The wind dances through the leaves in a pealing chime of laughter. "Oh, little one," says the tendrils of air that flick by her face and caress her hair. "This place is not meant for you." The air coalesces into a shimmering space where color loses meaning. It is smiling, teeth bright and blue and gold and green and scarlet. The words are not unkind. The smile is not cruel. The air is not frigid. The space is not unwelcoming. And still the wind laughs.

She blinks up at the apparition, tilting her head. "Not meant for me?" she echoes, lifting a hand to touch the colors that swim through its form. Her fingers pass through unimpeded, sending ripples through the impossible hues. "I don't think I was meant for anywhere in particular. I simply am." Inquiring glance meets mysterious smile, as she takes in this strange thing that calls itself the wind, that feels like laughter and looks like the heart of a nebula. "Everyone and everything is meant for everywhere, or nowhere at all." They didn't give her training for this in the Summer Scouts.

"And there you have found the answer," it croons, still gleaming in a light that does not shine. "This is a nowhere-place, and you are not a nothing-person." The laughter echoes farther than it should, bouncing from tree to tree until the forest entire rings with it. "How many branches are on this tree, darling?" it says, gesturing with a light breeze towards a tall and sterling specimen that tastes of milk and starlight. "Count them." Numbers are a construct of the everywhere-places, beside permanence and causality. Existence is far more malleable in places such as this one.

She tilts her head back, peering up into the branches that seem to stretch endlessly into the sky. Counting them would be an impossible task, as they blur and shift when she tries to focus, melding into each other. "I don't think there's any point in counting," she says, glancing back to the impossible creature. "Numbers don't seem to mean much here. Though I suppose that's to be expected, in a place meant for nowhere and no one." Reaching out, she grabs one of the lower branches and pulls herself up. The wood feels strange under her hands, not quite solid and not quite gas. She climbs higher, until the ground seems very far away, and settles onto a broad limb. "What do you call this place?" she asks, kicking her feet idly. The rules of gravity, it seems, are as flexible as any others here.

The laughter continues. Maybe it never stops here. "You are all so similar. Looking for Names and Categories and Simpliciter. This place is simply this place. It needs no reference while I am here, and when I am gone, it will be nowhere, so it will have no reference. To Name it would be to make it Other than what it is." The tree branch she sits on slowly curls around her, cradling her ever so softly. It does not constrain, does not confine. It is merely present, skin to skin. "This is why you should go to the everywhere-places. They have Names and numbers. They have a place for you. This nowhere-place has no place for no one and no thing." The air is still like a breath held, anticipation and tension coiling tight.

She hums thoughtfully, resting her hands on the ever-shifting branch that cradles her. "You want me to leave this place. Or rather, you know I don't belong here." She tilts her head up, staring into a sky that refuses to resolve itself into anything familiar or definable. "But nowhere and no one have a claim on me either. I don't need to belong anywhere." Her fingers slide over the bark, feeling its strange not-texture, watching colors that don't exist bleed into her skin. She does miss her friends, but it doesn't seem like the most... pressing concern right now. Besides, Neptune will take care of Venus.

"Oh darling," whispers the wind up against her ear, and it almost sounds sad. "You can't stay." No matter how shimmer-soft, how river-stone, she is of the everywhere-places, a something-person, and she simply cannot persist as she is in this place. "This is a nowhere-place. It has nothing inside. You are something, and what a beautiful something you are. There is no something here. Not for long." There is nothing to be gained in making nothing out of something and everything to be lost, no matter how gently the trees would have her. The wind knows the taste of salt, even if the trees anchor themselves with themselves. There are teeth buried within the roots.

She sighs at the creature's gentle insistence, leaning into the branch that holds her. "You're determined to send me away, aren't you?" The colors from her hands have spread further, swirling over her arms in patterns that hurt to look at and yet are impossible to look away from. She knows it's right; already she feels her sense of self starting to fray at the edges, dissolving into laughter and starlight. But she has always been stubborn. With effort, she pulls her hands away from the branch, clenching them into fists to trap the colors beneath her skin. "I don't belong anywhere," she repeats, as much to herself as her ephemeral companion. "So I will go... elsewhere. But not because you're sending me away." She climbs down carefully, the world tilting under her feet with every step. At the base of the tree she pauses, glancing up at where the creature's smile still gleams, as constant as the laughter. "Thank you for your concern," she says softly. "But I choose my own nowhere-places to wander." Turning away, she takes a few steps between the trees and---

She is outside the forest, sunlight shining down on a field of grass. The trees look different from the outside, less humming, more grooves. There are birds somewhere, perhaps. This is a place where the earth stands still.

Behind her, someone giggles. "Got kicked out of the Faerie Forest, eh? You know those types, always so sweet when you're out here, and then you go in, and they're suddenly the taste of shattered glass and want nothing to do with you. Such a shame..."

She blinks at the abrupt transition, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. It takes a moment for the giggling voice to register, and she turns slowly, peering at the speaker. Female, orange hair, vaguely familiar - a campmate, maybe? She frowns, trying to place the face. "I wasn't kicked out, exactly," she says, shaking her head a little to clear it of the lingering traces of impossible colors. "They just... strongly suggested it was time for me to leave. Before I stopped being something and started being nothing, I suppose." She glances over her shoulder at the innocuous-looking trees, feeling suddenly reluctant to turn her back on them. "Have we met before?" she asks, looking to the other girl again. Her memories feel tangled, like threads of two different fabrics woven haphazardly together. Some are fading, while others sharpen into new focus. "I seem to be having some trouble keeping things straight at the moment."

The girl giggles again. "I mean, you University folk come to town sometimes, but we don't really talk. Speaking of, something big's going on up there. A lot of the big cloaks running around. You might want to check in?" She points towards the only hill in the middle of what seems to be a prairie. On that hill is a tall building with spires arcing up to meet the sky. True to her word, there does seem like there are a lot of people running around, though they don't seem too big from this distance. 

Jupiter frowns, following the girl's pointing finger to the building atop the distant hill. The University. Yes, that sounds familiar. She spent time there, didn't she? Studying...something. Her brow furrows as she tries to remember. "There does seem to be some commotion," she says slowly. "I suppose I should go see what's happening." She glances again at the line of trees behind her, an odd reluctance tugging at her to venture back into their depths. But the University calls her now, for reasons she can't quite grasp. With a nod of thanks to the orange-haired girl, Jupiter starts off across the field toward the hill, each step pulling faded memories into sharper focus. The Summer Scouts, her friends, lessons on cosmological theory and deep space survival. By the time she reaches the arched gates of the University, nearly everything has settled back into its proper place. She pauses to scan the central plaza, watching scholars and students hurrying to and fro, a humming energy in the air that speaks of something big on the horizon. Drawing a deep breath of the familiar sights and sounds, Jupiter sets off into the fray to find some answers.

Both students and faculty look panicked, though the older wizards do a better job at hiding it. People are poring over scrolls with swirling ink and gesticulating frantically at each other. They are hushed, but everything about the situation implies that many are one wrong move away from an informal wizard brawl. Snippets of different conversation flow past her ears.

"—numbers are absurd! A surge of potential this large would level the Academy, not even considering the—"

"—space is always hard around that place but this could indicate a reconvergence of the ley lines if you just trace—"

"—dispersion patterns indicate a high-activation low-maintenance spell typical of permanent transformation, energy transfer, summoning, or formless—"

"—resonance drops off immediately, no backlash or anything. It's like the spell doesn't even—"

"—librarian is actively shedding scales over all these scrolls out, if anyone's done with theirs, please return them—"

Everyone seems fairly busy, but not so busy that she couldn't interrupt.

Jupiter weaves through the bustling scholars, catching fragments of hushed conversations that do little to clarify the situation. Something has disrupted the magical energies here, setting off a flurry of research and debate that threatens to boil over at any moment. She pauses by a cluster of older professors, recognizing a few from her studies. "Pardon me," she says, inclining her head respectfully. "I've only just returned from an...excursion. Would someone mind filling me in on what exactly is happening here?"

