The last few months were a failure in almost every regard. I had lost my notes and, with it, months of research and preparation. My schematics and long-term plans were gone. All of that hard work had gone up in smoke. The waste of it rankled me, though it was not a catastrophic setback. I had committed much of it to memory and planned to rewrite as much as possible when I had the chance.

  Thankfully, the most critical things remained fixed in my mind. A small blessing, for once.

  Magic was a refinement process. Every generation boasted greater knowledge and power than the last. The student surpassed the master in a chain stretched back generations, each seeking to uncover more of the mystical arts. Yes, the number of Archmagi was constant, but this was an exception to the rule.

  However, there were exceptions to this rule. And the greatest among these were the Founders.

  Myths abounded about our mythical forebears, and most of their lives remained shrouded in mystery. Foremost among these mysteries was how they had accomplished all the stories claimed. It should be impossible, yet the remnants of these actions lay about us as monuments to their triumphs.

  And our goal was one such artifact.

  It was said the Smith was a fire mage of monstrous strength who could turn entire armies to char and ash with a flicker of her hand. Despite that, she was no crude butcher. She was a craftswoman, brilliant and prescient, and the first mage to theorize and apply the concepts of infusing mana into materials, granting them bizarre, magical properties. Some scholars even claimed she was the first forgemaster, though others felt it too lofty a title even for a Founder.

  These same scholars were similarly of two minds regarding the Everforge. The first believed it was a creation of the Smith, an artificial crucible to focus and refine her techniques into something greater.

  For the others, the Everforge was not a creation but a discovery. They felt that the Smith had uncovered some natural phenomenon and had the perception and foresight to recognize its potential even then. This group had the benefit of similar locations scattered about Ferris but lacked the romantic notions of our semi-divine ancestors and their miraculous actions.

  It did not matter either way, as the result remained the same. The Everforge, whether a natural location, an artificial construct, or something else entirely, was the greatest forge in existence. It was a nexus of a dozen ley lines, bound together and concentrated into a place of untold magical potency. Legends said a dagger crafted within the Everforge could split the sky and part the waves, bring death to the deathless, light to the void, and a hundred other impossible feats.

  But one had to ask who tended the forge.

  They had begun as the Smith's first apprentices. Helpers, really, who followed in her footsteps, seeking to learn her techniques, grasp her wisdom, and protect her legacy. Decades passed, and these scholars and caretakers began forming customs and rites. They sought to go further than even their forebear, uncovering the most profound truths of forging.

  The Order of the Forgetenders existed today as a semi-independent faction, boasting the greatest forgemasters in all of Ferris. They worked tirelessly to advance their craft, hoarded secrets from prying eyes, rejected the authority of all nobles who sought to claim their lands, and even rebuffed the crown on several occasions.

  It was said that the Order protected their own as fiercely as they would a family member. In a sense, they were family. And if we could pass their trials, that protection would fall onto us.

  If.

  It took us three weeks to reach the Everforge. Three weeks of traveling day and night, sleeping when we could, hunting when we had to, and always worried each day would be our last. I never stopped looking over my shoulder, but the constant tension faded to the background of my thoughts as practicing my magic once more dominated my waking time.

  I had gotten the hang of flowing mana from my lungs and into my spells automatically, and it was to the point where I could sustain a weak version of my Arcane Body spell at all times. Not enough to make the leap to superhuman, but sufficient to keep me moving long after my muscles should have given out. My next goal was to incorporate looping the mana to reduce my signature and improve efficiency, but hours of practice had barely gotten me anywhere.

  Wallace followed my lead, throwing himself just as much into his practice. He spent hours studying that cold iron dagger, flowing mana into the blade. His efforts did not seem to do anything, and my attempts at prying into his methodology earned me a brusque dismissal rather than an explanation. While he seemed willing to travel with me, Wallace was not yet in a forgiving mood, nor did he have any interest in conversation.

