40 - The Thaumaturgical Institute

When Saffra slunk down the stairs the next morning, she was sneaking strange looks at Vivi. A few minutes into their breakfast, Vivi had to ask. She put her fork down.

“Okay. What is it?”

Saffra jumped. “What? What is what?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Me? I’m not looking at you like anything. Um.” She squirmed with her gaze flitting shiftily around. She blurted out, “So, what’s the plan today?”

Vivi wasn’t sure what had prompted the behavior, but she set her curiosity aside. Her discussion with Tilly had made it clear that trying to pry something out of Saffra would be counterproductive at best, and harmful at worst.

“The Institute, primarily,” Vivi said. “I need to meet someone there. You can join me, or not. It’s your choice.”

Saffra stiffened, then forced herself to relax. “I might be recognized by someone.”

“I’ll use an [Illusion].”

After a long moment, Saffra mumbled, “I think I’d rather just not.”

A short silence. “That’s fine too. But just so you know, I’ll be busy today.”

She had a laundry list of tasks, the prioritized order being: visiting the Institute, addressing William’s imprisonment, contacting one of Vanguard’s prior craftsmen to complete the Quest, and putting together a set of gear for Saffra. She wanted to take Saffra hunting afterward, since practical experience was as important to progress as academic study. Levels were nothing to scoff at, even if fundamental skill mattered too.

“How’s [Scorchlance] coming?”

Saffra happily accepted the change in topic. “Getting close to invocation, I think. It’s a tricky spell.”

“Certainly more complex than the ones I saw in your grimoire,” Vivi agreed. “Many times more efficient too. You’ll be pleased by the result.”

Saffra perked up. “I bet.” Her voice grew excited. “It’s tier four, and one of your spells. It’ll totally be worth the headache.”

Vivi smiled—internally, at least. Her body was ever reluctant to show such emotions. “At a minimum, I’ll set aside a few hours each day to continue your lessons.” While busy, she’d been serious about her promise to train Saffra, even if she had bigger-picture goals that demanded her attention. “This evening, probably. Is there anything you need from me before I go?”

Saffra shook her head.

“You’ll be staying here?” Vivi asked.

“No plans,” she responded with a one-shoulder shrug. “I’ll just keep practicing.”

“Once you reach invocation, I’ll take you hunting.” Scraping the last of her food into her mouth, she finished her plate, set her fork down, and stood. “Try not to get into trouble.”

Saffra gave her a dubious look, and she didn’t need to voice her thoughts aloud for Vivi to know what she meant.

“And I’ll try to do the same,” she replied dryly.

How much of a debacle could she really get into, visiting one of the world’s strongest archmages?

***

The Thaumaturgical Institute towered over Meridian from the far south of the city, visible at every street corner. A titanic slab composed of polished white bricks speared upward, at least a hundred stories tall. Suspended walkways fanned out from the central tower, elegant sky-bridges connecting it to dozens of annexes and observatories. The structure was a miracle of magical engineering defying at least a dozen natural laws of architecture.

But the building’s impressive construction took second place to the greatest achievement of the campus. The Institute featured a true crowning jewel that made it a wonder the world over. The tower rested on a floating chunk of earth a quarter-mile in diameter, the monolith of dirt and stone straining to break free from the gargantuan taut-drawn chains securing it to the ground. It floated a mere fifty feet—not far, hardly a true sky island like those found in the Sky-Pillar Range, yet a miracle of magic nonetheless.

There was no seeming intent behind the enchantment and barely-airborne chunk of land besides, undoubtedly, the collective instinct of mages everywhere to show off. Which Vivi secretly approved of.

The game’s lore had never explained who had created the anti-gravity enchantment, or how. As she took a magical elevator upward, she found her thoughts churning, developing a solution of her own. It would be an undertaking indeed, to create an enchantment on that level that could hold for centuries. Even she wouldn’t have the requisite mana…maybe.

While she was perhaps the world’s strongest individual mage, there was a quality in quantity, and the alumni of the Institute—which represented near all of humanity by proxy—could work miracles through the wonder of collaboration. Which was why she’d outsourced the dimensional anomaly to those men and women. They would be far more capable of deciphering its secrets than she.