The Professor (known only by title, unlike the rest) snaps his head up from the small huddle. "Didn't you feel it?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "That momentary surge of potential. It snapped Madame Ryoko out of hibernation two months ahead of schedule. And worst of all, none of these idiots I call colleagues can even agree on the basic principles of the event. Laurence, the surge was obviously mostly backflow to a local deficit from the event itself. Ponnel, your 'elevated power levels' are because the local equilibrium has dropped by a non-negligible amount, and I would know. Winslow, your dispersion patterns are... not terrible. Now cross-reference them with those extreme hypotheticals we use for ridiculous examples."

In essence, no one really knows what is happening here. 

She blinks at the Professor's abrupt summation, more confused than before. A surge of magical potential, awakening creatures from hibernation and disrupting the energies here, the cause of which remains unknown. "I see," she says slowly, though she doesn't, not really. Her 'excursion' must have taken her farther than she realized, for her to have missed something so significant. She glances over the arguing scholars, the harried librarians, the general air of controlled panic. "And no one has any ideas as to the source of this surge?" she asks. Whatever woke Madame Ryoko and set the University scholars scrambling, it seems far beyond her own meager talents. Still, she's reluctant to venture back outside the University gates until she has some grasp of what's happening. "What can I do to help?"

The Professor grimaced. "You can..." Then he frowned. "I don't recognize you. When did you take Magical Theory?" Every student at the University must, at some point, take Magical Theory, even the ones who are there for non-magical subjects. The vast majority of magical subjects have it as a prerequisite. The Professor knows everyone. But he doesn't know this person. 

Another professor raised an eyebrow at him. "I've seen this student in the hallways before. They take..." This professor frowns a little. "I can't recall right now. But anyway, it's not really that relevant!"

She stands silently for a moment, frowning as she realizes the professors don't seem to recognize her. Stranger still, their memories of her seem hazy at best, as though viewing her through some distorting lens. The familiar sights and sounds of the University feel slightly off, in a way she can't quite define. Something isn't right here. There's a ringing in her ears and her vision swims. She might throw up. "My apologies," she says abruptly. "I seem to have confused myself. I should...get out of the way." Backing away from the clustered professors, she starts off down one of the arched hallways at as casual a pace as she can muster. As soon as she's out of their sight, though, she breaks into a run, boots slapping against the stone floors. She needs to find Neptune and Venus. Whatever strange magics are at work here, causing this surge of power and disrupting memories, she knows she won't unravel them alone. Her friends will help her make sense of this, as they always have. They are her anchors, when the call of open space and distant stars grows too strong. As long as she has them by her side, there is nothing to fear from magic or the Devil or her own wandering heart. She heads for the dorms, she'll definitely find them there.

The student dorms are in the East Wing. Something about the sun and convergence of energy. Some people give her odd looks as she sprints through the halls, but with what's going on outside, she's barely worth the look. Arch after arch spill by, stained-glass windows shining. The dorms are distributed by floor, each year with their own. The metaphor of ascension made physical, made tangible. She just needs to find her room. She's on... which floor is she on again? Years aren't constrained by age, just by skill, but how long has she been here?

She runs up several flights of stairs, feet pounding against the well-worn stone, until she finds her usual floor. The hallway seems unfamiliar for a moment before resolve sets back in and she heads down it, scanning the doors for the number Neptune painted there last winter. 402. She skids to a stop in front of it, panting, and raises a fist to pound against the wood. "Neptune!" Her voice is tight with barely-controlled panic. "Venus! Are you in there? Open up, we have a problem!" She continues hammering at the door, the noise echoing through the empty hallway. No one answers. Her stomach drops, a cold tightness settling into her chest. They should be here. Where else would they be? Steeling herself, she tries the handle and finds it unlocked. The door swings open to reveal a mostly empty room, devoid of any signs its usual inhabitants were just here. Bunk beds line one wall, sheets and blankets in disarray. Scattered notes and sketches litter the floor and desks, topics ranging from constellations to combustion engines to mythology. But no Neptune. No Venus. She takes a few halting steps into the room, glancing around in disbelief. They were just here, she could have sworn - she remembers talking with them, making plans to visit the new aeronautics museum, teasing Venus about his crush on the librarian's assistant. But the details slip through her mental grasp like water, leaving her with a nameless apprehension that something is very wrong. "Where did you go?" she whispers, fists clenched at her sides. Her voice breaks. "You can't just leave me here alone."

The sound of sharp footsteps resonate down the hall, not quite in time with the steps themselves. The Professor stops just outside Room 402. "I knew I didn't recognise you. The casting pattern. Excess, deficit, equilibrium. Atypical of wizards and warlocks. The reverse of sorcerers. Of course it wasn't a spell." The Professor sighs, running a hand across his face. "This sort of thing is usually undetectable for everyone else."

She stares at the Professor, fists slowly unclenching. His words sink in, clarifying the reason for her confusion and the strange absence of her friends. Of course. It had to be magic - some working gone awry, or experiment tampered with. The familiar halls and faces of this place were never quite right. She swallows against the tightness in her throat, willing her voice to remain steady. "This isn't camp, is it." It's not a question. She knows now that none of this was real. The surge of power, the scholars' arguments, her frantic search through empty dorm rooms - all an elaborate illusion, meant to distract her from the truth. But why? And who conjured it? Her mind spins with unanswered questions, even as she struggles to accept the loss of the only anchors she knows. Neptune and Venus were never here. There is no Them against the Devil this time. She is alone. Her fingers curl into fists again as anger wars with fear. How dare they toy with her in this way.

"No." The Professor said. "This is a school, and you are suspended in an unstable equilibrium. Have you been experiencing contradictory memories?"

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "Yes," she says shortly, meeting the Professor's gaze. "Ever since I woke in that forest. Nothing here has felt quite...real." Her hands clench into fists at her sides, anger simmering just below the surface. Anger at being manipulated, at having her deepest fears and desires toyed with in such a way. "What is this place? Why did you bring me here?" She has so many questions, but those two seem the most pressing. If this was meant as some kind of twisted experiment, she intends to find out who is responsible.

"I didn't—" He cuts himself off with a sigh. "This place is real, but as far as our methods have been able to detect, it is... less real than most other 'real' places." He curls a hand, and a faint image of a waterfall spilling into a canyon appears. "Reality seeks equilibrium. We are fortunate enough to be entirely encased by unreal places or we would be drowned beneath the weight of a foreign world." The waterfall image twists, and now there is no canyon. Instead, the waterfall floods the land below. "With enough power, enough reality, things can make it over the gap." The canyon again, but this time, the waterfall flows faster, and glimmering droplets land on the other side. 

He looks at her, and his eyes flash gold and grey. "Did you become something real? Something vast and glorious enough to traverse the infinite nothing? Or did the once-stable floor of reality collapse beneath your feet?"

She swallows, staring out at the flowing canyon and waterfall. "I was walking with my friends in the forest near camp," she says slowly. "When I emerged into a clearing with strange trees and an impossible creature made of laughter and light. It told me I didn't belong there, and insisted I leave before I became...nothing. When I emerged, I found myself here - at least, what seemed to be here." Her fingers curl into tight fists again, nails biting into her palms. "What is this gap you mentioned? Why have I crossed into this place, that is less real than others?" There are too many pieces missing from this puzzle, for her to grasp how they fit together.

He laughs. It is bitter and cold. "There is no why. Sometimes reality has cracks running beneath the surface. Sometimes you become something so grand you make the cracks yourself. This place is... a wetland of sorts. The last bit of land before the sea. Things that fall in wash up here. You fell into the nothing that surrounds everything. But there's something different about you." He reaches a hand out slowly, tentatively, the fledgeling child of hope in his eyes. It makes contact with hers, and he flinches back, shock and awe and wonder arcing across his face.

She stares at his outstretched hand, hesitating only a moment before placing her own within it. His touch sends a jolt through her, a surge of something that resonates deep within. For the first time since awakening in this strange forest, she feels grounded - anchored to something solid and real. "What did you find?" Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. She can see the shock and wonder in his eyes, knows somehow that touching her was no small thing.

