18th December (Thursday), Night time

Given the scale of this place, I half-expected we'd be left waiting for hours before anyone deigned to answer us. So, while Thomas shifted restlessly beside me, I began shaping a mental picture of a square farther back—a little plaza paved with bricks and ringed by a low wall shaped like shelves stacked with books. Around it, circles of trees. Some held birds, others books with wings of paper. A few sat open, their pages rustling in the breeze, but instead of birdsong only whispers drifted out: fragments of stories, fragments of truths.

I intended to paint it into my spellbook later, to carve myself a backdoor here without passing through the front gate and its guardians again. Whether I'd ever have the time to do it, that was another matter.

"How come anyone can just walk into this place?" Thomas asked suddenly, glancing at the guards. They had stepped back, widening their half-circle to give us breathing room, though their presence was anything but casual.

The same one that had spoken earlier shifted forward. The same one who had spoken with us—Cedric—stepped closer to answer. This time, he didn't reach for his blade or his rifle.

"This is a hall of knowledge. Any student of these halls is welcome to come and go. Our charge is to ensure that Guild business does not interfere with this order."

"Paper guardians are part of this place's natural defense, aren't they?" I asked. "You're just… cooperating with them."

Its masked face turned toward me. "I am not at liberty to disclose that information."

"Why do you work for the Guild?" I asked, curious why anyone would dedicate themselves to an organization like this.

"What do you mean why? It's my duty." Strange answer.

"I meant why did you start working for them, not why now."

"I started because it was my duty," he said again, then straightened slightly. "Right—I forgot. You are a sourceress, not a legacy mage. I joined because my mother is in the Guild, and her father was too, and his parents before him. It's the clearest path for many mages to accomplish something."

"My questions might seem mundane to you, but I was genuinely interested. A year ago I knew nothing about this world—no Guilds, no legacies."

"Why do you want to join, then?"

"Do I have alternatives if I want to learn something?"

"I don't know. My whole life I've been prepared to be accepted into our Domain and the Guild. I never looked for alternatives."

"Why are you on guard duty?"

"Most people either start in bureaucratic work or armed service. We chose the latter."

"So you're a hexblade?"

"No. Hexblades are also armed, but more of a policing force. The elite." This guy sure liked to talk.

"We are elites as well, Cedric," another guard interjected from farther back. His voice was heavier, more imposing. "Best guards the Guild has ever seen." Judging by Thomas's expression and the arms crossed over his chest, he clearly didn't buy it.

"When can we expect someone to come for us?" Thomas asked, clearly uninterested in the debate.

"Soon, Mr. Thomas Torque. We've been notified to expect you, which means you're a high priority—since we're never notified when someone unimportant comes."

He sighed, his arms relaxing slightly. "I'm not important here. But my message is, and I'd rather be on my way back home already."

"Where do you live, Mr. Torque?" the guardian asked.

"New York."

"Fortunately, that's not too far."

"Yeah, but I still have to drive back, and it's night outside."

"It's night in here too."

"Yeah, but it doesn't seem to stop most people from going about their business. Does no one sleep in this world?" I realized how little he still knew about this place.

"Shadows don't sleep, and we are the night shift," Cedric answered, just as someone important finally emerged from the tower ahead. I knew immediately. She was preceded and followed by two attendants each, giving her a detail of four additional guards. All were clad in armor that had transcended function to become art.

Eagle-like patterns spread across chest plates, shoulder guards, and arm-bands, each feather etched with painstaking precision. Leg armor mirrored the ornate design. Capes, shorter than the guards', were stylized like the American flag—but instead of stars, five full moons arranged in a perfect pentagram gleamed on the blue field.

The woman herself wore a long black-and-purple robe, with intricate golden embroidery reminiscent of my very own Lóng. Her bosom was neatly caged in a bodice-like element, giving her the appearance of a sorceress straight out of a fantasy book. She even wore a leathery, witch-like hat dyed deep purple, with a few long feathers tucked into the belt around its base.

Her face was that of a middle-aged woman, used to frustration or anger. Countless wrinkles around her forehead and eyes were unmistakable signs of years spent in command. Her eyes remained half-open, fixed and straight, while her lips curved into a smile that was far too forced.

Judging by her apparent gender, I made an educated guess that she wasn't the Guild Master himself, but rather a representative.

"Attention!" Cedric shouted, and the human guards snapped to rigid attention, as if invisible tethers yanked them upright. The paper guardians moved aside as well, forming a tunnel through which the lady and her detail could pass.

As she approached, she stopped a few feet away from us, surrounded by her people.

"Lady of the Tower, Mistress of the Moons, Grand Magister of Knowledge, Anna Draven," Cedric announced. Even worse than the usual titles my professors loved to bore their students with. I suspected they could be shortened, but I said nothing. It was still primarily Thomas's responsibility, and I didn't want to make things harder for him.

