The townhouse was handsome and well-crafted, set as it was amongst a row of similar homes, in a district Laurel had been assured was quite fashionable. The impression was ruined slightly by the turquoise paint Devon had covered the place in.

She felt a pang of nostalgia for her original Verilian residence. No one would call the decrepit- shop-turned-guild hall's location fashionable. But it had been home for a little while at a time where she needed one, and she had found far more luck than she had any right to within its walls.

That the master enchanter could afford his own expensive residence in Verilia, which he kept empty most of the year, when she had started in a glorified hovel, was a reflection on how the upper classes had embraced mana-powered convenience. There were army commissions as well and other jobs through the guild, but it was the rich and status-driven that had handed over a dozen fortunes for the kind of work Devon excelled in.

Not that Laurel would be joining their number. Even if she had the money to afford his prices, Annette would spontaneously combust before handing it over.

When she approached the door, instead of swinging open, as it did when some of the others visited, she heard the clink of a deadbolt sliding into place, and another thud she assumed was a bar sliding across to brace the door.

As she stood there, more defenses activated. A sheet of mana flowed from the top of the door frame down, paper-thin but with malice radiating off it, promising pain if she tried to force her way inside.

It was the stone beneath her feet heating to temperatures that scorched the soles of her boots that pushed her over the edge.

"This is ridiculous!" She shouted at the door. "You knew I was coming!"

There was no response but her boots stopped smoking. More importantly, the door remained barred.

"You have five minutes to either let me inside or get out here, or I'm deciding for you."

Exactly four minutes and fifty-five seconds later – she counted – Devon emerged from his front door, straightening the cuffs on a red and black striped suit.

"Laurel, I didn't realize you were waiting, hopefully not for too long?"

She flashed a rude gesture and started walking. Her fellow sectmaster kept pace but left the silence to pool deeper between them. Unfortunately for him, Laurel had too much to do today to put up with his bullshit.

"Your students are progressing well? And the soldiers?"

Devon's eyes flicked to the side, reading into her questions as she expected him to. "About as well as I could expect, if not as advanced as I might have hoped."

The rest of the walk to the air cab was filled with the boring but necessary minutiae of running a sect. Discussions of sending students back and forth, tips on the Core development, and just generally catching up.

The pair returned to silence when they entered the cab, there was no need to let any random citizen in on how they ran their organizations. Reputations for being mysterious and wise were difficult to build and trivial to break.

Arriving at the local arena, they were met with Curson and her ever-present squadron of aides. In a side room built into the warren beneath and surrounding the sand above, they got ready to begin.

"Most of the City perks are pretty straightforward," Laurel began. "I envision the selection and start channeling mana through the Core and into the building. The Core does the rest. True Arena's, and a few others, are more complicated. We can't just force our way through and hope for the best, the enchantments needed are too complex. Maybe if we already had a more advanced Core…"

She trailed off before refocusing. "But we don't. Which is why Devon here has agreed to help us out. The plan for today is to design the enchantments we need, then when the time comes to create the Arena, Devon will assist in the channeling."

"Any questions?"

There were questions. Many, many questions. But once a rough agreement had been reached for what would be included in the arena, the mortals left, leaving the sectmasters standing on the thin layer of sand, looking out at the rows of seating.

"It will be a tall order." Devon said, in the understatement of the year.

"I know. But the kids need practice against other cultivators. The training hall is good…"

"But it can't give truly intelligent opponents, I know." Devon picked up where Laurel trailed off. "It can also hold a powerful cultivator, if it comes to that."

Laurel nodded but didn't otherwise respond. There were a few reasons they'd decided on the Arena, and those two were high on the list.

"I'll have the design ready in a few days. Then we can shore up the building and work on setting the ground with carving most of the enchantments next week. Don't talk to me before that."

With that he left and Laurel was once more regretting the destruction of all the vineyards that produced spirit wine.

