The last echoes of prophecy had barely faded when a polite knock startled Aaron upright. A hand rested gently on his shoulder, grounding him. 'It's just a servant', came a voice that shouldn't have been able to speak.

Aaron frowned. The words echoed, distorting his vision. Who had spoken? He knew the voice. Maybe the Knowing Sage, putting on a mysterious tone. No one else could've entered without him noticing—right?

A white-robed Favored entered the room and fell to one knee. "Honored Sage, I bring two messages. One is from the Honored High Priestess. The other for the Hellion's Matriarch. She suggests that it would have consequences if I don't deliver the message."

Aaron noted the Sage tense. Slowly, something terrible and ancient seeped into the room. Goosebumps ran all over Aaron's body and his breath stopped. I can't forget that he is a monster even the ten demigod-like Sages fear. He bit into the tip of his tongue. I will not forget again that he isn't a harmless old man.

The old monster's voice was carefully polite and controlled. "Tell the Honored High Priestess the Champion is still recovering under the hand of the Sage of Blood's chief disciple and is in a fragile state."

Then a predator's madness glinted mercilessly in the man's eyes. "And hand the Matriarch's messenger a missive that tells her to meditate on why the natural order is as it is—and what happens to those unfortunates who misunderstand their station."

The messenger grew even more stiff with each word. "Honored Sage, I…"

The dreadful aura disappeared like water down a drain and was replaced with a kind smile.

"Tell the herald that if you or anyone in my employ is injured, I will see it as an invitation for a practice assault on their ancestral manor. After all, I have not fought an entire clan in a long time." Aaron's stomach twisted. The casual way he said it made it worse.

The Favored bowed and left the room. Aaron stared at the Knowing Sage. "You could really do that? Don't they have several Grandmasters?"

As the last word left the Sage's mouth, the room lightened—as if a predator had passed.

Then laughter erupted behind Aaron. He spun around. The mindmage stood there casually, sipping wine. Wait—was he always here? A chill ran down Aaron's spine. "What—"

The Sage groaned and shook his head. "Self-censor. It's an anti-memetic spell that lets people nearby rationalize anything about your presence, believing that you're not there. Phantasmomancy at its worst."

Aaron blinked, struggling to remember if he had ever noticed the man enter. The mind-mage laughed even louder but controlled himself after a short while. "Cognimancy at its very best, I say. And as an infomancer, the Smith has not given you any stone to stand on for such complaints."

He turned to Aaron, who was smiling as he followed the exchange between his two seniors. "Tell me, Champion—would you fear more the one who sees your every move before you make it, or the one you never notice standing behind you?"

Aaron swallowed but then tilted his head. This might be a problem I'm faced with at some point. Seeing the future seems limited, so an infomancer can probably be forced into losing positions and then defeated. Mind-mages, on the other hand… "Skill and planning can defeat an infomancer, but a mind-mage is a strategic threat if he could appear anywhere, anytime, and extract information from anyone."

The Knowing Sage nodded, and the two men glared at each other for a moment, their smiles broadening. Then the Sage replied to Aaron. "That is close to the common wisdom. But I would argue that it only applies to the lower ranks of skill. But this is an old debate we lack the time for."

Still smiling, the mind-mage's average face looked at Aaron. "We still have the rest of a prophecy to dissect, after all."

Aaron nodded, as dread already crept up his spine. The later lines aren't much better. Maybe there is something nice in there?

"When prophet and serpent in ruin wade."

"Prophet refers to the magic of Faith, a Credomancer. Serpent... I get an impression of the serpent in the apple tree that beguiles women. A smooth-talker."

Aaron frowned. Is that serpent story what happened in the Old Testament?

The mind-mage tsked loudly. "This one is obvious, at least. Conflict among the Purists—Odessis Albastis Ultima and his chosen mentor for you, Keios Albastis Donia—are designed to end up in conflict. The worm's insight for knowing what you will over the old dog, Aaron."

