with their own Cities to manage. A situation made more concerning with some of the stronger Verilians headed off for some counter-sabotage of their own.

Everyone except the nomads. The northern tribes didn't settle anywhere long enough for a City Core to form, and the few permanent settlements anyone in Merista knew about were too small to invite the kind of development Verilia needed. If they were right, not having to defend against beast waves should give any cultivators up there the flexibility to lend some support.

Or maybe not. They wouldn't know until they tried, and their options were running thin.

It took another half hour of arguments he barely paid attention to before the rest of the Council capitulated. Martin didn't bother to linger. He was packed already and days mattered.

Spring was brisk in northern Merista, but the ocean wasn't iced over, which was all that mattered to him. As he made his way out of the palace, an idea grabbed hold and wouldn't let go. Laurel might kill him when she had to deal with the fallout. It was perfect.

He made his way not to the gates, but towards the terraced gardens. They were empty of visitors, not that the landscaping team let their standards slack. Each pathway was clear of any remaining slush, the more robust plants ready for their glorious re-emergence.

The lowest terrace was also the widest, jutting out as it did over the deep ocean. The view was stunning. Just the sea and sky as far as the eye could track, only a few steamer vessels reminding an observer that humans still walked the earth.

When Martin gauged he was the right distance he stopped and simply watched. His mind went into his tattoo, confirming he had everything he needed. Food, supplies, copies of the guild charter and sect bylaws, proof of what the Order had done, and a million other things Adam and Annette had foisted on him. Laurel realized it was futile and he would be winging it anyway.

Everything checked, he returned his boots and jacket to the tattoo. Then, with a running head start, he leapt.

Laughter trailed behind him like smoke as he plunged towards the ocean. Wind whipped his breath away until, long seconds later, he entered the water without making a splash.

His momentum carried him deep, but what was pressure to him? His body easily adapted to the biting cold and crushing weight. A school of silver-finned fish flashed by, parting around him in their hurry to get to their breeding grounds. A shark lurked as well, avoiding the superior predator in its midst.

He took a deep breath, tasting the salt and the story of this place. The water was so much cleaner than when he first arrived. Most of the mortals would never notice, but their work with the Core was already reversing some of the pollution that had built up around the City.

Pleased with the state of things, he turned east. Laurel had been showing him her new flight technique and he wanted to see if he couldn't adapt it for moving through the ocean.

With a jet of pressurized water behind him, and an application of mana to lower his friction, he was off.

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*********

As it turned out, water and air were very different things to try and move through. Three days of trying to replicate Laurel's technique underwater had convinced him something was missing to make it worthwhile to use. In its current state, he got tired too quickly to sustain a long trip.

That meant he was only a dozen times faster than most mundane ships. As he traipsed onto the shore of the Ysean Steppes, pulling the water out of his clothes as he went, he decided to table the working. He could try it again on the way home.

The vista he faced was impressive in its emptiness. Impressive eyesight he might have, but he couldn't see over the horizon. So he was left with another ocean to traverse, this one made of shrubs and grass.

And without a fixed destination. The map he'd memorized before leaving pointed to where some of the tribes could be found during winter. With spring reaching for the north, whether those places were still inhabited was anyone's guess.

A smile on his face, he turned to quip about finding needles in haystacks, only to recall there was no one there with him. Whoops. Instead he turned back and loped forward.

Leagues melted by under his feet as he let his mind drift to a state of light cultivation. Hours passed where he neither slowed down or deviated from his course. Every once in a while he would toss the sect map ahead of himself, taking readings of the local mana and continuing on without stopping. Night fell and still he ran.

By the end of the second day, he was approaching one of the villages he was looking for. But he could already tell it wasn't his destination. The vast emptiness of the world around him would leave any group well exposed to his spiritual sense, which spread through the ambient mana as far or farther than his eyes could see. Martin decided to stop by anyway. Rest would keep him sharp, even if he didn't strictly need it.

He slowed as he approached the spot on the map. Then stopped altogether. There was nothing there, certainly no ancestral village, even if he could feel life in front of him. On a hunch he sent his senses into the earth. They returned the picture of a cozy warren, built into the gentle hills and all but hidden from the eye.

Starting back up, he walked to the rough center and called out. "Hello?"