***********

Another bag tore itself to pieces in the reinforced bin beside Annette's worktable, while she slumped over in temporary defeat. She had been sure that was going to work. The thought of reaching for another of the practice bags filled her with dread, so instead she decided to take a break.

Standing and stretching from the stiff pose she'd been holding all morning, she turned to survey the room. The army's section was still walled off, but the rest was a bustling hive of activity. Annette did a double take when she recognized a figure moving between tables. She frowned. Devon wasn't scheduled to be in the city for another few days. Laurel's vague comments about her schedule this morning now made more sense, but she wished her errant sectmaster had mentioned the reason for the change. Those two were best left supervised to keep any of the inevitable unpleasantness from escalating.

As she observed, Devon moved from workstation to workstation, offering advice to everyone. Only a few members of his sect were in town, practicing, the rest being either Eternal Archive or independent guild members, in Verilia specifically to use the City facilities.

With a start, Annette realized she was next on the circuit. The enchanter arrived at her workstation and looked it over, taking in each material, diagram, and embarrassingly, failed attempt before commenting.

"This will never work."

"Excuse me?"

"You're trying to make a spatial bag, right? You won't get there this way."

Annette felt her shoulders pull back as her whole body bristled. How dare he? She had been working at this for months. Not succeeding didn't mean she wasn't making progress.

"I've examined a memory tablet of the technique, and I'm confident I'll be able to recreate it soon."

Devon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that those cultivators at the closer workstations were finding excuses to pack up and leave.

"This is what happens when you let people with an expertise in fighting start running a sect. Those memories you've watched, they were from more advanced cultivators. And I guarantee, each had at least some training in basic enchanting. With knowledge that well-known, they didn't feel the need to include it in the information they left behind."

"I hardly need to explain to you why the world is the way it is," Annette said. Each word was bitten out, but she held herself back from anything offensive. The abrasive man was here to help, if the rest of the room was any evidence. As much as she was loath to admit it, Annette could use the aid. She was reaching a wall in her attempts. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Yes. Walk before you run. A master might be able to create a spatial storage device directly, but you are not yet a master. Not even close, really. I mean –"

"Thank you. What would you envision as a solution to this conundrum."

In a rare display of tact, Devon actually answered her question instead of continuing to rail about how crafting was the superior basis for a sect.

"You need to study some basic anchoring enchantments, and put those on the bags first. Then start messing around with space. If you were my student, I wouldn't even be letting you try for these at all. I'd start you on making bags that keep food cool. Or warm. Or waterproof. Work your way up to the more elaborate effects."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I mean this is ridiculous, even for Laurel and Martin. There should have been basic enchanting methods included in the Legacy Stone."

Indignation was replaced with discomfiture as Annette realized her mistake. "As you know, the Eternal Archive allows its students to pursue a wide range of hobbies and interests. Some members seek guidance on those courses of study, and others choose to attempt things on their own."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"You didn't even ask, did you?" Devon said. "I'm surprised they didn't force it on you. She's a dangerous harpy of a woman, but she doesn't miss much."

A small crack appeared in Annette's cool facade. "No. But she also believes students should be allowed to make their own mistakes."

Devon nodded at that. Some sort of unwritten sectmaster code that meant they were perfectly able to watch people struggle futilely until the students themselves admitted it.

"The rest of your plan isn't bad," Devon said. Perhaps to soften the blow or because he was actually interested in the creation of new spatial devices. Most enchantments could be done by anyone with enough skill, but spatial storage was tricky enough, she understood, that very few enchanters without the mana aspect could produce anything worthwhile.

"I will keep that in mind. After I look up anchoring enchantments. Thank you for the instruction."

He waved her off. "If I'm here anyway I'll be spending a lot of time in the hall. It will be ages before Harrock has enough mana to support one of this size, and I have a few experiments to run anyway."

With that abrupt end to the conversation, he turned and found an unused workstation to claim, before rapidly filling it with dangerous looking implements from his pockets and his own storage ring.

