The silver coin radiated with searing white light, and a golden ripple moved from the coin outward in a wave.

  A nearby woman screamed in surprise, dropping her jug in the water. Her cry triggered a primal, collective response around the plaza. A mother yelled, "Get back here!" and scooped up a toddler who was running toward the fountain. Two frantic women rushed up to a man, crying, “What's going on?” to which he replied, “Stay back. It could be a spell!” Spell meant attack; attack led to panic. Men and women fumbled for their jugs and children, all yelling and issuing disjointed orders, trying to prepare for something dangerous, and then—

  Calm.

  It wasn’t immediate. There were plenty of dubious citizens who were wary of the scene. But the golden ripple moved slow—hypnotically slow—slow enough to dispel their worries of an explosion or sinister intentions.

  Then, a man muttered, “It’s cleaning it…” and other men gathered around. A few women followed behind out of curiosity. Full families came next.

  Sara watched with the other citizens, entranced, as the golden ripple passed through the fountain, dissolving the black webs of blight and sickening mold in a slow cascade—leaving the center of the golden halo looking brand new. The contrast was equal parts striking and sinister, a grim declaration of how terrible the fountain had been. Yet it was also uplifting—divine even—to watch something so vile be exorcised.

  Children pointed and laughed; mothers held them by the shoulders as they watched with emotional eyes. Then, all the observers made strange oohing noises (each different yet eerily the same when heard together) when the blight above water dried like shriveled vines and flaked off the statues, falling into the fountain.

  As if it were a street performance, the crowd clapped in awe when the entire fountain had been restored to its pre-blight condition.

  It was orderly, happy, fun—until a beggar jumped into the water and grabbed the coin. That's when the chaos began.

  Three men cut the thief off as he jumped out of the fountain, throwing him onto the cobblestones. One yelled, “You fucker!” and then all three stomped him with mud-caked boots.

  “Hey!” Sara screamed, “Stop that!” but they couldn't hear her over the ensuing riot.

  Citizens were dumping their blighted jugs and rushing to the fountain for clean water. A few men tried to push them back, screaming, “Stop! You'll infect it again!” but no one listened. One woman even jumped into the fountain, likely believing that the water had healing properties.

  The beating, the riot, the rapture—there were now two hundred disorderly people, and Sara didn't know who to restrain!

  Suddenly, she heard a clink and saw the coin fall onto the cobblestones to her left. Four people rushed it. A woman grabbed it and ran—curing Sara's choice paralysis in a moment.

  “Enough!” Sara waved her hand, and a blunted sickle of wind magic blasted the woman in the back, sending her and the coin flying. Sara then clenched her fist, and the coin flew across the plaza and into her palm. She succeeded in one task, but it didn't do jack to quell the panic.

  A mosh pit had developed in the area where the first beating began. Citizens had jumped into the fountain. People were screaming—

  And then she heard the whistles. Sara turned and saw a dozen police officers run into the plaza, all barking orders and threatening people with nightsticks.

  It all happened so fast and aggressively that she couldn't even remember what started it. It was only after an officer grabbed her and asked, “What the hell just happened?” that the reality of the situation sank in.

  Sara laughed in response, looking at the coin in her hand. Then, her chest heated up, her mind blanked out, and her arms vibrated with rage.

  Kalas set her up! He couldn’t use magic, so he had her purify the fountain and burdened her with the fallout. What an asshole!

  —Kalas—

  I hoped that Sara had a sense of humor. Or at least a sense of duty. Who knew? Maybe she’d get all grumpy and come back to yell at me, and it’d give me an excuse to see her again.

  The office door opened, and a brunette in her early visual thirties walked out, wearing a navy blue-and-white dress with a dropped flower structure and cascading layers of cloth. It was a dazzling dress, made ominous by her post and position. It seemed to convey that she was a different class of mage—one with prestige and status, rather than just power and magic.

  “Kalas… Valayan, I believe?” she asked.

  “That’s me,” I said.

  She smiled and nudged her head toward the door. “Come on in.”

  Celia’s office was a forgotten trove of weapons, pelts, and artifacts—grim trophies that proved she was a killer, not a member of past royalty. She adjusted her dress and sat on the edge of an armless chair. Then, she cleaned her cluttered desk with a wave of her hand. In one smooth motion, all the papers she was working on neatly stacked together.

  Seems telekinesis is common here, I thought in relief. I used telekinesis more than my hands some days; the thought of hiding it gave me chills.