He laughs for the first time in ages. "I guess you're a little like me," he says, then sticks the hand not being held by someone for the first time in years through the wall in demonstration. He's not here, really. He hasn't been here since his grand and failed experiment. "Not quite anchored. Except I went inside out, and you went outside in."

She stares at their joined hands, feeling the hum of life - of something real - pass between them. "Outside in," she echoes. The pieces click into place, forming a picture she's still struggling to grasp. She didn't simply stumble into a magical forest - she fell through cracks in reality itself, and emerged in this place. A fey fen, where bits of the real collect like driftwood. And she is real, impossibly so, in a way even she doesn't fully understand. Her eyes meet his again. "What is your name?" she asks softly. Names have power, even here.

"Don't have one. Or at least, not anymore. Or maybe I never did and I only noticed after I unfurled from the confines of this narrow reality." His gaze goes distant, foggy. "It's strange what you notice only after it's gone." He blinks, comes back to himself. "Apologies for the tangent. Do you still have a name, or did you lose yours too?"

She hesitates, wondering if giving her name might grant this strange creature power over her in turn. But he has already seen through her, grasped some fundamental truth about what she is. There seems little point in denying him. "Jupiter," she says at last. "My friends call me Jupiter." Memory, cruel, sends a pang of sharp longing through her. Their faces are fading from her mind, details slipping away with each passing moment in this place. She tightens her grip on the Professor's hand, anchoring herself to his impossible solidity. "Will I find my way back?" she asks softly.

At this, the faint smile falls from his face, and he conjures up the waterfall again. "Does water fall up, Jupiter? Reality seeks equilibrium, and this is the bottom of the basin. To climb out..." He shakes his head slowly. "You are not yet anchored here, but that does not mean you are still anchored there."

She nods slowly, understanding. The water will not flow upward, nor the light retreat into darkness. What has been done cannot be undone. She is here, in this strange fey place at the bottom of all things, and there is no climbing out. Her fingers tighten around the Professor's, seeking comfort that logic tells her he cannot provide. And yet, impossibly, his hand remains solid in her grasp - a lifeline thrown across an uncrossable gulf. "I didn't come here alone," she says at last, voice barely above a whisper. She doesn't want to forget them, her anchors against the storm. "My friends, Neptune and Venus. Will they find their way here too?" It seems too much to hope for, that they might follow her into this place. And yet she cannot accept being parted from them forever. They are a trinity, hands joined by the devil that would consume them. Without the others, what is left of her Light and Water?

He looks at her, this child, this person from a world he has never known. He does not want to break her heart. "It is possible. But most things that fall into the sea do not come back out." As part of his experiment, he had done extensive research on the cracks between worlds. Many fell past this last gasp of reality. And the nothing... The nothing consumes until nothing remains. Statistically speaking, far more entities should be falling through the cracks than appeared in the world, even accounting for the vast stretches of land that had few people to observe such occurrences. "And even if they made it through, there is no guarantee that they are on this continent, let alone in this nation." He carefully does not mention how much of the planet is covered by water, how easy it would be for people to drown.

She lets out a slow breath, staring down at their joined hands. The Professor's words echo in her mind, a grim pronouncement that leaves little room for hope. Neptune and Venus may never find their way here, may even now be struggling in the grasp of that terrible nothing that surrounds all things. And if by some miracle they survive its hunger, this place where the real collects is so vast they could be anywhere. She is alone. Her fingers tighten around his, seeking impossible comfort. She doesn't want to be alone again. There's a sound of creaking, slipping strain of concrete blocks grinding together, compression of atomic nuclei cores at the heart of blood-red star weeping iron. Without the others to ground her, what is there to hold it - her - at bay? "You should not have told me their fate," she whispers. The devil only ever gets one moment. One moment of weakness or doubt, and it will consume her utterly. She snaps her hairtie, seeking the calm, rational center she has cultivated over years of struggle. There is nothing to fear. The storm will not break over her. She will be distant. She lifts her gaze to the Professor's, eyes fierce and bright. "I choose to remain here, for now. This place at the bottom of all things. There must be cracks that lead...elsewhere. Other bits of the real, other anchors against the storm." Her fingers tighten around his hand like a vice. "You will show me the way." It's not a request. She will not be alone again.

He has always been one for certainty over hope, but perhaps that was the wrong approach for this one, especially when her thaumaturgic field is still fluctuating for reasons he cannot discern. She is distant now, her joy and grief and love and agony tucked inside her chest. "We should get you formally enrolled with Admissions. And the Administrator should be informed of your existence. They would find out regardless and would be... displeased that I had not told them immediately."

She breathes in deep, measuring each inhale and exhale to calm the panic still twisting sharp in her chest. The hands will not reach for her here. She looks to the Professor, brows drawing down. "Where is this...Administrator? If I must make myself known, let us do so now." Best to get the formalities over with, to find her place in this strange land at the bottom of all things. As long as there are still cracks and chinks to explore, places beyond here that call to her restless heart, she will endure whatever rules they see fit to impose. Her hand tightens once more around his before releasing its grip. She lifts her chin, jaw set in stubborn lines. There is nothing to fear. She will remain distant. Calm.

As is tradition, the Administrator resides in the tallest tower of the University, only accessible by stair. He privately suspects that the Administrator enchanted the staircase to get ever so slightly longer each day, but every time he tries to make a formal count, the Administrator admonishes him for 'loitering'. "Follow me. It is a fairly long walk." 

'Fairly long' is perhaps an understatement considering that the tallest tower just so happens to be on the exact opposite end of the school from the student wing. Still, the time passes.

The staircase to the Administrator's tower is narrow and steep, with steps that seem to multiply even as she climbs them. Though it can't be more than a few floors, the journey feels endless as she huffs and puffs up the tight spiraling steps. They must be at elevation, or something. She's not used to getting tired out climbing stairs. The walls press close, trapping the stale air that grows warmer with each turn. She focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to dwell on the cramped space closing in around her, skin prickling. She can just imagine that the Administrator, whoever they may be, smirking knowingly. Only a sadist or someone who really liked looking down on people set themselves up in a space like this.

At the top of the staircase, the double doors swing open, revealing an office that by all rights should be well-light. There are small light charms gleaming, illusory candles in their fixtures, even the exorbitance of real Luminas gemstones in the chandelier. Still, the Administrator seems to swallow the light, pulsing with what is best described as hollow. 

"Professor," says the Administrator, "how nice to see you in my office instead of skulking by the stairs. And with a guest, no less."

She climbs the last few steps to emerge, breathless, into the Administrator's office. The space seems is best described as tenebrous, much like its sole occupant - a figure wreathed in shadows that pulse with something hollow and unnameable. It reminds her of that time she saw a whale under her kayak - the feeling of moving close to something intensely powerful and profoundly uninterested in her well-being. She's just too small. Jupiter wrings her hands, trying to disperse a surge of unease, fixing her gaze on the familiar (why is he familiar?) shape of the Professor. She inclines her head politely to the Administrator. "You wished to see me." Her voice comes out steady, belying the rapid thump of her heart. The walls press close here, just like the stairwell, and she longs for open sky and distant stars. There is nothing to fear. She repeats it like a mantra.

There is a faint echo of laughter. It comes from the light sources that are being strangled of their shine. "No, though it is good that the Professor is being more proactive with his projects." The pulsating darkness approaches, pulling away more and more of the light until it stands in front of her, stretching taller than the walls. "He never was very adept at appeasing his superiors." The darkness pulls back slightly, turning towards the Professor. "Decent starting material. High thauma. We could do so much with this as our clay. Though of course, we would never do such things to a student." The darkness abruptly pivots back to her. "You are a student, yes? Because we at the University do not take kindly to trespassers."

She swallows, keeping her gaze fixed on the pulsating shadows that seem to devour all light. It's giving her a headache just to look at it, and its harsh laughter sets her teeth on edge, a reminder of her insignificance before such power. But she will not cow before this thing, whatever it may be. She is no trespasser. "I am a student," she says, lifting her chin. Her voice does not waver. "The Professor found me, and brought me hence. If this University does not accept drifters and wanderers, then say so now." She curls her hands into fists to hide their trembling. There is nothing to fear. "I do not beg for entrance where I am not wanted. Simply point the way out, and I shall trouble you no more." Some part of her urges flight, to flee this place of shadows and grasping hands. But she stands her ground, gaze locked with the pulsating darkness. She will not be moved or molded, save by her own choice.