But Aaron's mouth had gaped open since hearing the second sentence. The Albastis family. They were Purists. He swallowed hard, then looked at both men in turn. "Are my squad-mates Purists as well?"

The Knowing Sage shook his head after exchanging a look with the mind-mage. "Very unlikely. Though they might know some of their family's politics. I would suggest you see if the girl is interested in you. She could be the breach in the armor of the Purists we need."

His smile made the temperature in the room drop by several degrees. The mind-mage nodded and smirked as he noticed Aaron's discomfort. "Those who want to truly play the Great Game must learn to enjoy it. Keios is a sophist looking for a challenge. He might defect just because that is the more interesting path. Aaron, you should really lean into his gift of the estate to get closer to him."

Numbness spread through Aaron's chest. We're treating them like chess pieces. Numbers on a page. Then the memory hit—what they really were. Child-killers. He tightened his jaw and narrowed his eyes. "I will do what it takes to destroy them with the least damage possible."

The Sage merely nodded, but the mind-mage smiled warmly. Then the Sage made an expansive gesture. "I applaud your resolution, but we are not yet done analyzing the prophecy."

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He took a deep breath and intoned the dreadful words again:

"When the Mother tips scales with fleeting breath, And countless fathers sing of death…"

"The Devouring Mother. A renewed balance of life."

He let out a heavy breath, and Aaron noticed the droplets of sweat running down his forehead, distorting the scene. He isn't just explaining—he is interpreting a deeper aspect of the prophecy. A price will have to be paid. A devastating one.

The Sage let out a shuddering breath and slumped back in his orecliner. A somber silence settled over them. After a while, the mind-mage leaned back and gave Aaron a strained smile. "Always nice to hear that your plans will be successful, right?"

Aaron gave him a tight-lipped smile. Let's just hope that we won't win a pyrrhic victory. The Sage shook his head while forcing a strained smile. He wiped the sweat off his brows, then pulled a cord.

Aaron stayed silent as the words echoed through his skull. The Sage exhaled, clearing the weight in the room. "We should move to more pleasant matters. The plan is set. You will strike the lower ranks—and draw closer to the Albastis."

Aaron closed his eyes for a heartbeat, gathering his resolve.

"Yes, let's do that."

The same Favored servant entered the room, followed by two female Favored. They brought sliced fruits, cheese, and olives alongside the golden wine the locals favored. The Knowing Sage thanked them. Aaron sighed in irritation as the mind-mage entered his awareness again after the servants were gone. "Why do you do that?"

The Knowing Sage chuckled and shook his head. The mind-mage steepled his fingers. "To preserve an aura of dreadful mystique, of course."

He helped himself to some cheese and washed it down with a generous amount of wine. Aaron and the Sage followed the man's example, and for a while, companionable silence filled the room.

The meal had settled into silence, and Aaron let the wine soothe the knot in his chest. The Sage broke the quiet with a calm but pointed tone. "There are two matters still unresolved. One is tactical. The other... is you. Your personality has flaws. You need a better way of dealing with your experiences than just brushing them over with cynicism."

Aaron froze, an olive halfway to his mouth. A flash of anger heated his stomach as his shoulders tensed. He forced out tightly controlled words. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Precisely the annoyance and emotionality that is overcoming you right now. You have a vicious temper and a tendency towards melancholy. Furthermore—"

Aaron glared across his plate. "Even if that is true, I do not see how that is any of your damned concern." Aaron interrupted the mind-mage's idle commentary with a raised voice.

The mind-mage licked and touched a napkin, waving a chicken leg at Aaron. "It becomes my concern when my men have to shoot hands off your fellow students you provoked. Or when you provoke the chief religious authority into holding you at gunpoint while you fight the Genius Loci of our Pillar. Edict's wrath, Aaron, we all have our flaws."

He looked Aaron straight into the eyes. "What matters is how we work on them."

Aaron leaned forward—then a spike of thought slammed into him. 'Notice your breath. Your fists. Your jaw. Wrath and pride are sins for a reason. They bring the Weaver's curse—on the weak and those near them.'