  Celia misread my expression and smirked. “Surprised, huh? I suppose it looks impressive, but if you master a few tricks, you could do it, too.”

  I pursed my lips awkwardly, unsure what to say.

  “Don’t be nervous. Here, let’s start over. My name’s Celia. It’s nice to meet you.”

  She offered her hand, and I shook it.

  “See? Not that scary.” She lifted a jar filled with dry leaves. “Tea?”

  “Sure,” I said. She unscrewed the lid with telekinesis, put some leaves into two cups, and then summoned two tiny, boiling spheres of water to fill them. “We’ll let it steep.”

  It finally sank in what was happening. “So much for making someone comfortable,” I said.

  She curled her lips mischievously. “Oh, come on. You gotta humble the pretty boys a bit. Otherwise, they go off and get themselves killed.”

  I sank into my chair. “Why’s everyone calling me ‘pretty’? I’m a man, and men aren’t ‘pretty.’”

  Something about that must’ve tickled her funny bone because she covered her mouth and giggled. My frown deepened, and her laughter intensified.

  “Sorry, kid, it’s just… Look, it’s a compliment.”

  “That giggle doesn’t inspire confidence.”

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  “No, it’s just… It's like the word love. It comes with dozens of layered meanings, but at the end of the day, it’s a good thing.”

  I stared at her with unyielding suspicion.

  “Tea?” She flashed a smile and strained the tea before floating my cup to me. “Okay, let’s start. Your application says you’re a mage. What spells do you know?”

  (Of course, she'd ask that.)

  I didn't know what spells were common here, and the word “spy” still lingered strongly in my mind. The last thing I wanted was to say a spell and be outed as a foreign entity.

  Suddenly, I thought of Sara. She used telekinesis and ice magic during the fight.

  (I’ll just copy hers.)

  “Telekinesis,” I answered. “A few enchantments. A couple ice spells…” I trailed off when I saw her humorless expression. “What?”

  “No, continue,” she said, motioning with her hand. “I’m just listening.”

  “Uh… okay. So… yeah. A little bit of this and that. Nothing special.”

  “I can’t sense the slightest amount of honesty in that statement,” she warned.

  I smiled sheepishly, scorning Sleya for having beaten honesty into me.

  “Come on, kid,” Celia said. “If you’re gonna talk tough, don’t say spells you can demonstrate during the interview.”

  Oh, so that’s what she’s worried about… I thought in relief, setting my cup down. “Oh. Then should I demonstrate them?”

  She cocked an eyebrow and leaned back. “By all means.”

  I smirked and flicked my fingers. Tea rose out of my cup before bursting like a firework. Celia panicked, only to pause, captivated as she watched thousands of tea spheres gravitating around my cup like stars. I held them there just long enough to get the point across, then flicked my wrist. The droplets spun together in a slow tornado, filling the cup again.

  I picked it up and sipped it. “It’s good tea.”

  There was a fine line between pure joy and pettiness in my life, and I didn’t care which side I fell on. Since I knew those spells existed, and I was here to demonstrate my power, I decided to make it an ego killer. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the shocked response I wanted. Celia’s eyes lost friendliness, and when she touched her teacup, it wasn’t to drink. She ran her finger around the rim, tracing it in slow, hypnotic circles.

  “What other spells did you say you knew?” she asked.

  I immediately felt that something was off. “A few enchantments.”

  “What enchantments?”

  (Why'd you mention enchantments?)

  “An… acceleration one,” I said nervously, “a reinforcement one, and… one that makes me… quieter.”

  Celia’s gaze laid bare my soul. “I see… Let me ask you something: who taught you magic?”

  “My… mother. Well, the person who raised me.”

  “What’s her name?”

  I set down my cup. “Is this a test, or an interrogation? Because there’s other adventurer guilds.”

  Celia’s gaze didn’t falter. If anything, it intensified. “Okay, if you don’t want to answer our questions, let me ask you one that’s mandatory everywhere: where were you born?”

  “Michaendale.”

  “Interesting. Can you explain how someone can have impressive calligraphy, but can’t spell their hometown?” She lifted my application. Emilia had scribbled out the mistake and written the new name in unreadable chicken-scratch. “I mean, you weren’t even close.”

  I took note of my surroundings, preparing to fight if necessary.

  “Relax, kid.” Celia put up her hands when she saw my panic. “If you were in a cult, you wouldn’t have done something so… conspicuous. I mean… I don’t even know where to begin… Actually, I do. Would you consider what you just did… effortless?”