The shadows pull back ever so slightly. "Good." Its voice takes on the barest edge of ritual. "You will be shaped by many hands, but the only one who can determine your path is you. You will be known by many names, but the only one who can determine your fate is you. You will be seen by many eyes, but the only one who will know yourself is you. It will be a hard path and a cold path and a hollow path, and the cost its own reward. Only you can decide if it is worth the price. Welcome, wizard hopeful, to the University."

Then the shadows recede entirely, revealing bright and cheerful light. "Run along now. I'm sure you have classes to attend."

The Professor bows slightly, so slight it would be less rude if he feigned forgetfulness and simply abstained from bowing. "Thank you for your time, Administrator," he says, voice carefully absent of disdain. And they walk down the spiral staircase that tastes of forever. 

"Admissions will get you sorted," he says as they walk. "They'll do some aptitude testing, all the standard ones you would have gotten if you'd come here the standard way. Then class registration. It's a few weeks after the start of term, so you may have some catching up to do. There's also the... cultural and historical education. Someone will have to tell you who the king is. Not me because I haven't paid attention to royalty since the last execution, but someone."

To be shaped and named and seen, a hard and hollow path that is its own reward. She shakes off a shiver, peering up at the man beside her. "Who is this king you mentioned?" she asks, seeking distraction from her own churning thoughts. There's so much she doesn't know about this place, this world she's found herself in. Her lessons at camp never prepared her for any of this. She quickens her pace down the steps, longing for open sky. "And what sorts of classes can I expect, as a 'wizard hopeful'?" The title sits oddly upon her shoulders, conjuring images of pointy hats and magic wands that seem quite out of place here. Maybe she'll get a transformation sequence?

"Well, the current king is Sa... Se... ask someone else her name, but she took power in the traditional way about fifteen years ago. Since she's still alive, I assume there's been no significant complaints. And as a wizard hopeful, mostly the basics in everything. You don't specialize until you actually attain wizardry. Basic theory, that's my course, fundamentals of alchemy, energy manipulation, sensing kairos, transcending the self... No, you asked about courses, my apologies." He shakes his head briskly to clear it, then continues. "Magical Theory, Amplitude Manipulation, Clairvoyance, Alchemy, Ethics, Channeling, some extracurriculars. We can ask Admissions for a full list."

She shakes her head slowly, feeling frustration churn inside her at the string of unfamiliar terms. Nice to know this place expects her to hit the ground running, without any consideration for how little she actually knows. "What is alchemy?" she asks, fixing the Professor with an intent look as they continue down the narrow steps. If he's going to be her guide in this place, he'll have to start actually explaining things instead of rattling off lists. "And transcending the self - what does that even mean?" At least 'ethics' sounds self-explanatory, though she's not sure how much good it will do her here. The stairwell finally opens into a larger hall, and she breathes a sigh of relief at escaping its confines. But her frustration remains. "Before you dump me at this...Admissions, I need to understand more about what I'm getting into. What do you wizards actually do?" She runs a hand through her hair, peering up at the Professor.

"It is... understanding the true nature of things and changing them. Making something Other out of what is known. A lot of Inersi think it's just magic cooking because that's what witches use, but that's the method, not the philosophy. And transcendence is... understanding the world beyond the lens of just who you are. Stepping off the island that is you. You can't use your power if you don't first see."

He neatly dodges a small pack of younger wizard hopefuls as he navigates towards Admissions. "We don't... Wizardry is a philosophy more than it is a profession. Things happen in the course of wizardry, but none of that is what wizardry is. It's the will to look, comprehend, become. It's the understanding that there is more to this world than we could ever imagine or understand and seeking that knowledge regardless. It's..." He laughs. "Medea would call me an idealistic fool. We do our best, Jupiter. That's all anyone can do."

She lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. This philosophy the Professor describes sounds like grasping at stars - endless seeking after impossible knowledge and forces far beyond human ken. And yet, she finds herself drawn to it. To look beyond herself, understand the true nature of this world and all others... Her restless heart beats faster at the thought. We do our best. Perhaps that will have to be enough. "Very well," she says, fixing the Professor with her gaze. "Take me to this Admissions. Let them test my aptitude for wizardry, if they so wish." She has come this far, after all. Fallen through cracks in reality itself to find this place. It seems foolish to turn back now, simply due to frustration or feelings of being overwhelmed. There is still so much to learn. So much beyond herself left to seek and comprehend.

Admissions is tucked out of the way for privacy, hard to find by accident. Probably a minor area of unfocus, though he was strongly informed that his investigations into Admissions were not endorsed by Admissions. The door looks slightly different every time he sees it. There is a nonzero chance that they are doing it on purpose just to mess with him. Today, it is emerald green with etchings in black. He knocks once, sharply, then enters.

"New student," he says, gesturing to Jupiter. "Foreign arrival. She'll need a full inspection."

Today, Admissions is a woman with a focused gaze. Her eyes catch the barest edge of the Professor's wrist, and she grins. "Imprinted already, then? Another project? So soon after the last, for shame, Professor." Then she stands from her desk and walks over to Jupiter, and the smile retreats behind professionality. "Tell me your name."

Jupiter stares at the woman, unblinking. She had not expected this place to seem so...mundane, at first glance. "My name is Jupiter," she says simply, folding her hands behind her back. Her knuckles tighten, one hand grasping the other wrist to still their restless longing to touch, as if this Admissions might sense her capacity for intimacy as easily as she reads the Professor. "I come from...elsewhere. Beyond. The Professor has told me your kind might teach me the ways of this world, if I prove...apt." Her smile twitches, eyes flicking to the side as she recalls her frustration with the philosophical grasping after impossibilities. But still, she is here. Still seeking, as ever. "Test me as you will. I am ready to learn."

The grin returns, and Admissions waves the Professor out of the room. "We need privacy for tests of this sort, Professor. Imagine the scandal." Once the door closes, she turns back to Jupiter and extends a hand in expectation.

Jupiter extends her hand, palm upturned, callused fingers twitching once. She breathes in deep, steadying herself as she looks up to meet Admissions' gaze. Her eyes are pale blue, pupils swallowed by the churning storms beneath the surface. This woman sees too much already. Knows her too well after but a glance. It leaves her defenses down, vulnerability bare and quivering in the light, a moth pinned by its wings to the table. "Do your worst, then," Jupiter says, a faint smile touching her lips. She is afraid, but there is thrill in it, too - knowing she might find herself at the mercy of this stranger. Her hand opens further, an offering and a dare both. "I am ready."

Admissions takes Jupiter's hand in her own. Admissions's hand is cold, firm, soft. She runs a thumb across Jupiter's wrist. "Rapid flow of thauma. Are you nervous? Don't be. I'm incapable of inflicting intentional harm without due cause. Now, close your eyes."

She closes her eyes, breath catching in her throat. The hand upon her wrist is cold but not unkind, firm in its grasp. She waits. This woman sees too much already.

And the inner chamber of Admissions's beautiful heart unfurls, spilling light across the room. Her eyes gleam as she stares at what could be considered by the less academic to be a soul. There is a hunger there, a desire kept bound and confined. There is a guilt there, wretched and wanting. Clairvoyance will be difficult with such a strangled soul, but there is such potential for connection. There is also a faint filigree of gold and sapphire wrapping itself around her. Not of her, but precious. Cradled by that starving desire. There is beauty in this. More than the beauty is the power. Like a river overflowing, like the great wave of a tsunami, like a dust storm, her power echoes through every piece of her. A flood, drowning and choking and blinding. But the power too is bound, thorn vines twisting across it, holding it inside. "What have they been teaching you, child?" she whispers, letting the hand not holding Jupiter's wrist brush against her brow. There is no space for pity in this place, but Admissions is tender in the way of warm things. 

