Within minutes of Arielle going to her room, things got loud.

  She attempted to tune it out by reading her new book, but she still had to clap her hands over her ears when she couldn’t take the yelling anymore. Irritation poked at the corners of her brain. She was sensitive to the noise, but it seemed no one else in the family was, and so it was constantly her cross to bear.

  She concentrated on the buzzing orbs to drown them out. She also forced her eyes to open and focus on the words near the very front page of the book: Lysan's Beginner Essence Manual.

  "Essences are in the world around us," she recited, her voice low to contrast the shouting. "In their raw form, they are unusable, but once processed by EPUQs (Essence Purifiers and Unit Quantifiers), they can then be utilized to create spell equations."

  Arielle didn't entirely understand what she'd just read, but she kept going, learning more about how each essence and its variations were discovered and the spells they created. It also spoke about spell equations and scripts, and ensuring the final charge of any spell was always zero.

  She lost herself amidst the words and the glyphs, so much so that she barely noticed when things had gotten quiet again. She also didn't hear anyone coming up until there was a knock on her door.

  It opened to reveal Master Elric.

  “Arielle," he said. “I’m leaving.”

  “Okay.” Arielle assumed he was here to ask for his book back, and she closed it reluctantly, wishing she'd hidden it before he came so he couldn't take it away from her.

  “Are you enjoying the book?” he asked, and as he moved into the room,

  “Yes," she said as he brought over a chair to sit. She held the book to her chest, possessively, fingers gripping the edges.

  Elric smiled. “It’s the very first book I received before I started at the academy. I keep it in system storage because sometimes I forget basic spells and need a refresher. I've learned thousands of spells in my lifetime, and my grimoire only holds the more complex spells now, but sometimes the basics are needed."

  Ari nodded. He sat there and nodded also, patting his knee. Then he began to drum on them, gaze travelling around the small room Arielle shared with her sister.

  The silence felt heavy.

  This was just like when her Uncle Brom the Second had been killed by a mossgiant, and her father had sat there for hours talking about everything and nothing before saying the words: "Uncle Brom is dead."

  “Don’t tell anyone I gave you this, by the way," Elric spoke up again. "Or I could get in trouble.”

  “Can I do magic with it?”

  “Oh heavens no. I wouldn't have given it to you if you could. That would take this from a misdemeanor to a severely punishable offense. As I said, you’d need to be awakened with refined cores for control essences. You'd also need a wand and an EPUQ for that. Only high skill Archmages can manipulate essences without these.”

  “Do essences really look like that?” She pointed at the diagrams in the book she was reading, where the essence Calor had been drawn as a red ball.

  “Yes. It's from an old diagram found in the cave of Emberfoot, who was the man who discovered the first Calor essence on Earth. You know, historically, people say that essences are like little spirits. They’re everywhere around us, but we never notice them. The ancient cultivators even used to pray to them. Some of them claimed to see essences in the air, but modern mages don't have that skill anymore. We lost it millennia ago."

  “I see the spirit orbs.”

  “In the textbook?”

  “No, around you." She pointed at where his mage robe was belted. “More over there.”

  “Ah,” he said, looking at it. “That’s where I keep my EPUQ and miniature essence reservoir, in case my EPUQ is faulty, or I'm stranded in an environment without external essence."

  “There are lots of spirit orbs there. And in my room. I see them all the time."

  Mage Elric gave her a look she didn't quite understand, and Ari regretted telling him what she saw. It had slipped out unintentionally. He likely thought she was strange now, too.

  But he didn’t call her a liar. At least not yet.

  “I see,” he said

  They stared at each other for a few more seconds.

  “I’ll leave the book with you,” he said. "Again, don’t tell anyone you have it, or I could get in trouble. Nothing too bad, but I already have two other demerits. One more, and I get shipped up to the Northern Pillage Mountains for a month. Maybe even a year, considering that last demerit was practically egregious.”

  “Why?”

  He shook his head. "It’s a funny story, but not even remotely age-appropriate.”

  “No, I mean, why are you giving this to me?” she asked.

