“Laurel, this week’s meat delivery was missing a few things, and the vegetable wholesaler was two days late.”

  “Sorry about that Esther, I’ll drop in and talk to them.”

  “Thank you dear. I hate to add to the lists but we really need it resolved today.”

  Laurel stopped her march towards the stairs and turned back around. “I’m on it.”

  Then she was out the door again. Despite the fact she had already confirmed orders with their suppliers earlier in the week. And that their order didn’t actually change week to week. But why would they ever be able to deliver on time without her input? Really that was asking too much.

  Not bothering with the normal cabs or a long walk, Laurel launched herself into the air and towards their food supplier’s warehouse. On the way she forcibly unclenched her jaw. In the few minutes it took to master herself she had arrived.

  Spotting her prey, she slammed down in front of a short man with the kind of broad shoulders that came from a lifetime of labor. His minions scattered, and the man himself went pale and backed up towards the wall.

  “Mister Hillion! What a coincidence running into you again so soon. You know, I seem to have run into a problem. Even though we confirmed earlier, there was an issue with the order for the sect house. Now that I have you here, do you have a moment to discuss?”

  Was she shouting? Yes. Was she going to stop? No.

  “Ah, yes, our deepest apologies, sectmaster. An error on the part of one of our newer clerks,” the man stammered. “Of course we will make it right by the end of the day.”

  “How good to hear! I’m sure we’ll talk again next week.”

  She didn’t wait for a reply before she was off again, back towards the sect house.

  This time, she made it all the way up the first flight of stairs before anyone found her. Cooper happened to enter the hallway at the same time as her, carrying an open book in one hand and an apple in the other.

  “Laurel! I’m so glad I ran into you. I was working through this instruction manual and I wanted to get your opinion.”

  Laurel kept her sigh internal as she ushered him back into the classroom.

  “Show me.”

  Cooper handed over the book. He munched through his apple while he explained his thoughts. “The description of the cultivation is incredible. The cultivator narrating was able to turn a regular mountain into a volcano in order to entomb the enemy stronghold. Then turned the area into an inland sea to keep people out. Not to mention the traps and monsters he left behind.

  “It’s incredible. I didn’t think one person could do so many different kinds of magic.”

  “That’s because they can’t,” Laurel said, breaking the boy's heart. “This is an old story, but not one that ever happened. Everyone has to choose a path and walk it; eventually everyone chooses what to cultivate and who to be.”

  “Oh.”

  Laurel grimaced at the sad expression looking back at her.

  “Of course, that was foolish of me.”

  “It’s not your fault. The author retold the story in the first person so it reads like a journal. Anyone could have made the mistake.”

  “Right, yeah, that makes sense. I guess it’s obvious now that you say it, I just kind of wanted it to be true.”

  Laurel clapped him on the shoulder, having to reach up a ways to do so. “You’ll find your path, Coop. And right now, my path leads to my office, so I have to run.”

  “Oh? Don’t you have a meeting at Fort Sarken this afternoon?”

  She ducked to the window to get a glimpse of the sun and swore.

  “Nevermind, my path leads to Fort Sarken. I’ll be back for dinner.” With a backwards wave she was off again. This time to speak to General Mansfeln. If she kept the man from ranting about all the problems she was causing, she might even keep the promise to be home for dinner.

  The flight to the fort was quick, and she was ushered through the labyrinth of administrative offices without delay, to find Manfeln and his usual crop of staff spread out. Curson was there as well, a pen holding up the usual no-nonsense expression.

  “Glad you could finally join us,” Mansfeln grunted out. The man hadn’t forgiven Laurel for missing the last beast wave, or for making him deal with Martin for months.

  She ignored the snark and greeted them both. Madam Curson made a few hand signals that were surely meant to be subtle, and a few of the hangers-on left the room. Manfeln just barked at his subordinates to leave, and afterwards only a small crowd remained.

  “We have something of a delicate situation, Sectmaster,” Curson said, ever the model of politeness. “There have been a few thefts in the Lapis district. That alone would be unfortunate but not unusual. However, the victims are claiming the perpetrators used magic.”

  “Did they?” Laurel asked. The full cultivators in the city were accounted for, but that didn’t preclude a mortal with the ability to intermittently control their mana, or a quirk of birth lending someone an advantage. She could name half a dozen families she’d encountered over the years with some form of mana manipulation that wouldn’t quite register as cultivation to her senses.

  “If they did, it was poorly done,” Curson continued. “The thief was apprehended quickly, and there have been no reports of anything magical since.”

  This time, she didn’t bother holding in the sigh. “Why am I here then? I know the both of you appreciate the demands of a busy schedule…”

  “Just because this one wasn’t one of your people, doesn’t mean the next one won’t be. Stars, we all know you recruited a merry band of street rats when you started,” Mansfeln spat at her. “What are we supposed to do to control someone that can shoot fire out of their eyes, or whatever nonsense comes next?”