Then she lets go of Jupiter's wrist and slowly tucks her heart back in her chest. When she is the woman again, she says, "You can open your eyes now."

She opens her eyes, blinking against the light. Her hand tingles where Admissions touched her, a ghost of that glacial caress lingering upon her skin. This woman has seen too much. Knows the storm that rages in her bones, the grasping hands that seek but never touch. Her loneliness, her longing, the love that nearly drowned her in its depthless tide. And yet...she smiles. "They have taught me little, save philosophy. Endless grasping at stars, the Captain calls it." Her eyes flicker to the door through which he left, a faint fondness in her gaze. Then back to Admissions, pale eyes peering into the beautiful heart for but a moment bared. "I know there is...power in me. A capacity for connection that frightens as much as it thrills. I came here hoping to understand it. Tame the storm, if such a thing is possible. Teach these hands of mine a gentler grasp." Her smile twitches, gaze dropping to her hand as it forms a fist, then opens once more. Palm upturned, a silent plea. "Will you help me, Admissions? Will you teach me the ways of this world, give name to the forces that move through me like wildfire?" She looks up, defiant, daring this woman to glimpse her vulnerability again. Her need. "I am ready to learn, if you will have me."

She laughs lightly, soft and sweet like windchimes. "I am not a teacher, darling Jupiter. Not even a wizard. I am here because I can see the beating imprints of your heart." She reaches out once more and takes Jupiter's hand, this time just to hold. "Call me Medea if you decide to attend. And you should. It would do your soul good, I think. It would teach you how to see." In the back corner of the room, a small automaton dings as it finishes writing Jupiter's timetable in dark blue ink. "There's a free period in the evenings before curfew that's blocked out to catch you up on the essentials. Any of the staff are authorized to supervise you during that period, though some of them are not as equipped as others. I'll be here if you ever want to... chat."

Jupiter stares at the woman - Medea, she says to call her - pale eyes searching that beautiful heart once more. There is truth in her words. Jupiter has come here seeking to understand the forces that move within her. She smiles, squeezing Medea's hand. "Then I shall attend. And we shall...chat. When the need arises." Her gaze drops again to their joined hands. She breathes deep, steadying herself against the thrill of that touch. The pull it awakens in her skin. Jupiter looks up, eyes glinting pale fire. Her smile softens, a silent plea for mercy - or perhaps its opposite. She has chosen to be here. Chosen to cast her fate into this woman's hands. Into the hands of any who might teach her gentler grasp. "Thank you, Medea. For seeing me." Her hand tightens once more, loath to loose its grip.

Admissions grins and pulls over the timetable with a wave of the hand not being held by Jupiter. It's a fairly standard timetable, though without electives for now. Just the six required courses until she 'settles in', so to speak. "Come on, we should go fetch the Professor. The chair outside is not comfortable, and if we leave him too long, he'll get grumpy and give all his students failing grades on their latest essay." She hands the timetable to Jupiter and gently leads her to the door.

Jupiter follows Medea from the room, timetable clutched tight in her hands. Her knuckles have gone pale, gaze fixed upon the woman leading her. There is truth in Medea's words. She has seen Jupiter's soul laid bare, beating heart exposed beneath her ribs. And yet...she smiles. Extends her hand in kindness, offers to teach Jupiter gentler grasp. The storm rages still. Awakened by Medea's touch, longing to be fed, seeking solace in her embrace. And yet she does not reach, does not grasp. Medea is not for her. She knows this, deep within her bones, and the knowledge brings both anguish and relief. Jupiter is afraid. Of her hands, her heart, the forces that move through her and threaten to consume all they touch. But Medea has offered guidance. Promised to help her understand. Jupiter looks up as the door swings open, gaze softening at the sight of the Professor waiting without. "My apologies for the delay, Professor. Admissions and I had...much to discuss." She holds out her timetable, a silent question in her eyes. The storm churns on, but for now, she keeps it in check. These hands of hers remain at her sides, clenched into fists against the longing to touch. To be touched in turn. She smiles, pale eyes glinting faint defiance. "Well? Shall we begin?"

Seeing Jupiter, he tucks away his red pen and the small stack of student essays. He pulls the timetable closer so he can see it. All the standard courses, free periods, her identification. Seems to be in order. "Classes were cancelled today because of an unauthorized thaumaturgic surge. Speaking of, I should probably tell the rest of the professors that there isn't a maniacal mage on a mad quest for power causing unauthorized surges. How about you get settled in your room, and I go wrangle my idiot colleagues? When I've finished with them, we can talk about history, I suppose. Or maybe we can visit Madame Ryoko's library. It would probably be more informative." 

Jupiter takes the offered timetable, glancing over its contents. Six required courses until she finds her footing - it seems simple enough. Her gaze lifts at the Professor's suggestion, a smile touching her lips. "The library sounds ideal. I should like to know more of. this place, and its workings." Her heart beats slower, soothed by something as simple as deciding where next to go. "After you've calmed your colleagues, I shall await you in the library. No need to hurry on my account." Her eyes glitter pale mischief. "I've nowhere else to be, after all."

He nods. "It's the second level down. You'll know you've reached it when things become uncomfortably warm." Then he heads off, fading entirely once out of eyesight.

The library is warm, as the Professor warned, but not uncomfortably so. Jupiter makes her way through the shelves, trailing her fingers along the spines of books as she walks. There is so much to take in. Histories and mythologies of worlds beyond her ken. Spells and sigils, the workings of magic laid bare in ink and parchment. Her heart beats faster at the thought of learning them.

A large dragon glances over from the Help Desk. "Hello, dear. What are you looking for?"

Jupiter trails her fingers along the spines of books as she walks, pale eyes scanning the shelves. So many worlds contained within these pages, waiting to be explored. "Tell me more of this library, and those who tend it," she whispers. An invitation and a dare. "I would learn from any who offer guidance."

Madame Ryoko leans closer. "Well, I'm the librarian. You actually wouldn't normally see me at this time, but the disruption to thaumaturgic equilibrium woke me up early! I have some assistants that are currently monitoring the... large quantities of books we have outside the library at this time." She twitches a little at the thought of her hoard being touched by untrusted hands and— "Anyway, the books are sorted by subject, and you can browse on your own or look through our catalogue if you have a specific book in mind. There's some reading nooks upstairs if you want some privacy, and do tell me before you leave the library with my books. We need to keep track of them all."  

She smiles, trailing her fingers along the spines of books as she walks. This place is filled with worlds she has never known - histories and mythologies far beyond her ken. "A pleasure to meet you, Madame Ryoko." Her gaze lifts, pale eyes glinting curiosity. "Might I impose upon your guidance? I am...new to this place. The Professor has offered me a chance to learn, but I find myself at a loss for where to begin." Her smile twitches, gaze dropping once more to the books around her. So many secrets waiting to be discovered. So many worlds she longs to explore. "If you would point me to a text on the...workings of this place. Its rules, and those who oversee them. I should be most grateful."

"Well, if you're looking for history specifically, that's the yellow section. It's sorted in chronological order for the most part, so books about the founding of the University should be about 230 years back. If you want to know about the University as an institution, society is the cerulean section. It's sorted by continent, then nation, then aspects of a nation, so the University would be under the continent Sekorin and the nation of Arcasa. There might be some information about it in provincial overviews, but those are usually written by Inersi, so they aren't very accurate."

She's very interested indeed in this! She'll go looking for that institutional review, and curl up with it in a cozy armchair if she succeeds.

Fortunately, the library is extremely well-organized with clearly-signaled sections! She quickly finds several books about the University. Some discuss it as an educational institution, some discuss wizardry in Arcasa with the University featuring prominently due to its status as the largest public educational facility for wizard hopefuls, some discuss the structure and precepts of the University, and some discuss the University as a geopolitical entity. There are also some books that appear to be gossip pieces about certain staff members, but by the looks of them, they were written in-house as jokes. Probably jokes. Unless there really is a scandal where the Alchemy teacher is secretly putting potions in the food.