  His eyes fell to the book she was clutching to her chest like treasure. “You mentioned you’d read all your books. I thought you might need more.”

  She frowned. “Do you have bad news for me?

  “Why would you ask that?”

  "Strangers only give me presents when there’s bad news or when it’s my birthday. And it’s not my birthday.”

  “No I dont…” He hesitated and said, "Your father might be going away for a long while. And your mother will likely be busy too. I thought this might help…soften the blow.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Ari felt a turmoil inside that she never knew how to properly express, but she nodded. “Okay.” She bowed her head and put one hand on her thin chest as her father showed her to do. “Thank you.”

  “Of course,” he smiled gently, regretfully. “I’m sorry about all this.”

  She shrugged. He didn’t have to be sorry. Her father went on long trips all the time, even though he hated it and sometimes returned hurt and grouchy.

  She didn’t see what made this time different.

  Then again, she wasn’t thinking about it. Her focus was still on the bouncing, colorful orbs circling his waist. He followed her gaze and gave a brief pause.

  “You know what?” He unclipped a rectangular, smooth obsidian brick that had been attached to his sash, next to the other black box. “This battery is almost out of essence anyway. Why don’t you keep it?”

  “Really?” She reached for it with wide eyes, delighting at the orbs that danced over her fingers, the way they buzzed slightly.

  “Really. Since you like it so much.”

  She took it from him, her eyes glowing in reverence. “Thank you, Master Elric. I will treasure this forever.”

  He looked embarrassed. “Ah, you don’t have to. Please. Call me just Elric.”

  “Okay, Just Elric,” she said with a smile.

  He chuckled and ruffled her hair, seeming more at ease than when he'd arrived.

  After the mage left, her mother came into her room.

  “Where’s your sister?” she asked, her voice lower than before. Ari knew that meant she was sad. Or drained. Or angry. Or hungry. Reading emotions wasn't her strong suit.

  Ari shrugged to answer the question. Her sister had taught her a few months ago the power of shrugging as a substitute for a lie. It worked because she didn't have to open her mouth.

  Though she didn't have to lie because Ari truly didn’t know exactly where her sister had gone.

  Celie had snuck out early this morning, and since they shared a room, Ari had woken up and seen her doing it.

  “Don’t tell anyone you saw me," she'd said. “Or else." She'd dragged her finger across her throat.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d threatened Arielle’s life, and it wouldn’t be the last either. Arielle ignored the threat and pointed at the clay jar on top of her desk.

  Celia would need to buy her silence.

  ‘I’ll pay you when I get back,” Celie whispered, letting go of the sill and dropping to the ground lightly. Celie was good at light, quick movement. Father said she would make a fantastic assassin one day.

  She'd been gone ever since.

  Her mother sighed. "Your porridge is done, but it tastes awful. I'm making you another one."

  "Okay," Arielle said, and her mother retreated.

  Ari went back to studying. She also tried to move the orbs the way Master Elric had, saying the words he'd said, but nothing happened.

  She knew it was because she didn't have the right tools. Or the right cores.

  And because Mossborne's couldn't use magic.

  But she was determined.

  She tried again and again, picturing the shapes in her mind. She stared at the particles spread across her room, trailing to the gift Elric had given her.

  Maybe she had to talk to them first. It was what the ancient cultivators did. After all, it was rude to just try to get people to do what you wanted without introducing yourself first.

  Ari had learned that the hard way.

  “Hello," she whispered. "I am Arielle Blacksoil, and I am six.”

  The spirits said nothing. They continued to hum.

  “Do you want to be my friend?” she asked the little spirits.

  They didn’t respond. She reached out and did the hand movement again, saying the words.

  This time, one of the orbs moved to touch the tip of her finger. She could almost feel the electric impression left behind by the touch. She smiled.

  That must be a yes.

  ***

  Stonehold's Ministry of Stoichiometry Headquarters was a large building that sat in the center of the esteemed city of Piloughby.

  It looked impressive from the outside: white stone towers, floating sigils, banners that rearranged themselves to remain inspirational. Inside, it was a maze of corridors, departments, and bureaucratic essence wells where power gathered at the top and trickled down in increasingly diluted forms.

