I did not like to toot my metaphorical horn, but I was abnormally skilled in self-augmentation. My core and channels were large and durable enough to support those spells far longer than most. Hours of practice had made my Arcane Body spell near-instinctive, and a combination of Wallace's looping technique, my modified mana breathing, and my knowledge of healing magic and human anatomy had combined into something bordering on impressive.

  However, magic was no substitute for a good night's rest. And I was overdue for that by two days. Or was it three?

  My head felt like someone had taken a chisel to it, and my limbs had fallen asleep at some point after my thirtieth attempt at forming a permanent mana construct. I had emptied and refilled my core at least four times, and even my tempered channels showed the first signs of stress.

  All those unpleasant sensations and thoughts registered from a distance as I focused on the space between my hands. Aether pulsed and swirled, streaming through my fingers in loose streams and into a sphere. A few wisps broke free as I worked, but some loss was expected.

  Work carefully and methodically. Focus on your intent. Clear your mind of all distractions.

  They were the words of Master Laila and a thousand of her predecessors, simple advice for a complex skill. Typically, they might help guide my hand, but they felt more of a distraction than anything. So, as I had with the rest of the chaff, I pushed them aside.

  I gathered up the mana within my grip and, with one final deep breath, squeezed. My Aether pushed back, pressing against the weakest parts of my control, but countless repetitions taught me to expect the response. A few motes broke free, but I adjusted, rotating the sphere and recentering it with each minor instability.

  Slowly, the orb shrunk, growing brighter and more substantial both physically and within my magical senses. I could feel it condense, transforming from a thin gas to a cloud and then to a viscous fluid, not unlike honey. It was here that I had failed every past attempt, and it was this invisible wall that I sought to break.

  The sphere wobbled as if it sensed my determination. I felt it reverberate in my grip, mana pulsing in time with my heart as the construct destabilized. My will was unbroken, but my control was far less so. I adjusted, trying to push down on the parts that had begun to break free, but that first instability had set off a cascade. Other portions started to flicker and ripple, sending bits of Aether buzzing into the air.

  I tried to grasp at anything, any ideas that might fix the instability or passages that would illuminate my failures. Nothing came to mind, and so, with a muttered swear, I released the construct into its base energy before it blew apart in my face.

  Some of the lost Aether flowed back into my core, and I sighed, rubbing my eyes as I pondered the failed attempt.

  Two months had passed since we first attempted to pass the Order's trials. Two months and two more failures for our trouble.

  Wallace and I had not sat on our hands after that first attempt. We kept busy, training and studying as often as possible. When that failed, we listened and learned, trying to settle into our new home.

  The Order had its own ranks and rules, similar to but distinct from typical mage titles. All began as Initiates, those seeking to pass the Trials and join their ranks. Those who did would become Disciples, the lowest of the official members. Skilled Disciples became Adherents who, in turn, became Speakers, and the greatest of those was the Keeper.

  Most ranks did not matter for our purposes, save the final two. The Speakers and the Keeper ran the trials, and impressing them was key to passing. Unfortunately, this proved a taller task than even the rumors would suggest, not for lack of trying.

  I had regained the lion's share of my physical strength. My mana reserves grew deeper each day, though advancing by the year's end remained a distant dream. Constant training continued to inch my talents as a forger forward, and those improvements brought new ideas. But despite the incremental progress, two things needled at me.

  First, it was not enough.

  I could form a half-dozen orbs, sending them about my body in a dizzying pattern few could follow or combining them into one massive orb the size of my chest. I could restructure one into various shapes with barely a pause and minimal effort. If I wanted to risk the migraine, I could do both, conjuring up multiple constructs of different forms.

  Yet none of that got me through the trials. It had helped hone my armor and would serve as the foundation for spells I planned to craft later, but such work did little in the short term.

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  The second was envy.

  I did not like to call myself talented. I was, of course, or I would never have reached Archmagus in that original future, but it had always felt dangerous. Short-sighted, even.

  Once you started to call yourself a genius, that self-perception sunk into your core. You relied on it and your in-born talents and, as a result, became dependent. Mages with uncommon gifts fell to the all-to-common vice of complacency. But even if I was talented, it was a dim spark beside Wallace.

  The metal mage had not only kept pace with me but surpassed my growth utterly. He could train for only a fraction of the time each day, but his talent in creation almost rivaled mine, his perception deeper, and his mastery over alteration my superior. Yet none of that struck me as much as his progress with reinforcement.

  I turned my attention to the figure sitting on the grass across from me, the only other person within Cibris' small, private courtyard. He wore the same initiate robes as me, dark and loose cloth in the colors of the Order. Three pieces of iron ore sat before him, each the size of my fist.

  Wallace had his eyes closed, but I could sense the faint twisting of the mana within his body. I watched as he reached one hand out, and with that motion came the tiniest twitch of power.

  The three chunks of ore rose at his command to float before his face. They rotated slowly in the air, orbiting one another in a lazy circle. Wallace's eyes twitched, and again, there came that faint flicker of mana.

  Chunks of rock seemed to melt off the ore. Sand spilled from cracks, and inky smoke rose toward the sunset sky. Soon, three chunks of pure but patchwork iron hung before him. Yet Wallace was not finished.