  “Now, Bastien, that was unkind. What we mean to say is that while we are sure no members of the Eternal Archive would do anything untoward, the concern about containing a rogue magic-user is a valid one.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Laurel held her breath and counted to ten, following Annette’s advice on dealing with bureaucracy without relying on lightning as a bargaining tool. Then twenty and thirty when it didn’t work. When she was certain she could speak without ranting she gave them an answer.

  “If said person was an official resident of a City, and had bonded to the Core, then suppressing their cultivation would be easy. Of course that would require Verilia to actually be a City where residents were officially bonded. Since it was decided, for reasons, that the palace would not be forcing the point, our options are limited.

  “Without that capability you will need a cultivator of a higher strength to forcibly slow the thief’s mana flows, or a suppression formation of some sort. I’m sure the sect would be willing to sell some weaker, portable versions to the city.

  “Was there anything else?”

  Mansfeln looked like he was sucking on a lemon but shook his head.

  “We want to help, you know. We just have to work within the constraints of our position. No one wants to create a City and destroy the country in the process.” Curson’s words were polite but there was a reprimand not at all hidden in the tone.

  “I know,” Laurel sighed. “But that doesn’t make it less frustrating.”

  With a few smaller administrative questions out of the way, Laurel flew back to the sect.

  The sun had set by the time she was walking through the doors for the third time that day. Clinking forks led her to the dining hall, where most of the sect was halfway through dinner. She slumped into her chair at the head of the table, and helped herself. The chairs to either side, usually full of Adam and Annette sniping back and forth good-naturedly or Martin’s opinions on local entertainments were sitting empty, keeping her too far away to join any of the conversations without making it awkward. Instead she bolted down the admittedly delicious dinner and stood back up to get to her office. Then sat back down again as a few of the novices wanted to know when they would be allowed to open their meridians and she had to explain, again, that they needed to be able to actively cultivate for long enough to get through the entire process without stopping.

  Hours later, she sat down at her desk. The moonlight filtering in through the window illuminated two sheets of paper sitting in the center, and a neat stack of newspapers off to the side, where she’d set them before breakfast that morning. A cup of room temperature tea sat on the other end, staining a ring around the cup from being undisturbed all day.

  Laurel dragged her hands down her face and pulled the paper closer. It was time to get started on the task list for the day. She may have been overly ambitious in taking on all the sect officer roles at once, by herself, with about five minutes of preparation.

  ********

  The man across from George was an enigma. They had exchanged less than a few hundred words in the handful of days since leaving the sect. He couldn’t figure it out. Did John hate him or did the man really just not have anything to say? It was a mystery, one he would gladly put up with. This was the first time since arriving that George had felt secure enough to leave Verilia, and if things were a bit uncomfortable he would deal with it. He had been through far worse. The fact he could even notice the awkwardness was a testament to how lucky he’d been to join the sect. And that Laurel had decided not to gut him.

  The giant in question was whittling a surprisingly lifelike statue of one of the birds that lived in the hidden realm. The four wings were each articulated in mid-flight, with the long, trailing tail fronds carved into a gentle wave. ‘Bird’ might be stretching it a bit but they didn’t have a name for the things.

  George’s attention drifted back to his own project. The wooden case in his lap held two trays of bullets for his pistols. Over their breaks he had already infused the first tray and it was time to start on the second. He pulled one bullet out, careful not to jostle the others, and held it cupped between his hands. An effort of will and years of practice slowed his breathing pattern. His thoughts slowed and he dropped into the syrupy space of cultivating meditation. The meridians in his body were most defined in his head and hands, from spending so much time focusing his magic through the guns. When he was one with the rhythm of his mana flows, he directed a small amount out into the bullet. Just a tendril, a drop, the barest hint of his magic infused into the metal casing. As best as he was able, he held the mana in the metal and out of the powder.

  After another few breaths it was done. He blinked his eyes back into focus to find John staring straight at him. George flinched back just a hair, but the slight smirk on the other man’s face told him his response was noticed. Taking quick stock of his surroundings, he saw the bird was finished and John had moved on to carving one of the stick creatures.

  “Got something to say, baldy?”

  That prompted a genuine smile. “You were clutching a bullet and muttering for the better part of an hour. That some Laskarian ritual you use before you invade a new nation?” His smile turned slightly feral.

  “No it's more for one on one duels, that kind of thing,” George said.

  That surprised a genuine laugh from the taciturn man as he looked back to his carving. Suddenly, George wasn’t quite so okay with awkward silence and he decided to keep the conversation going.

  “I put a little magic in the metal and it lets me push the bullet a bit once it's in the air.”

  “Been in a few scraps with pirates where that would have come in useful.”

  It was George’s turn to snort a laugh. “I bet. I asked Martin about it and he called it ‘some sort of weird proto-enchanting, mostly useless but not bad for someone untrained’ before he made me make a dozen glow stones for “mana control practice”.”