"Bow." Cedric added, and every guardian—human and paper alike—complied. I followed suit, with Thomas giving his respect last.

I saw her eyes light up slightly, the corners lifting into a true smile as we lowered our heads. She clearly adored her position far too much.

"Mr. Thomas Torque, I believe your benefactor has sent something requiring my attention. Present it to me." Her voice was melodious, and if I wasn't mistaken, it carried a note of Authority in itself.

Thomas, without a word, reached for the envelope hidden in his jacket. This was unlike him—normally he would have asked who exactly she was in relation to the Guild Master—so I stepped in.

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"Excuse me, we were supposed to make sure this document reaches the Guild Master or his representative. Your titles made an impression, but we are now versed in the Guild's nomenclature and would need confirmation that you indeed are a representative." My words made Thomas pause, snapping him out of his momentary enchantment. Anna's face grew more serious.

"I am Grand Magister of Knowledge. There are four grand magisters in total, and we answer only to the Guild Master himself. Take it as a sign of goodwill that I've opened my mouth to you." She addressed me in the most benevolent manner possible. What a bitch.

At least it was confirmation enough for Thomas, for he handed her the letter, and she slipped it into a hidden pocket of her robe.

"Inform your benefactor that we shall prepare a response and deliver it at the appropriate time." What a reply. It said nothing at all, but once again, it wasn't my problem to untangle. I was just a witness here.

"I will," Thomas responded. "If that is all, I'd like to get going."

"That is all, human."

Thomas didn't react to her superiority complex at all. He bowed politely and came closer to me.

"Should I wait for you?" he asked. I turned my head, and he followed the path down the rabbit hole.

Once he was gone, the magical goddess of all that is enchanted—Anna—simply turned and returned to her tower, while everyone beside her furred entourage bowed—me included.

As she disappeared, I approached Cedric again, curious to know what he looked like beneath his armored mask.

"Should I get going as well, or will someone come down to meet with me too? If not, I've got quite a lot on my plate, and I wouldn't want to waste time."

"We've sent word about you as well," Cedric replied, his voice even. "But since you are not of the utmost importance, like Mr. Torque was, you will have to be patient. Someone will come in due time."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Can I make this approach faster somehow? Should I… show you what I can do?"

"No need. We already have a baseline. There is a mage with the same Domain as yours working for the Guild."

"The what? The same Domain?"

"Artistic Creation. She is a legacy mage, but with quite a reputation."

That made my ears perk up. "Now you've got me interested. Can I get her name?"

"No. Names are not given freely here, unless someone has the power to stand behind them—like Grand Magister Anna Draven."

"So this other artist woman doesn't have that power?"

"It is not for me to decide. I was merely making the observation that Magister Anna does."

"What about your Domain? Can you share it? You seem like a cool guy and your name was shared freely as well."

He shifted back a little. I'd overstepped—damn. He was going to bunker down.

"A name was shared. I am not at liberty to disclose anything more," he said flatly.

"I see." I forced a little shrug. "Then I'll wait a bit, if you don't mind."

Ignoring the lot of them, I vaulted up onto the hollow arch of the entrance and sat there, swinging one leg like a bored child, while their eyes followed me in silence.

**********

Two hours dragged by and nothing of substance happened. At one point, some poor sourcerer stumbled into the portal by accident, but Cedric quickly ushered him back into the tunnel with a curt warning that it wasn't safe for him here.

I couldn't remember the last time I sat idle for two straight hours. My life was a blur of constant motion lately—runs, fights, risks, scheming. Sitting still like this felt less like rest and more like being trapped, every minute stretching out into an hour. Maybe if I were wasting time in my own home or Domain, I'd have tolerated it. But here, in the shadow of this grand, oppressive place, it felt unbearable.

So I snapped.

I summoned my Spellbook grimoire with a flicker of thought, its chain-clasp belt clinking as it wrapped itself around my waist. My watercolor pens and spray cans materialized alongside it. If I was going to rot here, I'd at least sketch out that little square I'd seen earlier. My mind needed something to chew on before it ate itself.

But of course, the moment I brought my art into this realm, I felt the shift in the air.

"Stop. What are you doing, Ms. Hare?"

Cedric's voice was sharp, and within seconds he and the other guards were moving. They spread around me in a semicircle, even the paper guardians folding closer, their ink-painted faces twisting into something far less neutral.

I might have made a mistake.

"We've seen you use magic," Cedric continued as he drew his wakizashi. Shadowlight hissed down the blade, coating the steel in hungry orange. "That is not permitted here. And you hold pen and paper, which—given your Domain—are tools of power. So I will ask this only once: stop, and explain yourself."

I raised my hands slightly, trying to ease the tension.