  The man's hand twisted, and the three iron hunks seemed to liquefy. They flowed together above Wallace's palm, forming a rippling metallic sphere. This sphere compressed, corners and sharp angles jutting out as he reformed and refined it.

  A perfect iron cube fell into Wallace's waiting hand. It was smaller than any of the unrefined hunks of ore had been, but I knew even from a glance that it would not have a single trace of non-ferrous material.

  Hot jealousy burned through me. This was a level of artistry I doubted I would ever reach. I could picture a world where my talents with alteration matched Wallace's and one where I was the superior mage overall. My scholarly knowledge almost certainly surpassed his own, even in Forging. But this was a barrier I did not know I could surmount, regardless of how much effort I put into it.

  That Wallace was born with such innate talent, and a core too small to use his gifts seemed a cruel twist of fate. What heights could he reach if he had my reserves? And how often had other, similarly challenged mages been left to rot? It felt comparable to my struggles with Aether and left me wondering how deep such stagnation went.

  I considered the question momentarily, then shrugged as I stood and walked over to Wallace. It was not my duty to rebuild the whole country as I would prefer, but I could try and help this mage reach his full potential. It seemed the least I could do, all things considered.

  "I would swear," I said with a smile, "That you get faster every time you do that."

  Wallace glanced up at me, snorting as he replied, "Yeah. I think it'll get faster once I hit Mist, but I don't think I'll be ready to advance for at least another few months."

  Again, there was that flash of petty jealousy. He had almost caught up to me in less than a year. Sure, he would likely never grow beyond Drop, but it still stung at my pride.

  I forced down the irrational feeling with some effort, plastering a smile on my face as I asked, "How are you feeling about our next attempt at the trials?"

  Wallace shrugged one shoulder. "About as good as you'd expect. Last time, only my reinforcement was good enough. I don't think I've improved enough to pass. Although..."

  The man trailed off, and I waited for him to continue. It became apparent he had no such intentions, so I gestured towards the cube in his hand and asked, "Do you mind?"

  Wallace shrugged. "Knock yourself out."

  I nodded in thanks, then reached out with my force magic and pulled the iron to my hand. It felt smooth as glass, and I could sense the metal mana within, even without actively searching.

  Wallace had bound his mana to the cube and worked it into the metal with impossible finesse. It felt like he had layered it within, binding it as naturally as one might bind carbon to iron. I had read of similar techniques before, but most could not do so within their first year of training.

  "What about you?" Wallace asked as I examined the cube, "How are you feeling? About passing, I mean."

  I kept my eye on the cube as I replied, "My creation and alteration skills have improved, though I doubt either is good enough yet. Mastering permanent constructs might put me over, though that is taking longer than expected."

  "But?" Wallace filled in what I left unsaid.

  Twin Aether streams flowed from my core. One half formed a gauntlet around my hand, denser and brighter than ever, thanks to my improved creation skills. The other sank into the cube, brushing against the reinforced metal alloy. I felt it hum in my hands, vibrating like a struck bell. Then, with a sharp crack, it split in two.

  "But two out of three is one too few," I finished, sighing as I dropped the broken cube back into Wallace's hand, "Sorry."

  Wallace caught it, and the two halves melted together to reform an unbroken cube.

  "Show-off," I muttered under my breath.

  Wallace grinned, but that looked faded after a few seconds. "Don't suppose you have any leads on who was after us, do you?"

  "No," I replied, folding my arms across my chest, "Not a clue."

  The assassins had not tracked us down, at least not yet. I was sure they still sought me out but could not even begin to guess how long it would take. Ferris was a massive country, and the Everforge was a popular enough destination for mages but far from the likeliest hiding place.

  A part of me wondered if Selene was still alive. I had wanted to warn her of the threat, but the circumstances of our flight from Aranth had made that impossible. And now, sending a message of some kind felt too risky. It would leave a trail right back to us.

  Besides, chances were she was safe. I was an obvious target, and Wallace had become involved by happenstance more than anything. In all likelihood, these assassins would leave Selene alive and well.

  Those attestations did little to assuage the twisting in my stomach that arose whenever I thought of the healer's apprentice.

  I shook my head, clearing the unpleasant thoughts away, and continued, "Either way, our best option is to keep training. If we can become Disciples, our problems should solve themselves."

  "Are you sure they wouldn't come after us?" Wallace asked, sounding uncertain.

  "Yes," I lied, smiling at the man.

  He looked utterly unconvinced, and I saw the scowl flicker across his face. We had reached an uneasy peace, but Wallace made no secret about his frustrations with me.

  I decided to head a fight off at the pass and continued. "I think I will turn in the for evening. Throwing myself into a problem tends to stop being productive after two days without sleep. Have a good night."

  "Yeah, you too," Wallace said, and he almost sounded genuine.

  I walked to my room and flopped onto the bed, closing my eyes to ward off the lingering headache. Fort jumped up beside me, and I sensed his curiosity at my roiling thoughts and emotions.

  "What's wrong?" the cat asked in my head, his 'voice' clear enough to be nearly human.

  I chewed on the question and once more found myself reaching for the comfortable lie.

  "Nothing," I said, "Nothing at all."

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