The heat of the encounter simmered beneath Aaron's skin—but his eyes were already on the scrollcase. Focus. Politics first.

Political games were normal. But the Matriarch is the first to just send a missive. Is she trying to establish that she has authority over me? A different play than all the others. The Magister is trying for bribes, the Hyphant Priestess gave me agency, the Mindmage gave power and training.

He looked at the Rhetorician, who had turned his first classes into a public spectacle. Let's see what his angle is.

The Grandmaster inclined his head respectfully, first to Aaron, then to the other two. He offered Aaron the scrollcase."The Holy Matriarch saw it fit to make me her messenger. Apparently, she thought I could talk some sense into you." He wiggled a finger at Aaron. "Something about not getting slave girls or rival noblewomen pregnant."

He grinned like a middle-schooler who had drawn a penis on a blackboard. Aaron rolled his eyes at the crystal-bedecked, sagely man. Seems that he hasn't forgotten how to have fun.

Aaron reached for the scrollcase. How do I…

'Twist both ends in opposite directions,' instructed the Mindmage, leaning through Aaron's shoulder like an actual ghost. His magic works about as well as my attempt at programming.

He twisted, and a rod fell out, dragging thick paper behind it. The rod clinked against the scrollcase, heavier than it had any right to be. Aaron held both the scrollcase and the rod. The other men remained respectfully silent while he read.

Aaron's face flushed as he read the line. His hand clenched around the scroll. Sterilization? Until she picked a wife?

The outrage followed a heartbeat later, crashing through his chest. A cold fury surged up. "Who does that cunt think she is?" This wasn't family. It was ownership—of a resource.

Grandmaster Keiso cleared his throat. "I believe she thinks she is the sacred Matriarch of your clan. Such a position is worthy of respect," he sighed and looked steady into Aaron's eyes, "and carries the responsibility for the breeding of the clan with it."

Aaron pressed his lips together, but took a deep breath. I did join her family of my own free will.

Grandfather nodded with the gravitas of a true sage. "The logos of a lineage is vital, and a champion with unsanctioned bastards would be a disgrace." He tilted his head. "Unless you have children already?"

Aaron smirked. "Not as far as I know."

Grandfather guffawed, Grandmaster Keiso chuckled, and the Magister gave an anxious laugh. Aaron looked at each of them. Genuine humor, politeness, and awkwardness. I should remember that. The Magister probably wouldn't handle a vision of hentai well. Let's try brainstorming with my aspiring mentors.

"How ought I react to those instructions? I don't want to be married off like a piece of meat."

Grandpa smiled widely. "I think a prized breeding stallion would be a better analogy. Think about what the intent behind this message is. Shape your reaction to that."

The Magister frowned, but both the Mindmage and Rhetorician nodded. Political marriage is probably inevitable. But everyone else came in person—she's testing authority. This is a power play. She is bold. Even the Priestess deferred to me, or was at least more respectful.

Aaron's face settled into a cold smile, which made Grandmaster Keiso and the Mindmage nod with fatherly approval. "Grandmaster Keiso, do tell her that I will take her advice under due consideration and shall respond at my earliest convenience." Shots fired. Let's see how they hit.

The Rhetorician nodded slowly. "Would you care to elaborate on the reasoning behind the reply?"

Aaron returned the nod and looked first at Grandfather, then at the Mindmage.

'Do you still think he is neutral?' Aaron caught Grandfather's eyes flickering to where the projection floated.

'He is a stereotypical sophist who enjoys the challenge of empowering you. But his backers are of a dangerous cabal. Purist scum. They believe in natural hierarchy over all, no matter how much blood it takes.' Real anger could be felt over the link. Thick as seething syrup. Aaron filed it away for later.

"I want to see how she reacts to a challenge from me. She tries to use her authority on me and will demand ever more. Better to push back when she is testing me than when I'm too entangled in the spider's web."

The Grandmaster folded his arms. "And what if it costs you? Do you understand what levers she holds? How she could move you over the board? I feel it is my duty to ensure you understand the powers that be better."

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Elegantly, he retrieved a scroll of beautifully carved wood from his robe. "You need an independent base. Which is why I decided to gift you a small estate at the lakeshore. It will bolster your ability to lead and give you insights into our way of life that the silver-spoon academy life will not."

Aaron's stomach clenched. Owning an estate meant owning slaves. He'd rejected that before. But he needed economic leverage. And, damn it—having a palace sounds great.

Grandfather spoke up, his sea-green eyes staring the Magister down. "I have heard you have been tested for aptitude. I will, of course, prepare the materials the honored Magister requested personally."

He took out a small black book with a doorway on its cover. "And Magister, here is the cantrip guide on resetting short-term memory chunks, you requested. Be careful that such restricted material doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

The shuddering Magister accepted the booklet with wide eyes. Poor guy. He was just told that his schemes are obvious to an unknown opposition.