Jupiter curls up in a worn leather armchair, pale eyes scanning the pages of a thick tome entitled The University: A Comprehensive History. Her heart beats slow and steady, soothed by the simple act of reading. Of learning. This place has stood for over two centuries, a haven for those with the gift of magic. Built on an ancient site of power, warded and woven with spells to hide its workings from prying eyes.

She smiles, trailing a callused finger along a line of text. There are rules here, carefully codified. Overseen by a council of Professors, selected from each school of magic - alchemy and divination, conjuration and enchantment. None may practice their arts without license, and any who overstep the bounds of safety or consent face swift reprimand.

Her gaze lifts, staring unseeing at the shelves around her. This place offers guidance for the forces that move through her. A chance to understand the storm that rages in her bones, these hands that grasp but never touch. Her smile softens, eyes closing as she breathes deep the scent of paper and ink, leather and magic.

A month slips by, easy as breathing. Leaves fall from the trees. It's getting colder. Jupiter settles in.

This morning, she has Fundamentals of Alchemy. The teacher is nice enough, though they talk a bit too quietly considering every student has a boiling cauldron. It's a practical today, so the teacher's written instructions on the board for them to follow.

1. Roast green vitriol in iron retort.
2. Place resulting solution in cauldron.
3. Place waste copper in solution.
4. Run current through solution until ultramarine.
5. Partially submerge impure copper slab and pure copper sheet in solution.
6. Run current from impure copper to pure copper until copper fully purified.

She leaves the alchemy class with her mind buzzing, pale eyes staring unseeing at the path ahead. This place offers so much to explore. So much to learn. Her steps slow as she approaches her dormitory, gaze lifting to the sky. The leaves have begun to change, green fading into gold and crimson fire. It's getting colder. She smiles, wrapping her arms around herself against the chill. She startles at a sound behind her, turning to find a familiar figure approaching. The Professor, come to check on her progress.

The Professor walks through the halls slowly. Winter is always a strange time, especially when preparations for the Solstice could no longer include Madame Ryoko's ritual awakening. She told him earlier that it was strange to be awake when it was cold, even though she was unaffected. He doesn't feel the cold, but the taste of frost is light and silvery, like starlight. He once tasted starlight through the memories of a sorcerer, and it felt like home.

He finds himself by Jupiter's dormitory when he stops remembering starlight. He has been wandering here a bit too much to seem unbiased, and Jupiter's room is not sufficiently out of the way to avoid all prying eyes, but his students are sufficiently accustomed to his tendency to experiment on hapless fools to not ask questions. "Roiyani tells me that you are still struggling in Clairvoyance," he says, not unkindly. It is quite possibly her only problem area. 

She startles at the Professor's words, pale gaze dropping to the path beneath her feet. Her steps slow as she approaches, hands clasping tight behind her back. "Roiyani is not mistaken. I fear I have little gift for...seeing what lies beneath the surface." Her smile twitches, eyes closing as she breathes deep the scent of frost. "This place requires mastery of forces beyond my ken. Magic as natural as breathing, to those born with the gift." Her smile twitches once more, hinting at the turmoil beneath. "So tell me, Professor. Have I proved such a disappointment, after all your effort to have me here?"

The Professor does not smile back. "While divination and foresight require particular twistings of thauma inaccessible to many, the basic precepts are a matter of mastering the mind. You are not letting yourself see and be seen." Then he does smile ever so softly. "But fear not. You are not a disappointment. After all, your essays in Magical Theory never require significant correction, and you do not make me fill out paperwork concerning grievous bodily injury."

Jupiter blinks in surprise at the Professor's words, pale gaze searching his face. There is truth in what he says. She has kept her inner sight closed, wary of letting others peer too closely in return. "You are kind to say so," she murmurs, a faint smile touching her lips. "I confess, the skills of the mind have ever eluded my grasp. My talents lie in...practical matters." Her smile twitches, gaze dropping once more. She thinks of late nights spent pouring over magical theory, struggling to comprehend forces beyond her ken. Of staring into languid pools 'til her eyes ached, seeking visions that would not come. This place awakens such longing in her - to understand, to see as they do. And yet... "Perhaps you are right. I have been afraid to open myself, to let others see what lies beneath." Her hands tighten behind her back, smile fading. She trails off, shaking her head. "But I would try, if you still believe I can succeed here." Her gaze lifts, eyes pale and pleading. Asking him to see her vulnerability, and help her move beyond it.

He... hesitates. "I am not the best person to help you with this field, and this is not the best conversation to be having in the hallway." He has certain... limitations that make demonstrating the thaumaturgic aspects of clairvoyance, and demonstrating the mental aspects is difficult without both participants already having aptitude with clairvoyance. "Perhaps we should actually enter the confines of your room instead of standing in this fortuitously empty hallway." He grins a little, but it fades quickly.

She stares at him a moment, pale eyes searching. There is truth in his words - this is not a conversation for prying ears. Jupiter nods slowly, gaze dropping as she turns towards her door. "Come in, then. I would hear your thoughts." She leads him inside, movements stiff with unease. The room is small but cozy, cluttered with books and star charts. Her heart races as she sits upon the edge of her bed, clasping her hands to still their restless tremors. She has bared part of her soul already, in the open hallway. Exposed her vulnerability. But to let him see further, in the quiet intimacy of this space... Jupiter breathes deep, steadying herself. "I'm afraid I haven't had time to tidy up."

"People always say that. As though it is our responsibility to tuck away the unacceptable pieces of ourselves and turn the cracks in the vases to face the wall. Make no apology for your existence." He enters the room calmly. "Though I suppose there is merit to hiding that which is precious so your guests do not inadvertently knock over your beloved vases and shatter them entirely. Fortunately for you, I am incapable." He waves his hand through a small pile of books to demonstrate. She knows this, of course, everyone knows this, but hopefully the jovial tone will put her at ease. Hopefully. "Anyway, clairvoyance requires acknowledgement and understanding of one's thaumaturgic flow through the body and mind. This is difficult for me in particular because..." He gestures, though the movements of his body no longer direct internal current. Habit. Regardless of the utility of motion, he casts the weaving that reveals thaumaturgic flow in the caster. He is utterly devoid of it. Not even the channels for current flow remain.

She watches the Professor's movements, pale eyes tracing the place where thaumic channels should be. There is nothing. No glow, no flicker of power within him. Only stillness, like the calm at the eye of a storm. "I see," she says softly. "Or rather, I do not. Your gift lies elsewhere, then." Her gaze drops to her own hands, calloused fingers twitching. She has never thought to look within herself for energies she cannot feel. Slowly, Jupiter closes her eyes, breathing deep. She tries to sense the thaumic currents said to flow through all in this place, none quite alike. Seeks within herself to observe that power which comes so naturally to her as to defy introspection. There is only darkness. The steady thunder of her heart, breaths flowing evenly in and out. It's giving her a headache, like she's trying to lick her elbow and straining something in the process.

"You're focusing too much," he says. "It's a part of you. You'll never find it by looking for it, just like you disrupt your breathing patterns when you think about it." He thinks about the issue. He hasn't lost his ability to comprehend himself just because the easy way to see it was gone. It's a matter of sensation. So he pulls out a small stack of student papers. "Make this float. Try to keep it at a steady height."

She watches as the Professor pulls out a stack of papers, pale gaze flickering with unease. Make it float - a simple enough request, for any gifted with magic. Jupiter stretches out a hand, brow furrowing in concentration as she wills the pages to rise. At first, nothing happens. The papers lie inert atop the desk, oblivious to her efforts. She grits her teeth, focusing harder. This time, the top few sheets shudder, then slowly drift upwards. Her head pounds, vision swimming, but she keeps them aloft through sheer force of stubborn will. "There," she gasps, sweat beading her brow. "Is this what you wished to see?" The papers wobble precariously, her focus threatening to break.

He really should observe other classes more. No matter his feud with the Amplitude Manipulation professor over his existence, this level of neglect for a student is truly appalling. "Your current isn't reaching your hands at all. It's forcing its way out of unconventional exit points, using significantly more energy and effort." He reaches out for the hand extended towards the papers, pausing just before making contact. "You are trying to hold the world without touching it at all."

