Aaron returned his attention to the room—only to meet Charos' sharp gaze. "What amuses you, Champion?"

"I just remembered something funny," Aaron dissembled.

The young Magister raised an eyebrow but continued to work on the device in the box. The mindmage adjusted himself through several flickers, finally managing to stand upright—with his knees still embedded in the ground. Aaron pressed his lips together during the clown show.

'You learn mental projection and then I'll make fun of your abilities.'

'How can this be high level?' he thought back.

'Because I am doing it without a visual anchor, through another mindmage's defenses, and adjusting it so your mindshield doesn't distort it into uselessness.' The projection steepled his hands and sat down in the air.

'Oh, now I understand the greatness of your deeds, wise master,' Aaron shot back with a mental smirk.

The mindmage shook his head, but one side of his mouth curled upward. 'Consider not zoning out in the presence of others, oh young student.'

Aaron looked at Charos, who was studying him with a frown. I need to divert his attention.

Aaron cleared his throat. "How is the device? Are we ready?"

Sweat prickled his back as the Magister studied him in silence. Then the turquoise-robed man motioned Aaron to move up to the desk. Aaron stepped forward and surveyed the large wooden box. A circuit board filled the box, shimmering with rainbow colors. A triangle within a square within a pentagon created three rings of crystal marbles.

The Magister motioned him to sit down on a recliner. Aaron complied, and a helmet was placed on his head. The Magister began connecting the helmet and box with cables. "Just relax and breathe. This will take about a quarter of a tenth-cycle."

So half an hour. I've endured worse bullshit in hospitals. Let's measure those magical brain patterns. The mindmage had drifted and was now nearly turned around, showing his back to Aaron. He grinned, but controlled it quickly. Too quickly?

No, the Magister was busy with his cables. Aaron nearly flinched as Charos spoke up. "Let me tell you about my third proposal." He fastened a connector into place on the helmet, yanking some of Aaron's hair.

Charos leaned in slightly, his tone shifting. "I am a Pathomancer—a mage of bacteria and viruses." Aaron's skin crawled.

Aaron focused his attention on the mindmage, who reoriented himself before speaking. 'A feared discipline specialized in diseases and weapons used against the masses.'

Aaron's eyes widened. 'This guy is a walking bioweapon factory?'

Another cable was fixed onto Aaron's head. "The path to strength lies in training and the challenges of dungeons. Finding arcane treasure and consuming them at the core will advance your attributes."

Aaron hummed in agreement. Theon had already explained those things. Increased attributes—each level gets ever harder. The quality of treasures has to increase to even attempt to absorb them. But the chance of successful absorption drops, too.

"The limits of advancement are economic. But our body isn't really our body." The Magister's eye glinted, and he began to talk faster, as if confessing something. "Bacteria and viruses make up a good fraction of it. I am close to a breakthrough—on creating a symbiont that can level and gain aspects of attributes separately." He looked at Aaron expectantly.

Aaron stared back. 'So what is the deal with this?,' he sent to his true mentor.

The mindmage smiled through a few creepy frames. 'If he can do it, he has found a valuable tool. But ask him if he did it independently—or if he reverse-engineered Trebassian cyborgs. I am curious how he'll react.'

Aaron let the silence stretch. With an awkward frown, the Magister connected the next cable. He wants me to provoke him—but do I? Fuck, if this continues, he'll think I have brain damage. Let's do some fishing.

"How did you develop this? And why is it such a secret?" The Magister dropped a cable and swallowed.

'I was right. This is technology considered unholy. He risks censure for this.' Hearing the Grandmaster's assessment, Aaron looked down at the kneeling man. He was shaking with nervousness.

'Is he risking his life to buy my favor?'

The predatory grin on the projection's face was all the answer he needed. The Magister connected the cable and cleared his throat.

"It is a variation of an idea that some consider unnatural." He grabbed Aaron's hand before Aaron could flinch back. The eyes of the man met his, and there was fear in them.

"Please do accept my humble gift—and do not share this. It is my private research and..." He paused, pressing Aaron's hand tighter. "I put my life into your hands with this. Take the power—and let us be allies, Champion." Charos let go, and Aaron let himself sink into the recliner—lowering himself like a judge passing sentence. He is afraid. And the guide says it's no manipulation.

'Why is he doing this?' Aaron sent to the projection.

'I assume his patriarch—likely one of the factions inner circle—forced him to share this. The kind of man who trades human lives like playing cards.' The mindmage gestured around the room. 'This needs backing. And he is less valuable than a deep connection with you. His patriarch understands what your arrival means.'

Aaron turned to him. The Magister clutched the final cable as if it were a rope out of hell, spine stiff with rehearsed dignity.

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Aaron lowered his voice, letting it settle like weight on the room. "I accept your offer. But I want this to be worth it. Tell your patriarch that your project is safe and appreciated." Even the air seemed to pause for judgment.

The Magister gasped, and his knuckles grew white as he grabbed onto the cable. With wide eyes, the man began to stutter. "How... how did you know?"

Aaron felt a flush rise in his chest—warm, electric, a taste of power blooming behind his teeth. I am enjoying the power over him. No—focus.

He looked at his hand and raised his eyebrows. Slow and deliberate. Let's act mysterious. "The reach of my agents is none of your concern."

Charos lowered his head. "I apologize to the Champion." He straightened himself and his robe, but did not meet Aaron's eyes. Did the patriarch really make him sacrifice his life's work to gain my favor? What happened to the confident mage from outside?

'What do you think?' Aaron looked to the mindmage, gauging the projection's reaction.