Annette decided it was best to take her leave. She'd wasted enough time already.

***********

It was more crowded than he expected. Lower District Hall No. 6 was a sturdy building, entirely devoid of ornamentation. More a collection of boxes stacked together and used as a multipurpose space for local matters in the section of the Flats where the sect house was technically located. But it was clean and Adam had been met with a professional, if sleep-deprived, scribe when he had arrived forty-five minutes before the meeting was scheduled to start. He had assumed the hall would be empty, or still being set up with the rows of chairs needed. He had been wrong. Wrong enough he paused at the entryway, concerned he had forgotten the meeting time. He hadn't. Apparently the people of the local districts simply had nothing better to do than show up early for a school-board meeting.

With a nudge he sent Leander, and their pile of materials down to the front row, where a line of seats had been marked with cheap cards, each with a name scrawled across it. If it was the scribe at the door that had done the calligraphy, Adam could see why the lad was stuck in such a low-level position.

The pair settled in to wait for the meeting to start. Adam did his best to pick up on the mood of the crowd while he eavesdropped on the nearby conversations. After a few minutes he gave it up as a waste of time. Unless there was going to be a quiz later on about who was sleeping with who, and which of the local teenagers had been seen out in a notorious neighborhood, none of what he learned would be coming in useful.

He turned to Leander, only to find the lad meditating. His eyes were closed and he was swaying side to side, as if there was a song only he could hear. No distraction there then.

It was an agonizing half hour later when a group of locals tromped onto the stage. They were a disparate group, a few in suits so shabby he was surprised they held together, and some in finery that wouldn't look out of place in a trendier district. Not one of them was younger than Adam.

The crowd took it as a signal, and started to quiet down, finding seats and getting ready.

"Ahem," the tired scribe from the front desk broke the silence. "I call this Spring meeting of the Lower District Governance Board to order. The first item on tonight's agenda is the proposed continued funding of our existing street-cleaning crews for the next year. I will open the floor to comments."

An older woman hobbled towards the podium with the help of a cane. "Those lads do good work. I can get around the neighborhood through winter instead of being stuck in my home. The guards or the fire crews can get around when we need 'em. I say keep the funding."

Adam nodded along to the sentiment, it seemed reasonable to him. And he wasn't alone. A chorus of "hear, hear" and a smattering of applause echoed around the space as the next citizen stepped up to speak.

"Those crews are just gangs all prettied up and funded by us respectable folk. I say slash the budget. Assign any of the local kids each a week to clear their neighborhood instead."

To his slight surprise, this earned just as much support from the crowd.

And on it went. About an equal number of people argued for the cleaners as against them. Most of the arguments were reasonable, some not so much. A couple of the locals got into it, devolving into a series of insults until the scribe had to ask them to leave the meeting. If the utter lack of reaction from the rest of the crowd was anything to go by, it wasn't the first time.

Finally they reached some sort of limit and the scribe stood once more. "We now move to a vote."

"Master Oxinne?"

"Yes."

"Madam Jille?"

"No."

"Madam Relon?"

"No."

"Master Ferrant?"

"Yes."

"Madam Chairwoman?"

"I vote yes."

"Very well," the scribe droned on in a bored voice. "Funding will be continued for the next year."

It had taken an hour. Adam had no way of telling if any of the commentary did anything to the voting, but it was too late to try a different strategy now.

"We now move onto our second order of business. Introduction of practical magic lessons into school curriculum. As this topic is community-proposed rather than council business, the sponsor will be responsible for answering questions from the community. Master de Ranier."

Adam walked onto the stage, projecting as much confidence as he could muster, Leander dutifully trailed behind carrying the same materials they had used at several lectures already.

He gulped. Facing down the crowd from the front was far different than getting lost among the masses.

Then he mentally slapped himself across the face. He'd faced worse than a crowd of busybodies with nothing better to do on a Sixthday evening.