  Day broke over the horizon one morning, and with it came the first glimpse of a structure off in the distance. It was little more than a white splotch, visible only due to its size and position atop a hill, but I knew what it was despite this. I pointed, Wallace grunted his affirmation, Fortunatus continued to nap away, and we carried on towards our destination in the uneasy silence that had become our fourth traveling companion.

  The object resolved into a domed structure, wide and squared with an archway and pillars in the front, not unlike the Academy's entrance hall. It was all in alabaster marble, built at the apex of a hill to better overlook the surrounding lands. Despite its nature as a place of study, learning, and crafting, I found that it resembled a temple more than anything else.

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  Buildings sprawled about the hill in a vast ring of white. They ranged in size and structure from vast estates with multiple separate structures to simple homes with attached forges and workshops. Most were carved of marble, the same as the one crowning the hill, and most shared the same squared shape and decorative pillars.

  We passed through the ring, and as we did so, I felt it for the first time.

  Mana thrummed in the air and rippled underfoot with an intensity I had never before felt, not even in Volaris. It was akin to the Aether-infused waters, a sensation of a leyline near the surface, but vaster and deeper, like comparing a pool to an ocean. I could sense at least five separate elements in overwhelming volumes, and it felt as if a thousand mages could pull from these lines and not cause the slightest dip.

  Even more than the volume was the sensation undergirding the mana. Ley lines typically moved and flowed like rivers, but these seemed to have an unnatural current.

  No, not a current, I realized. A pull.

  I could trace that feeling up towards the hill, and my mind boggled at the power required to do such a thing. We were miles from that temple.

  Who could do that? What could do that? Bending the natural world to your whims like that felt like the realm of the divine, not the mortal. It seemed the kind of thing even an Archmagus could not do. Then again, so did twisting the Astral Plane to your will to chat with your younger self. When all you saw was the bottom of a mountain, the peak seemed unreachable.

  So, instead of dwelling on the impossibility of such feats, I focused on the practicality. What things might come into reach if I could replicate such powers? More importantly, what would be the first step on such a path?

  What kind of magic could do that? It seemed impossible, but then again, so was speaking with your younger self and imbuing them with a portion of your Archmagus strength. So, instead, I focused on the possibilities. What might come within reach if I could mimic even a fraction of such power?

  These thoughts occupied my mind as we walked the streets towards the temple. We passed a few others, and two things quickly became apparent. First, they all wore the same general attire. It was a mixture of red and brown layered cloth, not unlike the robes some traditional mages favored but heavier and more close-fitting. Their sleeves looked narrower, the pants tighter, and the trailing parts shorter.

  The second was that every one of them, regardless of age, gender, physical appearance, or apparent demeanor, was a mage. Their power varied, with some weaker than Wallace and others as strong as any Academy master, but they were one and all magically gifted.

  I weighed the risks of seeming rude, then mentally shrugged and reached out with my senses. They brushed over the nearest buildings, trying to peer past those stone walls and sense more of the inside. Unfortunately, I could perceive nothing. Either the material blocked me, or there was nothing magical to detect. I debated asking Wallace, but his eyes remained firmly straight ahead as if ignoring me.

  A worn stone round wound up the hill at a shallow incline. We followed it, and I could sense the ley lines grow stronger with each step. It soon became 'blinding' in a sense, so potent that it drowned out other sensations.

  Then, we crossed the threshold into the entrance hall, and that blinding sensation vanished.

  I stumbled, and Wallace shook his head with a soft grunt, muttering, "Thank the—."

  His words cut off, and I paused before glancing over at Wallace.

  The metal mage had begun looking about the hall, his eyes wide and mouth half-open. As I followed his lead, I found myself agreeing with his reaction.

  It was shorter and narrower than the Academy's entrance hall but just as ornately decorated. Carved runes of stylized Old Ferren spiraled up pillars wider than my shoulders, forming strangely poetic sentences. I tried to follow along with one, but it seemed to break apart and blend into the next midway through a verse.