The elevator slowed and shuddered to a stop. The attendant lifted the rope from its brass hook to let her pass. She stepped onto the Institute’s campus, and her eyes drifted upward—neck craning to see the top. The tower was even more impressive up close.

Saffra would have made a useful guide here, but Vivi wouldn’t insist she join and potentially run into old friends and enemies for something so trivial. She could find her own way around. It was probably for the best she had declined the offer anyway, since Vivi intended to investigate Saffra’s expulsion, and speaking with Archmage Aeris would require privacy.

Rafael had arranged the meeting under the fake identity of Nysari Keresi, a visiting demonic noblewoman of the First Blood. A much more inconspicuous name for a demon than ‘Vivienne’, she would admit. Unsurprisingly, he had a better instinct for subterfuge than she.

So far as demonic social structure went, belonging to the First Blood made Nysari someone the Institute couldn’t ignore—even with so little notice and for one as prominent as Archmage Aeris. The First Blood was equivalent to, if not acting as the head of, at least being from a ducal family. Rafael would have sought a higher title if not for how impossible arranging an identity of even the First Blood had been. He’d had many years to plant and foster those seeds, and had secured permission from the Keresi family themselves.

Rafael had informed her during discussions yesterday that Vivisari, in acknowledgement of her accomplishments during the Cataclysm Campaigns, had been elevated from Second Blood to honorary Primogenitor’s Blood. Which made her, unfortunately, a demonic princess by title. She was still coming to terms with that. Taking on the mantle of Vivisari was going to be a serious headache.

She had debated how to approach Aeris. Whether she should visit without a disguise. But Rafael, interestingly, had advised against that. He’d told her that catching someone by surprise gave invaluable insight into their character. Aeris’s reaction might be revealing. Rafael didn’t seem to mistrust him, but neither did the opposite appear true. Vivi suspected there was no one Rafael trusted implicitly. Maybe not even her. She’d certainly gotten the impression that even the craftsmen weren’t free from his scrutiny.

That said, Rafael hadn’t wanted her to show up unannounced in Aeris’s office. ‘He may have grown rusty in his years of retirement,’ he had said dryly, ‘but he is one of the most formidable casters of the modern age nevertheless. Please don’t force a fight, Lady Vivisari. I shudder to imagine the ensuing fallout.’

Personally, Vivi wanted to see what spells a startled archmage war veteran responded with to a surprise visit, but recognized that was an inappropriate way to deal with a potential ally.

The layout of the Institute was simple enough that she easily found a reception building. She explained herself to an impatient-sounding woman whose attitude flipped the moment the words ‘meeting with Archmage Aeris’ left her mouth. Vivi was pretty sure the woman had, unfortunately, assumed her a lost student. And not one from the upper years. Why had she made her avatar so short, again?

A handful of minutes later, she was taking a magical elevator up to Archmage Aeris’s office on the sixty-fifth floor.

***

Tatiana’s outstretched arm trembled, channeling mana from her palm, into her staff, and out into the air. She sucked in quick breaths through clenched teeth, her attention rapt for the developing spell diagram. This time, she would get it. This would not be her thousandth failure; it would be her first success. One had to visualize to achieve.

She painstakingly painted the last shaky rune into the air, and—

The spell collapsed in on itself. She flinched as the mana imploded into a hyper-dense, marble-sized singularity of pure energy, then exploded outward, twisting, warping, taking on a life of its own, gleefully pursuing the most violent and chaotic interpretation of the ordered design she had dared to impose upon it. It, magic, a primordial force of nature, a force that loved, above all else, inspiring awe. And awe was often terrible indeed.

At least, that was what would have happened if Master Aeris hadn’t dismissively waved a wrinkled hand.

“[Dispel],” he said, an afterthought.

The mana dispersed, breaking apart and fading from her magical senses into the inert background glow of atmospheric mana.

Tatiana would never get used to that. How quickly Master Aeris could cast even high-tier magic like [Dispel]. Tier seven, cast like it was a tier zero. Tatiana had barely caught the spell circle’s formation, a dozen streams of mana snapping out and painting the twenty-eight complex runes so fast she could’ve blinked and missed it.