  Somewhere far below the prestigious branches like Spell regulation, Arcane Defense, and Thaumaturgical Research were the divisions that dealt with the people who didn’t quite count as important enough.

  The Branch of Non-Magical Creature Services occupied three cramped floors wedged between Archives Overflow and a stairwell with more cracked floors than unblemished ones. The light always flickered. The carpets were permanently damp for reasons no one had ever investigated. The walls were soundproofed, not for privacy, but because the incessant complaining phone calls bothered the rest of the departments.

  This was the department responsible for beings that were sentient but impotent. Creatures that didn’t cast spells, didn’t generate mana, and didn’t fit neatly into the Ministry’s preferred categories of “asset” or “threat.”

  The department handled licensing, relocation, many, many, welfare complaints, accidental enchantment exposure, interclan labor disputes, and the aftermath of magical incidents involving people the Ministry insisted on calling non-participants.

  The work was constant. The recognition was nonexistent.

  Funding was allocated annually, and then quietly reallocated elsewhere when something more impressive came along. Staff salaries lagged behind comparable departments by decades. Promotions were rare, and transfers out were treated as acts of mercy. Most employees stayed not because they wanted to, but because no one else would take them.

  Other departments referred to the branch as “Mundane Affairs,” and occasionally, “The Apology Office.”

  Ministry officials praised the department publicly for its “essential humanitarian function,” then forgot about it the moment budgets were discussed. The irony was that the branch dealt with some of the most dangerous situations in the Ministry—unregulated populations, generational grievances, systemic neglect—but because their clients didn’t throw fire or bend reality, their suffering was considered manageable.

  Elric appeared right in the hallway and turned into his office, which he shared with two other people. He murmured a greeting that no one responded to, though two of the other agents bowed in deference. Despite his departmental standing, he was a Master after all, and near an Archmage.

  Bowing was a required acknowledgment of his sacred and celestial authority.

  Elric yawned. Now came the worst part of his day. Paperwork. It was the only thing that he couldn't manage to make less tedious, even with spells. Spells were best at simplifying complex problems. Paperwork wasn't complex, just mind-numbingly dull.

  “Look who’s back from Mosswater,” Mycella, another agent, said. She was the only one who hadn't bowed, having built enough familiarity with him in the fifteen or so years they'd worked together.

  "Fenway Basin," he corrected.

  “Whatever. The swampies have done a number on you. You look terrible.”

  “It was certainly an adventure.”

  "What about the Mossgiant reports? Are they overblown like I guessed them to be?"

  "Unfortunately, not. The Greenfingers did have less yield this year than in any of the previous years, and there was a horde of Mossgiants that attacked while I was there. I got rid of them. My biggest concern, however, is the apparent dimensional rift."

  "You saw it?"

  "No, but I sensed it. We'll need some leyline geomancers to study the area before we can know for sure. But if that's the source of the problem, then we must stitch it up."

  "And if it's not?"

  "Then we'll need a team to stay at the southern dimensional border and protect it in case anything comes through."

  "You've assigned people?"

  "Yes. An Adept mage and a team of Mossborne's will man the border indefinitely." Thinking about the family he'd just left and the girl with big green eyes that constantly avoided eye contact made his chest prick.

  "Oh, that's why you look like that," Mycella's tone gentled. "I'm sorry. It couldn't have been easy delivering the news."

  He shrugged and turned away. "It's my job."

  "Yes, but it doesn't have to be. You know most of us don't even understand why you're even here." She swivelled in her seat. "You outrank everyone by at least a hundred and fifty levels. You went to the best school for Ascendangts and were at the top of your class. You're going to be an Archmage pretty soon. There's absolutely no reason you should be working in mundane affairs. On the contrary, it's quite ridiculous if you think about it."

  ”Hmm.” He didn’t answer beyond that. He was only half listening to her while wondering about the girl again and her wandering eyes.

  She said she saw spirit orbs.

  What was that about?

  After a few more seconds of thinking, he shook it off. Children said absurd things like that all the time.

  It was probably nothing.