  “Haven’t met Martin yet. Not sure about the guy.”

  “He’s alright, for the most part. Kind of weird but I guess that makes sense when you’re that old.

  “Where’s Annette?”

  John pointed with his carving knife. Straining his neck, George could just make out Annette on the edge of the village, in a meditative pose, eyes closed, deep in cultivation. Settling back down, he saw John was once more enthralled by his carving project. He would do another few bullets and then start on their dinner.

  The stew was passable, but even his short time in the sect had spoiled him when it came to food. Shaking off that thought, he moved to break the silence.

  “How’s the meditating going?”

  Annette took a sip of tea before responding. George would never understand the Meristan tolerance for hot drinks and hot food. “It’s going well so far. I’ll have to admit to Laurel that it was a good idea to come here. But I think to get the most out of it we’ll need to go further. I can tell there’s some sort of warping in the mana further away from the door, but I can’t quite reach it.

  “That is, if it's okay with both of you.”

  George glanced back at the crystal portal, standing unsupported a hundred meters away, flanked by the ever-present guards. No part of him wanted to let it out of his eyesight. He’d come for a little adventure, and to get away from the city for a while. And he’d accomplished that. Why risk anything further?

  “‘Course we don’t mind, Annie,” John said without looking up from his carving. “Here to see something amazing, aren’t we?”

  George could hardly contradict that without looking like a coward. Instead he just waved his hand in agreement. “We’ll find some more strange beasts for your brother to carve.”

  They made plans to hike out further the next day before spending more time on their individual pursuits before bed. If they were going further than the soldiers he would need as many mana-infused bullets as possible.

  **********

  According to his companions, they had been within spitting distance of shore for hours, sailing parallel to the coast. All Adam could see was the flat expanse of the ocean, dark water frothing in the high winds. The same view they’d had for days.

  “Almost. Just need to find a place we're least likely to get noticed to take her in,” Martin shouted from the ship’s wheel. It was the first time Adam had seen him steer manually rather than with artificial currents that propelled them across the ocean.

  “Can you really feel for individual people from this far away?” Adam had to ask. His spiritual senses extended a respectable couple of dozen meters at his absolute farthest. If being able to feel a shore so far away it wasn’t even in view was the goal, he wasn’t sure he was ever getting there.

  Devon harrumphed beside him. “Hardly. A water cultivator on the ocean is a threat, but not that much of one. One of the enchantments built into the boat is acting as an amplifier.

  “It’s an impressive piece of work, but the credit goes to the enchanter, not the meathead at the helm.”

  “He’s not a meathead. He dragged me to art galleries and symphony concerts constantly back in the city.”

  “I’ve seen him try and wrestle a dragon,” Devon countered.

  Adam had nothing to say to that. “He’s not just a meathead.”

  The man in question appeared to have found an inlet that met with his exacting standards, the ship slowly turned west and picked up speed. Martin joined them at the bow.

  “I’m taking her in. Now, we need to set some expectations.” Martin looked straight at Adam when he said that.

  “We’ve been talking about this for weeks, I know what to expect.”

  Martin waved in a vague pattern that was more an imitation of a conductor than anything useful. “There’s knowing and then there’s knowing.”

  Adam tried to protest but Devon cut him off.

  “Shockingly, he’s right.”

  “It’s not shocking, asshole.”

  “Whatever,” Devon continued. “When you’re a non-combatant on a mission like this for the first time, you just can’t really understand what is coming. We’re going to fight people. We’ll probably kill some. It’s not the goal, but the chance of smoothly slipping in and out with a massively valuable legacy stone without being caught is laughable.”

  “Fine,” Adam said. “What do I need to know then?”

  “Don’t talk if you can help it,” Devon answered.

  Martin nodded along. “He’s right. Your Laskarian is passable but the accent is obvious.”

  “My accent?” Adam sputtered. “What about your accents? There’s no way you two will pass as locals.”

  “We,” Devon pointed between the two of them, “are master cultivators. We can pull the language and the local dialect out of people’s heads.”

  “Wait what? Have you done that with me?”

  “No need, we already speak the languages you know.” Martin answered, not helpfully. “Next thing, we need you to get more used to touching in public.” He accompanied that statement with an exaggerated leer.

  “That’s one of the cultural trends that survived the mana drought,” Devon elaborated. “Alrasians were always touching, when they greeted anyone, just standing around, whatever.”

  “Gross,” Adam said.

  “Just follow our lead and don’t flinch when someone goes in for a hug and we’ll be good,” Martin added.

  “Fine. Just fine. Anything else? Should I be communicating only in Laskarian semaphore perhaps to make sure they don’t spot me?”

  Devon’s lips twitched and Martin chuckled before turning serious once more.

  “No flags needed, but there is one more thing and you aren’t going to like it.” His hand waved in an elaborate flourish and a straight razor popped into existence. “You’re going to have to shave.”