"Okay. First of all, I didn't know about any no-magic rule. How could I? No one told me. Second—" I gestured faintly toward the pens, "I was just bored. I wanted to draw something. Artistic Creation is my Domain, isn't it obvious that it's something I like to do?"

"Not knowing the law doesn't exempt you from following it," Cedric said evenly, though his tone softened just a fraction. Before I could reply, another guard cut in sharply:

"You leave now, or we kill you."

"Seriously?" I blinked at him. "Those are my only options?"

"Yes," he said flatly. "Offensive magic is punishable by exile or death. Since this is your first offense, you get the benefit of the doubt."

I spread my hands. "Wait, let me get this straight—you're a magic order that punishes… using magic?"

Cedric answered, patient as ever. "Yes. By those not part of the Order, when they are on our grounds. That is the rule."

"Oh. Well, when you put it like that—makes more sense." I hopped down from my perch, slipping the pen back into my bag. "But you really should put a list of laws somewhere near the entrance. Maybe a signpost. 'Welcome to the Guild, don't draw shit or die,' that sort of thing. Anyway, I'll take my leave then—"

"No, you won't."

The new voice carried over us, firm but smooth. A woman came striding quickly from one of the side alleys, her pace urgent but not rushed. The guardians immediately pivoted toward her and bowed as one. Even the paper ones folded themselves in reverence, then stepped back and sheathed their blades.

"Of course, milady," Cedric said.

"Milady?" I echoed under my breath.

"They're being dramatic," the woman said with a small smile. "Sorry it took me so long. I was tasked with measuring your aptitude, but—" her lips curved wryly, "I was… otherwise occupied."

She was older than me, though not by much—maybe mid-thirties. Her skin was smooth, though the faint lines near her eyes spoke of someone who laughed often. Her hair was striking: a pale blonde so light it was nearly white, falling loose except for a tie at the middle. She wore no visible makeup, or the kind subtle enough to make it seem that way, the effortless kind that only worked if you were already gorgeous.

Her jeans and flannel shirt were rumpled, buttons slightly misaligned, one pant leg higher than the other. She had only one sock on. The flush at her throat was fresh, warm, and hard to miss.

Clumsy and scatterbrained? Maybe. But everything about her screamed she'd just been tangled up in something… or with someone.

"I hope you finished…" I let the pause hang, watching her eyes widen. "…whatever you were doing before you came…" Another pause. Her cheeks went redder. "…here for me."

"You have an unusual way of speaking, Ms. Hare." She tried to regain composure, but the flush gave her away. With a small wave of her hand, she dismissed the guards, and once they were out of earshot, she turned back to me. "How did you know?"

"That you were banging?" I gambled, watching for a crack in her mask.

Her voice dropped to a hiss. "Yes!"

"For the record," I tilted my head toward the retreating guards, "I don't think they noticed. Everyone here seems so locked into following their little commandments, they're afraid to even share their names. But you? You dressed in a hurry… buttons mismatched, pant leg uneven, one sock missing. And you're in a good mood."

"That's it?" she asked, genuinely stunned.

"That's it. Sorry for killing the afterglow."

"Nah, it's fine. I got the message about you right before, but I was already… in the middle of things. So I made you wait." She arched a brow. "Hope you don't mind?"

"I was bored out of my fucking mind," I said flatly. That broke her into laughter. "I summoned my sketchbook just to keep busy, and apparently that's punishable by death around here. Lucky for me, that's when you—well—came."

She laughed harder, wiping at her eyes. "I like you already, Jess. May I call you Jess?"

"Not sure yet," I pushed back, folding my arms. "You seem awfully friendly for someone here to measure my aptitude. I need a baseline before I decide."

"That's fair," she said, still smiling. "I guess it comes with the Domain. They sent me because we share one, actually. Otherwise, you'd probably have someone much less fun."

"You're the other Artistic Creation mage?"

"Yes. My grandfather was Max Weber." She extended her hand lightly. "I go by Nat. Short for Natalie."

My head tilted. "Max Weber—the cubism and fauvism master?"

"The same."

"I didn't know he was a mage."

"Most people don't. That part rarely makes it into art history classes."

That made me laugh, but at the same time, something pricked at the back of my mind. Her warmth, her friendliness, her ease—it could all be real. Or it could be the play.

"So the Guild picked you just because we share the Domain?" I asked, testing her.

"No. Not usually. But I was here tonight, so they fetched me."

"And you don't mind telling me your name outright? What's the risk there?"

"That's just a precaution some people take. It's not a law." Nat shrugged. "There are Domains tied to Names—mages who can twist them to their advantage. So most folks stay cautious. But from what I know, actually using a name against someone is difficult. Our authority resists that kind of meddling."

"Good to know." I extended my hand, watching her reaction carefully. "Jessica Hare. Jess, if you like. Sorceress of the Domain of Artistic Creation. Now—what's this test you mentioned?"

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