Jupiter stares at the Professor's outstretched hand, so close to her own. He is right - she has been trying to grasp this magic while holding the world at arm's length. Afraid to truly touch, to open herself to be touched in turn. Slowly, she lowers her hand, the papers fluttering back to the desk. Her head pounds, vision blurred with the effort of channeling magics she cannot feel. "Show me, then," she whispers. An invitation, a plea. She extends her hand once more, palm upturned. An offer and a dare.

He almost wants to laugh. He, who no longer exists in much of any capacity, who can no longer touch the world, who is nothing but perturbations in the natural current field, show her how to cradle the world? He who is nothing more than the world? But he reaches out...

...and connects. 

And in the palm of her hand, there is warmth beyond dreaming, warmth brighter than the stars and deeper than the sea, warmth so vibrant it chases the cold from his bones, and she is so real, and he is of the world, and reality seeks equilibrium, and it pours through him and of him and as him and he is nothing more than a vestigial shell of a dead man and he is still alive still alive still alive and he is not real and oh the sweetest agony like warm blood through frozen limbs and the world and the world and the world and the world

Jupiter gasps as the Professor takes her hand, pale eyes going wide. Warmth floods through her, a tide of something vast and primal. Her veins burn with it, leaving her dizzy and breathless in its wake. This is the magic she has struggled to grasp - the power that moves through her hands, breathing life into the room like petrichor, like ozone. She can feel it now, flowing swift and strong into his touch. A connection deeper than flesh, deeper than bone. "What...what did you do?" she whispers, staring at their joined hands. The papers have settled to the desk, forgotten. All her focus narrows to the Professor's touch, the lightning within her flashing through channels and licking at his limp fingers. This close, she can see his form starting to waver, dissolving into eddies of deeper crimson, matching her own colors and tearing at his hollow desaturation.

He is the wire for a power that shines like the sun and he has been cold for so long that he forgot what warmth meant and he is hollow just as the world is hollow and now he comprehends the sun seers who blind themselves for just a moment of seeing it truly and it is a strange and foreign reality that moves through him and it doesn't hurt how could it possibly hurt when it feels like this he's real he's real and the remnant pattern that looks and moves and thinks and sounds like him is overwhelmed by the force of it and there is nothing left in him that is capable of letting go

Jupiter gasps, pale eyes wide as she stares at their joined hands. The Professor's form wavers, blurring into deeper crimson that seeps across her skin. She can feel him - the raw ache of his longing echoing through her touch. This close, the magic thrums swift and primal between them, burning in her veins like liquid sunlight. "Professor," she whispers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I need you to hold on." With great effort she begins to draw her currents inward, slowing their relentless tide. The room dims, his colors fading as she attempts to gently sever their connection. But still she clasps his limp fingers, anchoring him close while the magic gasps another ragged breath, two, three before it finally quiets. "There now," Jupiter murmurs. Her thumb strokes his knuckles, touch impossibly tender. There are tears tracing tracks down her cheeks, and for the life of her she couldn't say why. She rises to open the window, breathing deep the cool twilight air. Steadying herself, and giving him space to do the same.

The flow stops, and he comes back to himself shuddering. He feels cold. He feels so cold. But he is himself, and he is a professor, and he can't have her comforting him. It's not... "I suppose you can sense your current now," he says, pretending his voice isn't shaking. His form is still blurred at the edges, but it is coalescing once again.

Jupiter breathes deep the cold night air, steadying herself. She can still feel the echo of that connection burning beneath her skin. The raw ache of his longing, as her magic flooded the hollows of his form. She turns back to the Professor, pale eyes soft with concern. He looks diminished somehow. Fragile in a way she has never seen from one who wears confidence like a cloak. "I can sense it now," she says gently. "My magic - the currents you wished me to grasp. But it seems lesson came at great cost." She moves closer, hands clenched at her sides to resist the urge to reach for him once more. Her voice is hushed, hesitant. "Are you...well, Professor? I did not mean to cause you pain."

"It was not painful," he says, and he carefully does not ask her to do it again. "It was... nice. Don't worry about me." In the time just after his failed experiment, when the more theologically inclined wizards were debating if he was technically deceased due to the complete cessation of thaumaturgic potential, he had spoken to several sorcerers. He was not entirely like them, but he was not dissimilar. The currents of the world moved through them. He had thought he understood. He was a fool then, to not realize that the currents of the world were as ultimate as the sea. 

"Nice? It looked like it was going to kill you!"

"By three distinct theological perspectives, I am already dead." Ah. That was... not a good thing to say. 

Jupiter stares at the Professor, pale eyes wide. She is going to be so normal about this. You'll see. "Don't say that," she whispers. "You're here. You're real." Failed step one.

He is not going to laugh. He is not going to laugh. He is not going to laugh. He is not... He's already laughing, dry and bitter and tired. "For now," he says, and he really needs to learn how to stop talking.

Jupiter whirls around at the sound of laughter, fists raised defensively. "I need you to take this seriously!" she snaps. Her heart pounds with adrenaline even as she wills herself to stay calm. She should trust him but it's so hard with the laughter she isn't stupid how could she have known that would happen.

He breathes (even though he doesn't need air, doesn't have lungs, doesn't have vocal cords) and strangles the laughter in his throat. "I am," he says, and his fingers look like fingers instead of wisps of smoke now. 

Jupiter searches the Professor's face, looking for any trace of lingering amusement. She finds none. The corners of his mouth are turned down now, his brows knitted with concern. "Okay," she says slowly. "I believe you." She takes a deep breath, willing her pounding heart to slow.

"You did well," he says, and the fervor of that moment has mostly faded now. "You should have an easier time of things now that you aren't hindered." He tucks the memory of that moment in the same lockbox where he stores the memory of his not-death. Sometimes, excision is the only way to keep living.

Jupiter folds her arms across her chest, nodding slowly. "I should have an easier time sensing the currents now, yes. But..." She pauses, searching for the right words. "There is more I wish to understand. About this magic. About you." Her gaze meets his, eyes intent. "I would not excise this, as you seem keen to do. There is meaning in it that bears reflecting on." She worries her lip between her teeth. "If you are willing, I would like to understand you better." Her fingers curl around her biceps, grip tightening. "And I would have you speak plainly, so I do not unintentionally cause you harm again." Her eyes gleam fierce resolve as she holds his gaze.

"You did not cause me harm," he says again, and he does not have the words to describe how not harmful the experience was. "And I think you understand me perfectly well. But ask away, and I will answer, and we will see in the end if you understand my nature."

Jupiter studies the Professor's face, searching for any sign he is downplaying the experience to spare her feelings. Finding none, she nods slowly. "Very well. I will ask, and you will answer plainly." She takes a breath, ordering her thoughts. "You say I did not harm you. Yet when our magics connected, it seemed to...overwhelm you. Left you diminished, blurred at the edges. Why did it affect you so?"

He gestures to himself. "This... form is not... It is a construct imposed by my mind because the body no longer exists. By the predominant theological perspectives, I am by all rights a ghost anchored to the land. You come from a world that is hyperreal, and this world is the barest edge of reality. Is it truly surprising that the ocean could drown the morning dew?"

Jupiter frowns, processing the Professor's words. "So you're saying...my magic overwhelmed you because it is more real than your ephemeral form?" She shakes her head. "But then why did it seem to cause you...longing? Like warmth flooding back into frozen limbs?" Her brow furrows as she tries to understand. "If it was simply too much for you to contain, why revel in it so?"

He gazes at her with the eyes of someone who is so tired. "Do you not wish that you could go back home?"

"Of course I do. Every day."

"Then why are you surprised that I long for the days before I was unmade?"

"I guess... I just hoped you were happy here."

How can he possibly describe the transient nature of happiness that balances as though a house of cards over the infinite chasm that is loss? How can he possibly describe everything that he is and has been and will be? "I am," he says instead of trying to justify himself. "Sometimes."