"Thank you. With the changes of the last decade, understanding magic has become more important than ever before. Factories have started using magical machinery, ships use magical engines, and so much more. Even top restaurants are working with magical ingredients. My proposal includes weekly lessons based on a curriculum designed by members of the Magician's Guild to teach children the basic theory. Along with three hours weekly set aside for optional practice, for older students. Thank you."

For a few beats there was silence. Then pandemonium erupted as every resident of the Flats tried to get their opinion out at once. Behind him Leander shifted into a wider stance, like he was preparing to take a blow.

The scribe in charge wasn't phased in the slightest. He waited with a bored look on his face for a line to form at the public podium, and when the crowd had mostly corralled itself, brought the first person forward.

To Adam's surprise, it was the same old woman as before. He wouldn't have thought she would win the tussle but perhaps the cane came in handy in more ways than one.

"Why should we trust a Guild for the lessons? Every single one of them pumps out propaganda like it's their job."

The cheering this time was angrier.

"Who else is qualified?" Adam asked. "Genuinely, who?"

"I still don't like it," the old woman grumbled. But she sat back down.

The next contender in this madcap tournament was younger than almost everyone in the room, aside from Leander. By which she looked like she was in her late twenties instead of the late-middle age average of the crowd.

"The linen mill where my sister works has just installed a magic-powered loom. And they hired someone new at twice the wages to keep it working. I say let's get our kids the best chance possible."

Applause followed but was notably more subdued.

"It's dangerous!" the next man up thundered, turning to the crowd instead of facing the council and Adam. "You've seen what happens when the monsters attack. Do we want that kind of thing in our schools? Near our children? No we do not!"

That was not good at all. The crowd was getting riled up at the man's speech. Adam moved to cut the issue off before it could spiral, but Leander beat him to it.

"CULTIVATORS PROTECT THE CITY."

The ringing silence that followed gave Adam the opening he needed. "Thank you Leander. As my assistant said, what you see during beast waves is the local cultivators stepping up to defend the city. The more Verilians that can access magic, the better, in such scenarios."

"So you just want fodder. And of course you're coming to the Flats to get it."

Part of him, a part he recognized as having Laurel's voice and Martin's attitude, fantasized about punching the sneer off the old man's face. Never mind he was Adam's age and bringing up reasonable points.

"Hardly." It was time to pull out the big guns before things went too far for him to pull back. "I'm from this neighborhood. Do you think the nobles up on top of the hill aren't already teaching this to their kids? I want people down here to have the same chances."

That comment got the loudest applause of the night so far. If there was one thing that brought people of the Flats together, it was resentment of those that never had to struggle for what they had.

Sensing that a continued argument would be a losing proposition, or just tired and wanting to sit back down, the old man stepped back, to be replaced by another local granny. This one had piercing gray eyes Adam wouldn't want to face in a dark alley.

"What is the actual content you are proposing?"

He straightened up. "Excellent question. Leander, figure two please."

Adam launched into his prepared speech about what the lessons would cover. Basic vocabulary and water metaphors for the young ones. Some more specifics about how to cultivate and different ways mana influenced the world for the older children, with explanations for the City Core mixed in.

It was a masterpiece of pedagogy, if he did say so himself. It had taken most of a year to design, but he wanted to do things right. Laurel and Martin had both provided feedback and suggestions, even Devon had read through the traditional magic crafting section and provided notes. Thorough, but not too theoretical for children to understand. Engaging, without oversimplifying or including any inaccurate information. There were few courses of study he had ever seen that had been so deliberately designed for the optimal result.

"Huh." The woman hummed a bit and sat back down, asking no follow up questions.

Not everyone could appreciate genius.

Things calmed down after that. Mostly. At least no one else almost started a riot when it was their turn to speak.

And speak they did. The meeting blew past his expected hour without slowing down. The second hour brought the citizens who had actual concerns. Who would be teaching, where was the money coming from?