'This is fabulous. Grandfather will visit him. With this information, we can turn him into an asset.' Noticing Aaron's frown, he added with a sweet smile. 'If that is what you judge most wise, with your vast experience in running conspiracies.'

Aaron closed his eyes. I will not rise to the bait. He is still the smooth old asshole, even after what I did to him. But he's right, even if he is a dick about it.

'Proceed with securing my asset.' A heaviness settled in Aaron's stomach. This is dirty. And it thrills me. That's the worst part—I don't want to stop. But how can I still think of myself as a hero, if I'm willing to weaponize people's desires?

Aaron shook himself. No matter if there is a price to pay—I still haven't gotten the test. Aaron looked at the man, who had restored his composure. Aaron exhaled slowly, tension loosening from his shoulders.

Charos nodded at the device. The crystals began to glow, one by one. Then it settled onto a fiery one. Aaron felt warmth. Tasted smoke. Heard the roaring of flames. It was like a barely remembered dream. He continued through the oddly pleasant experience. Earth. Electricity. Water. The latter glowed bright enough to illuminate the room.

Only the crystals for Mind and Faith glowed similarly bright. Aaron grinned, and the mindmage nodded in satisfaction as the room was suffused in a greyish-hued light. "You have tremendous potential for mindmagic, Champion."

Aaron's smile dimmed as he saw that none of the abstract magic crystals reacted to him. Finally, a crystal projected the results onto the wall:

Arcane Attunement: 98th Percentile → Life-Mage Top Aptitudes: 1.00: Cognimancy 0.66: Fluidomancy 0.44: Credomancy

Mid Aptitudes: 0.31: Thermomancy 0.23: Radiomancy 0.12: Carnomancy

Low Aptitudes: 0.09: Infernomancy 0.07: Biomancy 0.04: Crystallomancy

Aaron whistled as he saw that attunement percentile. Ninety-eighth percentile. That explains a few things.

The mindmage was grinning broadly. 'You are better than I was in the beginning. Never mind this sycophantic fool.'

Charos nodded and stroked his chin. "What are your thoughts on this, Champion?"

Aaron tilted his head. Was it chance that I ran into the mindmage so early on? Let's not dwell on that.

"I am amazed by my potential for mindmagic, but…"

The turquoise-robed man nodded solemnly. "But you are worried about the pull of that power? And the scrutiny it brings?"

Aaron nodded, pointedly ignoring the smug smile of the projection. I will not become what you predict, old man. Never. I am better than you.

"The solution is simple. I very pointedly used my talent to lean into Noomancy—the improvement of my own cognition. It is a path to great power, on which few are more suited to guide you than I." Aaron didn't need his counter-social-engineering guide to see what the man was doing. He looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and the scholar continued hurriedly.

"Alternatively, with such a powerful arcane attunement, you could also practice other disciplines and swear off mindmagic."

'Do not even consider it!' The voice of the mindmage cut into Aaron's thoughts.

He clenched his teeth. 'I wasn't about to do that. I do not need you to point out what is obvious.'

A smile was the only response he got. Is that a feature of all mindmages, or just his special attribute?

"I shall instruct the librarian to prepare study materials for you," the man bowed his head. "If it pleases the Champion, I'd like to show him my laboratory—and what my research can do for him."

Aaron closed his eyes. This groveling tone is so cringe. "Lead on."

As they left the office, Charos called over a librarian and gave him instructions. Aaron frowned as the librarian seemed less than willing to follow through, but as the Magister gestured at Aaron and mentioned the name of the Weaver, the citizen paused—and scuttled off.

The Magister turned to Aaron and smiled. "I hope you're fine with some more advanced study materials? Normally, those are not given to Initiates."

Aaron inclined his head. "Thank you for that. I wanted to visit the library for a while, in fact. What materials did you get me precisely?"

"Materials of general progression, as well as the six disciplines you have decent aptitude for."

Their footsteps echoed against marble and scrollwork, each one heavier than the last as they approached the stairwell's shadowed descent.

"What kind of magic would you recommend?" Aaron inquired with a smile. The projection of the mindmage was floating after him at an odd angle.

Magister Charos' eyes lit up—not unlike Theon's—and he took on a lecturer's pose. "Well, you have an interesting combination. Assuming you use the high aptitude, you get utility and offense from Mindmagic, damage and defense from Flowmagic, and empowerment and support from Credomancy. The latter is invaluable for any leader."

"How so?" Aaron recalled that this was social magic—a discipline he didn't really understand. Emotions and values.

"Credomancers empower—and are empowered in turn—by their units. Their ways are diverse: be they beacons of hope or despair, rhetoricians swaying the masses or steadying the hearts of men in the face of onslaught."

The man nodded with fire in his eyes as the thought of the mindmage reached Aaron.

'And it has great synergy with mindmagic. Emotions are an attack vector. Oh—and things are about to become a lot more interesting.' Aaron heard the man's ominous chuckle.

They descended the stairs in silence as Aaron mulled things over. This doesn't correspond to any known mage build from games. A support caster warlock? He shook his head. That's just stupid. Reality isn't a game. What do I know about how they design their magical combat layouts?

The Magister stopped near the bottom of the stairs, and Aaron saw his fists clenching.

A familiar Grandmaster stood at the bottom. Keios Albastis Donia, Senior President of the Institute of Rhetoric, held a golden scroll case with Clan Hellionis's emblem. Only his smile matched the glint of the message's golden decorations.

That alone would've been enough. But then—another figure turned the corner. A wink. A smile. Grandfather.

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