'Why are we bullying him?' Aaron sent to the Mindmage.

'We aren't bullying—we're implying we know his other secrets as well and that he should tread carefully. Watch.'

The Magister opened the book. A small piece of parchment slipped out.

He read it.

His face drained of color.

Then a barely perceptible nod that did not escape anyone. 'See. Mission accomplished. What will you do now with this assortment of accomplished mages at your disposal?'

Aaron looked between the projection, the Magister, and Grandfather. 'You are suggesting I discuss my options for magic with them. Wouldn't I want to keep that secret?'

The projection shook like a wet dog on a low-framerate video. 'At greater levels of power, sure. Beginners can get valuable guidance at little cost. Spells become powerful through personalized evolutions, but finding the right bases is a group task.'

Aaron looked toward Grandfather. He tilted his head, weighing the room like a board of advisors. Time to put names to power. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced."

The man in lavender robes bowed, hiding a sardonic smile in his beard. "Master Illion Hrapita, Archmage Noetimancer, expert of Noomancy as well as Adept Tharllomancer and Phantasmomancer in service of the Polis. Furthermore, I serve as the Junior President of the Archive."

As Aaron nodded, Grandmaster Keiso interjected with an expansive gesture. "In case you are wondering about the name, his lineage stems from the Pact Federation, an alliance of native forces on the peninsula spinward of us."

"It is but a distant relation, but we kept the name to seem more mysterious." The old man winked at Aaron as Magister and Grandmaster chuckled.

Aaron cleared his throat and took a step back, standing on a stair looking over the four powerful mages before him. "If I may bother you with a question, I would like to talk about my options for magic."

Following agreeable murmurs—some dignified, others eager—he shared his aptitudes.

Keiso nodded thoughtfully. "Of the lower aptitudes, only Biomancy and Thermomancy should be considered. Some healing arts are ever useful, and Thermomancy offers great offensive tools."

Grandfather stroked his beard. "Thermomancy is above average, even if we normalize the attunement. In the long term, Entropomancy offers advantages that none of the high aptitude disciplines provide. But your potential for Mindmagic… if only there was a Grandmaster who could teach you…"

Aaron coughed to hide the smile. I can't let Keiso see anything. What is the old fart thinking?

The Magister nodded eagerly. "Flow magic would be best in the Baromancy branch. As I said before, using Baromancy would allow much greater survivability, and Pressure Jet is a powerful offensive spell. Combine it with Servile Sphere and you will have utility and defense as well. Water Armor—"

The Rhetorician Grandmaster made a sharp gesture, instantly silencing the Magister. "I agree that a standard Baromancy layout would be valuable. But do not forget young mages are limited to a few spells. Which tree should he begin with?"

I only get three, and the Watcher already gave me this Speed of Thought. That seems like a utility spell. Defense sounds great. But the last one should be something offensive.

"I have been granted Speed of Thought by the Watcher. I think a defensive Baromancy spell is just common sense. But what options do I have for offense?"

Whistles and raised eyebrows met his proclamation. Grandfather tilted his head slightly. Is that his tell for telepathy?

"Offensive options are sparse for beginners. Well, offensive options that aren't considered prohibited magic. The Confusion cantrip could be used as a basis for a more powerful spell. Alternatively, Control Body or Blinding Thunder."

"Those are wise options, but we should not underestimate Credomancy," interjected Grandmaster Keiso. "Aura of Despair saps courage from nearby foes. Immolating Rage links pain to fury. Abyssal Depression suppresses action entirely. All useful tools, if used carefully."

So—confuse people, control their bodies, or throw a magic flashbang. Confusion's a cantrip, so skip it. Control Body's powerful—but creepy. Do I really want to turn others into puppets?

Aaron frowned. And Credomancy. A social magic that is faith-related. The idea is just weird. None of the spells Keiso suggested sound like they are pleasant. I think I get two of them, but…

"What does Immolating Rage do?"

The Magister straightened and answered rapidly. "It links the feeling of anger to the perception of being burned alive. Provoke your enemies, then enchant them, and their anger will paralyze them with pain."

Aaron's stomach turned. Torturing people with their own rage—making pain the price of feeling anything at all. That wasn't just cruel. That was... wrong. He shuddered, and looked away.

The Mindmage's projection flashed a skeletal grin. 'There are worse things than pain. Most people pass out quickly, if you do it right. And really, a reputation for torturing your enemies as a side effect might reduce the number of people you have to hurt.'

'Torture. Is. Bad. I will not become a monster.'

The projection answered with quiet weight. 'Boy, you already are—by your world's standards. How many have you killed? How many have you hurt?'

Aaron opened his mouth—then stopped.

Too many.

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