  Paintings covered the walls, depicting a woman twice as tall as any regular human. She wore robes and held a staff in one hand, with ashes swirling about her like a cloak. Her bearing was that of a monarch, prideful and entirely sure of her superiority.

  I walked closer to one in particular and found that despite their size, the woman's appearance was indistinct. Flames wreathed her body, and her face seemed covered in a haze as if the heat from her magic shrouded her features.

  The images changed as I walked along the wall, my eyes roaming from painting to painting. Some depicted this mage in scarlet flames, turning all monsters to ash and cinder. Others showed those same embers pouring into a forge the size of a house. Its heart burned, and I swore I could feel the heat coming off—

  "Impressive, is it not?"

  I spun, finding a man standing maybe two arm's length from me. He wore the same brown and red robes as the ones outside, though they differed in a way I could not parse at a glance. His build was heavyset and short, his hair graying, his beard impressive, and his face kind. I judged him somewhere between Fog and Cloud, though his shrouding might have hidden more of his strength than I thought.

  "Very," I agreed, smiling as I inclined my head towards the nearest painting, "I have rarely seen its equal and never it's better, even in Volaris."

  The man chuckled, and he replied, "I should hope so. My predecessors spared no expense crafting it, and neither did my contemporaries in maintaining it."

  I nodded, gesturing towards the wall, and asked, "Am I right in assuming this is the Smith? Are these her entire life?"

  "Not at all," the man shook his head, "No Founder left a full accounting of their lives, and our forebear is no different. Still, there is something to be gained from them. It is said meditating before these murals can grant insight into the magic of both flames and forges."

  I doubted the veracity of such claims but realized as he said it that a few robed figures sat cross-legged along the walls, heads bowed as they seemed to ponder the murals. Perhaps it would be worth trying...once we answered a few questions.

  "Apologies, my lord. My name is Simon, and this is my traveling companion, Markus." I said as I bowed low.

  Wallace had walked up to us and, at my introduction, bowed at the waist and muttered his own apologies.

  "Well met, young Simon," the man's bow was shallower but his smile warm and respectful, "I am Vidarr, gatekeeper of the Order of the Forgetenders."

  I revised my opinion of the man's shrouds. He had to be much stronger than I had assumed. That, or this building hid enough magical protections to bridge a half-dozen ranks even in the hands of a middling mage. I could not decide which would be more impressive.

  "Would you permit a question, honored gatekeeper?"

  "That is one of my primary responsibilities, yes," Vidarr's eyes sparkled.

  I chuckled, replying, "Thank you. My companion and I have come far, seeking to enter your great Order. However, I must admit we know precious little about your customs and traditions. I know you require a certain degree of competency from all members, but that is the extent of my knowledge."

  "Then allow me to educate you," Vidarr replied, waving a hand, "Our order does not discriminate based upon what element you use or what age you are, but rather what talents you possess. Every month, on the first day, anyone may demonstrate before our highest members. If you impress us, you may join our Order."

  "And if you don't?" Wallace asked.

  "Then you may try again the following month. And the one after that, and so on, until you either gain entrance or lose heart."

  "Is there no limit?" I asked, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.

  Vidarr's own grew gentle, "No forger crafted a masterpiece after a single day."

  I decided to yield the point, pivoting as I asked, "Forgiveness, honored gatekeeper, but we have been unable to track the days for some time. How long is there until the next of these demonstrations?"

  "Three weeks and a day," Vidarr replied.

  That was not nearly enough time to polish our skills, but I wanted to try regardless. Failure was an irritation, but a mage who shied away from it would never reach the highest heights. Besides, we did have some time. Ferris was large enough that those assassins should take at least a few months to track us down.

  "One final question, if you would," I asked, and Vidarr once more nodded, "Do you know where we may find lodging?"

  Vidarr chuckled, "Yes, I believe I can be of some help. Please, follow me."

  With that, he walked past me towards the archway leading back outside. Wallace and I exchanged glances and then, with matching half-shrugs, followed the gatekeeper.

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