His own voice bounced off the hills but no one answered. That wasn't right. He could feel two people, both cultivators lingering somewhere in the village. When he tried to pinpoint the exact location, his senses slipped off their signatures. It was a clever little defense. He could break it but that wouldn't be the way to endear him to his hosts.

"Hello? I can feel you out there."

"Don't move."

Martin ignored that and turned around, finding a youth pointing a gun at his chest. They were dressed in well-worn leathers, the kind of clothes that could hold up to long travel in uncertain weather. Mousy brown hair hung over eyes so dark they were almost black, staring at Martin without fear. He noticed with a spark of approval that the teen's hands didn't waver as they threatened a stranger.

"Where's your friend?"

A slightly wider eye was the only betrayal of surprise. "It's just me."

Martin sighed, careful to leave his hands at his sides. His mana he redirected to enforce his bones and strengthen the rest of his body. Ideally he wouldn't be getting shot. But on the off chance the kid's finger slipped, he would rather the healing be as easy as possible.

"You can tell I'm a cultivator? A magic-user?"

"I know what cultivators are," the youth snapped. "And I know what bullets do to them. Saw what happened to your friends when they tried to come here too."

Martin quirked his head to the side. "What friends?"

"Shut up. They looked like you. Walked in right like you did and started making some offers."

This might be a good sign, if Martin could get the kid to relax. "Those weren't my friends. I'm here because those people came to threaten me as well. How about we have dinner and share some stories."

The gun didn't drop a millimeter.

This was going to be tedious.

**********

Leander took a deep breath in. The air around him swirled, in perfect harmony with his control. His slow breath out pushed a ripple of wind around him. In and out, in and out. Hours melted away while he sat on the highest balcony of the sect house.

Everything was under control. Except it wasn't. His mana was obeying his will, but in a way he didn't expect. It tugged him in a direction and he was refused to follow. All day, every day, it pushed. He sighed and broke his cultivation.

Blinking his eyes open, he jerked back when he found Laurel sitting in front of him. Connecting to the air should have told him she was there. Just having his spiritual senses extended should have told him the same. Laurel blazed with power whenever Leander bothered to look.

She was smiling at his reaction and he scowled in protest.

Laurel shrugged. "I'm a master air cultivator, what do you expect? You've got a few years yet before you can find me when I'm not letting you."

That was no excuse. Leander marked a reminder to start cultivating with his eyes open.

"Are you ready to talk about it yet?"

His eyes slipped to the side. Maintaining eye contact with Laurel when she was like this was never the right call. No matter how much you thought you were right, you would end up caving eventually.

Her head swung back into view when she leaned to the side. "Come on, it's time. You know it."

His head hung down and he gave a half-hearted shrug.

"You at least going to tell me why?"

Another shrug. She already knew why, he didn't have to explain it again. He didn't want to evolve his mana aspect in the direction it wanted to go. So he wouldn't.

"Do you have any idea how rare it is to have an advanced mana aspect so naturally perfect it practically forces itself into place?" Laurel sighed, long and deep, tipping her head back and closing her eyes for a moment. "You have to give me something here."

He fished out his speaking stone. The new one he'd made himself. It wasn't great, and it felt like he was back to the twelve year old that first joined the sect, only speaking in a few words at a time. But it was better than shouting across the city using his technique.

"Sound is weak."

He didn't see Laurel move, but he felt it when she flicked him in the forehead. Sprawled back on the stone he stared open-mouthed at the betrayal.

"Says who? Have you looked up anything sound cultivators can do? Of course you haven't. Teenagers are idiots in every era."

Just because she was right didn't mean she had to say it like that. He didn't need to look it up because he was going to be a storm mage.

"Okay, I can see the look in your eyes that says you're ignoring me. I didn't want to do this but you left me no choice. No more cultivation or combat lessons until you can list major techniques from at least five different sound cultivators. No more guild jobs, no more adventures, nothing."

He scrambled to his feet, hands fisted at his sides. Laurel rose more elegantly, as if she wasn't forcing him into something he didn't want to be. "Individual journey," he said through the stone.

The sectmaster placed a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezed. "I'll never force you to go down that road, but you do have to at least be aware of the option. Having a student with your talent is a privilege, Leander, and I'm honored you've been inspired by my own path. But I don't want that to overshadow everything else.

She walked away and jumped off the side of the roof, landing far below and continuing off into the city. As though seeing that wasn't going to convince him to stay the course. He would hold out.

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