But that was humanity’s most powerful archmage. For all the opportunity it presented, it was immensely demoralizing having a master so far ahead of her. She’d reached level seven hundred and thirty just two days ago…yet Master Aeris doubled her in levels, likely. Which was absurd to even consider.

“Excellent try,” Master Aeris said, stroking his long, pointed white beard. “I do believe, if not for the mangling of Thruraz, you would’ve succeeded. Alas, almost only matters for our friends down in the evocation hall.” He chuckled. “Spatial magics are not so forgiving.”

Master Aeris wasn’t one to mince words. He was never unkind with his insights, but neither did he ever fail to call out mistakes. Often without regard for tact.

Mangling. She hadn’t mangled it. Maybe that rune had been rough around the edges, a little sloppy by her standards, but…okay, fine. Did he need to phrase it like that, though? She was already frustrated.

Taking a deep breath, she lowered her staff and wiped her forehead of sweat. Her eyes flicked to the timekeeper on the wall.

“Your appointment is coming up.”

“Appointment?” Master Aeris’s bushy white eyebrows furrowed. “I have an appointment?”

“Yes, Master Aeris. I mentioned it this morning.”

And the night prior, for that matter.

Despite what some people at the Institute liked to imply, Tatiana’s master was far from senile. He had simply stopped caring about ‘trivialities’, as he put it, long ago. She sympathized. There was only so much space in a person’s head, and Master Aeris’s had surely been crammed to the brim with spell designs a full century ago.

Certainly, minutiae like meetings and where he’d left his inscription tools the other day were evicted without second thought. Hence she was as much a secretary for this man as an apprentice. Not that she minded.

“What for?” he asked, caterpillar-like brow staying furrowed as he searched his memory but failed to locate what he was seeking. “When? Is it important?”

“A visiting ambassador from the demons. First Blood. No reason provided, just that it’s urgent.”

“First Blood?” he asked, starting in surprise. “Which family?”

“Keresi.”

Tatiana was only vaguely aware of demonic social structure. She knew Third Bloods made up the commoner class, and that unlike the human kingdoms, demonic nobility were expected to cultivate their classes. An insufficient level was a mark of extreme disgrace. That meant very few adult First Bloods would be anything less than orichalcum-rank—and combining that amount of personal power with significant political influence made demonic nobles people you treated very carefully.

Those of the Primogenitor’s Blood were all Titled, in the process of becoming so, or had died trying. Mostly the last, as was natural.

“Keresi? Ah…yes. I taught one some decades back. Talented boy, if a bit bloodthirsty.” His expression darkened. “Not a bad trait in a mage, mind you. However we dress it up these days, magic is a tool for killing, a noble purpose indeed.” He locked serious eyes to her. “We coddle your generation too much, Tatiana. We value strength too little. There is a time for a gentle hand, and a firm hand, and I fear we may have lost the latter.”

He said such things often, though more as idle commentary. Aeris attempted to change very little about the Institute or the world; he had pursued his retirement in all aspects, focusing only on his love for magic and teaching. But in the end, he was a war veteran of a dark and violent age. He had seen more blood than a slaughterhouse. It was difficult to reconcile that knowledge with his kind, grandfatherly behavior sometimes.

“Never mind that, though,” he said, brightening as he dispelled the thoughts. Mood swings were not uncommon for him. “Keresi. Didn’t say why? Should be interesting. I believe that’s her coming up the stairs now. She must be early.”

Tatiana paused, confused, as Master Aeris headed for the door. Then she remembered that, for all he was a mage, he had reached an absurd level, and his physical abilities were far from insignificant despite his mage-type class. He probably heard the woman’s shoes clicking up the stone stairs, or something of that sort.

He tottered over to the door with a bent back, leaning heavily on his cane, though there was a firmness and surety in his movements nevertheless. An interesting contradiction, his level vying with his sheer age. Aeris was ancient by human standards. He’d been old before the Party of Heroes had conquered the Cataclysms. He was a relic from another era.

Tatiana hurried to shadow him. It wasn't every day she met a demonic foreigner of the First Blood. An orichalcum-rank mage would be interesting by default. The apparently urgent nature of the meeting made her doubly curious. Not many people could force an audience with an archmage on so little notice.

Master Aeris swung open the door. There, on the other side, fist raised midair to knock, stood a short demonic woman.

Nysari Keresi.