That earned another of Adam's inspired presentations. The content was approachable enough to be taught by regular instructors. For practical lessons, there were Guild volunteers, their once small organization having grown by leaps and bounds with the influx of low level cultivators popping up in the Cities. No one would be challenging Laurel to a duel any time soon, but they could teach the basics. And the Guild could get the credit for the charity work. The not-at-all-mandatory (but actually mandatory) practice of Guilds giving back to the community was well established. Having members volunteer a few hours meant they didn't need to give away any of the profits that came with their crafting or harvesting expertise.

When they were halfway through the third hour, the crowd lost steam. As well they might. It was past the 21st bell of the day and they should all be getting ready for bed instead of continuing to argue. Even Adam was getting a bit fatigued, cultivator endurance aside.

When the requisite five seconds of no one asking to speak (and if it was 4, no one would blame the kid) the scribe hastened to close the arguments and turn it to a vote.

"Master Oxine?"

"No. We need further study and evidence before we commit to such a project."

"Madam Jille?"

"No. On the basis of funding.

"Madam Relon?"

"Yes. Our children deserve every opportunity."

"Master Ferrant?"

"I vote yes as well. No use pretending the world hasn't changed."

"Madam Chairwoman?"

This was it. Adam had lobbied for two months just to get a spot in this meeting. Usually the topics debated were more or less decided before the vote. An occasional brilliant argument might sway a councilor, or give them a reason to flip their stance publicly, though it was rare. Despite his best efforts, only Relon had been a firm supporter before the meeting, the others lingering somewhere between disinterested and confused for most of his explanations.

"I vote yes. Such a generous offer from the Magician's Guild is not to be ignored. Nor is the advantage to our district if the proposal bears fruit."

"Very well." The scribe hurried to speak over anyone else. "The proposed implementation is slated to begin in one month. Community feedback sessions will be scheduled starting one month after that.

"On to the third topic for this evening's open forum. The proposal for the annual public works budget, including Core resources. Those seeking a copy of the proposal can find it at the front of the room."

Adam and Leander were shunted to the side, along with their props, as seemingly everyone moved on without a care. Or without a thought to the time. He had reviewed the schedule. There were five topics on the agenda. Adam had assumed, after the first two brought them well into the middle of the night, that those topics would be postponed. Not so. Nobody was leaving, and in fact a new line had formed in order to discuss the proposal. A pang of fellow feeling for the scribe hit him then. Maybe there was a reason for the exhaustion beyond disappointment with the position's lack of prestige.

Adam thought longingly of his bed, if he angled it right he could see the sect house in the distance through one of the windows. But it would be a while yet. They were still getting looks from the locals who weren't busy discussing if they needed another fountain or a playground. If they left now, any rapport they'd established would be leaving with them.

They returned to their seats and settled in for the ordeal.

***********

Another victory for the sect. Leander had even managed to land one of the definitive blows. Using an air-aspect technique. It would have been easier if he'd evolved to sound mana. But it wasn't necessary. Laurel proved that with the way she could hear everything, or push her voice so it sounded like she was right behind them. He would figure out the shouting thing eventually.

He frowned. Or maybe not. Laurel wanted him to advance and evolve his aspect. She wasn't forcing him, but she refused to forget about it either. It was slowly wearing him down. It had been five years of cultivating, and he still felt no connection to the daggers he used. He was competent because of his practice, not any real talent. Lightning seemed even further away. Even fire was difficult. A spark was easy. But anything more elaborate and he felt no inclination to learn or grow in that direction.

Where did that leave him? A half-rate air cultivator. But a cultivator walked their path to the end, he was sure of that. Quitting at the first hurdle was not how he would become a master in his own right.

A tiny voice niggled in the back of his mind. That maybe a path that went in a different direction wasn't a bad thing, and that he wasn't forced into the decisions he'd made at thirteen.

He barely heard the rest of the meeting. As they filed out, all he was left with was a vague approval to the old-timers that worked through six hours of boring discussions, none of which he would be able to recall later. Along with a growing concern that maybe he had no idea what he was doing after all.

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