  Her eyes watched me like a hawk, and I knew I couldn’t lie to her. That annoyed me to unimaginable degrees. It just didn’t make sense. Where did things go wrong? How did a fundamental spell that Sara and Celia both used pin me into this corner? It wasn’t like I froze the droplets, then reheated them, like I wanted to. I just spun the droplets around! Sure, I used a brilliant construct, but it wasn't that impressive.

  “Well?” she asked.

  I turned away. “Yeah, I use telekinesis more than my hands when I cook breakfast.”

  “Thought so…” She laughed and closed her eyes. “Be honest: how many spells do you know? Don’t lie to me. Give me a low number and I’ll assume triple.”

  I fidgeted. “A lot.”

  “Because of your mother.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who you won’t name.”

  “Correct. She’s a hermit. If she wanted to be pestered, she wouldn’t be a hermit.”

  “I see…” Celia looped her finger through her teacup’s handle and spun it back and forth. “Have you ever heard of the Niacron Dilemma, Kalas?”

  I shook my head.

  “The Niacron Dilemma stems from a war between the Morans and the Niacrons. It was a devastating war that pushed both countries to the brink of collapse. At some point, the war became untenable; both monarchs agreed on that, but neither would consider talks unless the other made a soul pact to disclose their intentions. Both were honest, so if they had made the pact, the war would have ended, and trade deals would have restored prosperity, but both had vowed never to make a soul pact with another country’s leader, for any reason. Such was the dilemma: should they pact with a potential enemy, even if it couldn’t hurt them? Or would they stick to their vow?

  “In the end, both countries suffered population collapse due to starvation and disease. The end.

  “Here’s my question: are you just as prideful?”

  I glared at her frostily. “I don’t like being called stupid before being made an offer.”

  “Oh, I suppose that’s reasonable.” She rested her elbows against the desk, lacing her fingers slowly. “Here’s my offer. It’s obvious that you plan to withhold secrets, so I’ll make a pact with you. It’ll state that as long as you aren’t here with nefarious intentions, I will never disclose the contents of your Codex. If I even so much as try, my heart will…” She unlaced her fingers and threw her hands out to describe an explosion.

  “You’d really make a soul pact?” I asked. I couldn't believe it. Sleya made me promise that I would never make one. She said that it was guaranteed to get me into bleak dilemmas, so it was strange to hear someone offer one so casually.

  “In your case,” Celia answered. “‘Cause I’m an accomplished requia, and it’d take me days to replicate that construct. And you made it on the spot. That’s severely unnatural.”

  I didn’t know what a requia was, but I finally understood the problem. Sara and Celia both knew telekinesis but were baffled by my constructs. The reversed waterfalls, the trailing streams—the spinning nebula. From what I gathered, those constructs showcased a level of skill that was abnormal and that annoyed the hell out of me. It essentially meant that I didn't just need to avoid using unknown spells to prevent suspicion—I had to be wary of the skill I employed when casting common ones, as well. What a pain in the ass!

  “That’s quite the expression you got there,” Celia said, studying my brooding expression. I blushed, and she sighed. “Listen… Kalas. You’re clearly not from here. And no one’s going to give you documentation, let alone a license. But I have a feeling there’s something very, very special about you. So I’m willing to help you—if. If you show me your Codex's class screen and declare your goodwill. If the screen's insignificant, you’re not a problem. If it’s special… I’ll help you.”

  I thought through it carefully. A soul pact guarantees the secret. I also don't have to tell her about Riaka. It's not a bad deal. But… it could be better.

  I made eye contact to negotiate. “What’s the ranking system here? The licenses.”

  Her eyes glinted with interest. “It’s a metal system: iron, copper, and bronze for the basics; silver, gold, and platinum for the impressive people; and then mythril, orichalcum, and adamantine for the requia. In short, the more valuable the metal, the higher you are. Why?”

  “And when you get licenses, do those have tests?” I pressed without explaining. “Or does it use the Codex’s class ranks?”

  Her lips curved into a sly smirk. “It’s a test.”

  “I see… Well then, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll break my vow and show you my class screen, given the soul pact, but in exchange, you’ll have to show me the extent of the power for each rank… and tell me common spells. This is the second time today that something I deemed insignificant triggered an interrogation.”

  Celia’s lips curved into a slight smile, and then she clapped her hands. “Okay. Let’s make the pact.” She lifted her hand. “By virtue of the Heavenly and Primordial tribunes, I, Celia Merkil, vow, upon my soul…”

  The two of us made a pact, and then I took her hand and shared my Codex’s class screen.