Aaron flinched back and yelped, clutching his head with both hands. A pounding headache crashed into his mind like a tidal wave. Fuck, this hurts. Is he right? The image of Creios' blood splattering over the table, over him, flashed up in his mind. I have to do better. He let out a long breath and met the eyes studying him.

"What do you suggest I do? That I just control myself?"

The Knowing Sage shook his head. "That is naught but foolish advice. The bestial and social parts of your mind control us all. Just study and understand them."

Aaron tilted his head, curiosity replacing anger. "What do you mean?"

The mind-mage tore into the chicken leg and chewed while holding up a finger, putting the conversation on hold. He smacked his lips. "Most people are vain about their appearance, but not about their character. It's a bookworm's riddle, in truth. How much time do we spend studying our faces in mirrors, yet how little time do we spend studying our minds?"

Aaron frowned but nodded slightly towards the end. True, few people ever truly work on themselves.

The Knowing Sage exhaled while shaking his head. "What your dear cabal leader wants to say is that you should know yourself. Share your experiences and see how others see them. It grounds your self-image by reflecting on its many facets. Writing dialogues between your different desires also serves such purposes."

A chuckle from the mind-mage's side of the room interrupted the Sage. "What my long-winded colleague is attempting to share is that we should talk about certain events and our perspectives. And that your mental journals' excess should be directed towards self-study from now on."

Both men studied Aaron in silence. He looked between them and leaned back. I've had trouble with my impulses for as long as I can remember. But... I don't want everything to be my fault. Then again, I'm literally getting life advice from centuries-old people. Fuck it, trying won't hurt.

He let out a long breath, then straightened. "Okay, how do we do this?"

Two warm smiles met him. And so began a long and intense afternoon. Aaron shared about the dinner, how he had found it natural to say the next thing to push Creios' anger onwards. The two men did not condemn him; instead, they shared how their own enjoyment of power had gotten them into trouble. Then they talked about the incident with the priestess, and Aaron felt his gut clench as he came to understand what he had done. I basically took a dump on the altar of a chapel. Fuck.

Late in the evening, as the skylight turned red and the cold light of the moonband fell in through the windows, he shared how the experiments and the fight against the monkeys had been for him. Nothing but understanding and gentle inquiries met his hesitant words. Why can they be so understanding and gentle here, but so vicious and cruel at other times?

The image of the naked group of bodied slaves flashed before his eyes. As did the faces of slaves he had killed in the trial. They faded into the night's conversation.

After a long while, Aaron's breath slowed. Sleep took him before he could fight it—gripping the sheets like a shield. Despite the weight of prophecy settling in his bones, this had been a good day.

Only then did the two mages rise without a word and slip into the night, their presence like shadows peeling off the walls. They got up and left the room, taking the wine with them. In silence, they walked down dark corridors, neither needing additional light to see. Soon, they slipped through an unlit hallway, then emerged onto a colonnaded terrace. It overlooked the lake on one side and the ghostly white mesa on the other. Both gazed over the scene, watering their thoughts generously from their respective bottles.

Without looking over, the mind-mage spoke up softly. "Thank you for doing this. How did it go?"

A long sigh answered him. The other man was taking care of his nosebleed. He had overtaxed himself. "Eighty-seventh percentile. We got ahead of that mother-rotten Magister's idiocy."

The Sage paused and strode the moonlit colonnade on the curved world of the habitat above them. Just as the mind-mage took in air to speak, he continued. "We were lucky that he fought so well. A world where he got torn apart ends worse. But now, he trusts us. We might have a chance."

The Grandmaster nodded, took a long drink, and gazed at the other man for the first time in a while. "Thank you for supporting us."

The Sage's voice grew sharp. "I support the Champion and your action against the Purists. Never forget your fault in what happened to her."

The other man nodded solemnly. He got up and bowed at the hip. Then he took his wine bowl and vaulted off the balcony in silence. It took considerable willpower for the Sage to remember he hadn't been drinking alone.

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