Jupiter takes a deep, steadying breath. It seems their experiences echo in uncanny ways - both torn from the worlds they knew, left adrift in this strange half-reality. Both longing, at times, for how things were. "I believe you," she says softly. "And I am glad to hear you have found some happiness here." She worries her lip between her teeth, frowning. "I just wish this place did not cause you such turmoil as well. That my presence could be a comfort, not..." She trails off, not quite able to put words to what passed between them in that strange, overpowering moment. She hesitates, then adds, "If there is a way I could ease your burdens, I would have you tell me plainly." Her pale eyes search his. "I would not bring you more harm for anything."

He cannot tell her that he wants her to do it again. He cannot tell her that he has never felt anything so beautiful as the flow of her magic into the world. He cannot tell her. So he says only this: "You have never harmed me, and your presence is a comfort." 

Jupiter searches the Professor's face, looking for any trace of deception. She finds only open sincerity in his words. "If you say I've brought you comfort, then I'm glad," she says softly. "Though I wish there was more I could do." She hesitates, then reaches out to gently take his hand. "For now, know that you also bring me comfort in this strange place. Your guidance has meant...more than I can express." She gives his fingers a gentle squeeze. "Thank you for seeing me." Her eyes shine with emotion as she gazes at him, smile wavering. "Whatever burdens you carry, I would have you know you need not carry them alone. Not if I can offer any small measure of solace."

He breathes, senses the magic circulating in her hands, and does not seek to connect them. "You are a good person, Jupiter." And optimistic, thinking that she can carry his burdens when what he has done is—

He breathes.

Jupiter smiles softly at the Professor's kind words, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "As are you. I'm glad we found each other in this strange place."

She hesitates, seeing a shadow pass behind his eyes. There is much he has not told her about his past, the burdens he carries. But she knows this is not the time to pry. Some wounds run too deep. "It grows late," she says instead, glancing out at the darkened sky. "I should let you get some rest. Thank you again for the lesson today. I look forward to continuing my studies, now that I better grasp the currents." She walks with him to the door, pausing there. "Good night, Professor," she says softly. "Please don't hesitate to call on me if ever you need...a friendly ear. My door is always open to you." She searches his face one last time, wishing she could do more to ease his hurts, to let him know he's not alone. But for now, offering open acceptance is the best she can do.

"Good night," he says, and walks away. After he is reasonably out of eyeshot, he lets himself sink into the floor where no one will be able to find him for a while, and he thinks about his ritual. The one that killed three people, including him. The one that he might have fixed over the years but can no longer cast. The one that he still wants to try. His thoughts are not happy ones.

Jupiter closes the door softly as the Professor leaves, then leans back against it with a sigh. Their conversation has left her unsettled. She wants to trust him, wants to believe he would not deliberately harm her. And yet...there are clearly shadows in his past that haunt him still. Dark knowledge and rituals that linger at the edges of her awareness, never fully brought to light.

She moves to sit on the edge of her bed, brows knitted in concern. She cannot stand idly by while he suffers, consumed by guilt for unknown misdeeds. But pressing him for answers risks shattering the fragile connection they've built. There must be some middle ground...some way to gently draw him out, offer acceptance without judgment. She wishes she could see into his heart as perhaps Medea does, know how best to ease his burdens. Jupiter sighs, resting her chin in her hands. Perhaps patience and understanding are all she can offer for now. An open door, a listening ear, a promise that he need not weather his storms alone. She longs to do more, but it must be at his pace. With time and care, mayhap he will feel safe confiding in her. For now, she will continue studying the ways of this world - making progress in her classes, proving her dedication. And when next they speak, she will greet him with warmth and encouragement.

Her gaze drifts to the window, taking in the glittering expanse of stars. She whispers a prayer to them, as she did so often in her world...a plea for wisdom, for compassion. For the patience and strength to stand by this hurting soul until he is ready to step fully into the light. They have both lost so much, been cast adrift in this strange half-reality. But perhaps together, they can build something lasting. Find purpose in the bonds they weave. She smiles softly at the stars, the promise shimmering in their silver light. There is always hope.

Professor Roiyani stands in the courtyard, clearing the field of potentially flammable debris. They are working with heat today, and the classroom lacks the airflow appropriate for the lesson. She takes the wind and loops it in on itself, magnifying it. The leaves scatter. Sufficient. Her class watches as she distributes the candles, again calling upon the air. "A mage cannot make something out of nothing, nor nothing out of something. A mage acts upon what is already present. This is not to say that such acts are impossible, merely that they have their cost, and not all can pay it." She twists her hand, and the candles ignite. She shows the students the faint layer of frost tracing over her fingers. "Your task today is to make the flame burn brighter. Not with heat, but with air. A steady supply of oxygen will feed the flame. Sense the direction of the wind's current and bend it."

Jupiter watches intently as Professor Roiyani demonstrates, pale gaze focused on the flickering candle before her. She reaches out a hand, brow furrowing in concentration as she wills the faint currents of air to redirect toward the flame. It wavers slightly, dancing in response to her efforts. She grits her teeth, focusing harder. A stronger gust whips past, making the candle flare bright for an instant before guttering out entirely. Jupiter sighs, shaking her head ruefully. Since that strange lesson with the Professor, sensing the currents has come more easily, magic flowing swift and electric through newly opened channels. But mastery still eludes her. Things still slip. With a sigh, she reaches for another candle to try again.

Roiyani turns to face her struggling student. This one is... tricky. All the power, none of the finesse. "It's not about effort, dear," she says, igniting her first candle once again. "It's about connection. The wind exists and flows. You cannot take control of it or stifle it. You can only guide it down the path you wish it to take." She offers her hand to Jupiter. Perhaps a more practical demonstration is in order.

Jupiter startles as Professor Roiyani speaks, gaze flickering to the offered hand. She hesitates only a moment before accepting it. "Connection," she murmurs. "Not control." Since the lesson with the Professor, she has felt the currents more keenly - magic burning swift and strong through newly opened channels. But she still grasps at it roughly, forcing rather than guiding its flow. Her fingers tighten around the Professor's, accepting the unspoken offer of guidance.

Roiyani lets her own current flow through Jupiter's hand, forging a connection. Then, she weaves her current into the flow of the wind. For a moment, she simply exists in that space, breathing with the wind. Then she curves her fingers, bending her own current flow. The wind, so thoroughly entwined, follows suit. The candle burns. "Do you feel it? Not supplanting the wind, but meeting it. You are a juncture of mind and matter."

Jupiter closes her eyes, focusing on the flow of magic through their joined hands. She can feel the wind currents twisting lazily around them, the steady pulse of Roiyani's power weaving between. Guiding rather than grasping. Jupiter takes a deep breath, then slowly lowers her mental barriers. Her magic surges in response, flowing swift and strong to meet the wind. She gasps at the sensation, the sheer power that thrums just below her skin. But she does not fight it this time, instead imagining her currents mingling gently with the air. And ever so softly, the wind changes course, drawn into new eddies that swirl around the candle. The flame sputters, then flares brighter, dancing in time to Jupiter's heartbeat. She opens her eyes, a smile breaking across her face. "I felt it," she whispers in wonder. "I didn't force it. I just...flowed with it." Her gaze lifts to Roiyani's, joy and gratitude shining in her eyes. And then, with a minimum of fuss, the wind intensifies with her emotions and blows the candle off the table. It sputters out on the ground and rolls under the table. "Or not."

Roiyani laughs. "Your passion is good, but you should try to partition your passion from your focus. It would do no good for you to surge while working with more capricious materials. Imagine if you had done something of the sort with molten metal." She waves her hand once again, lighting the candle. "See how long you can feed it. I should help some of your peers." She glances towards the rest of the class. Some are struggling to mingle with the wind, just making their candle flicker. Others have already extinguished theirs. But many have managed to feel the place where starlight sings. "Let the wind guide the movements of your heart." And she steps away, offering aid to others who require it.

Jupiter nods slowly as Professor Roiyani offers guidance, then moves to help the other students. Closing her eyes once more, Jupiter reaches out to the currents of air that eddy lazily around her. She imagines her power not as a torrent, but as a gentle stream, flowing in harmony with the wind. Weaving together, neither overwhelming the other. Her breath slows, heartbeat steadying as she finds the rhythm of their mingled dance. And when she opens her eyes, the candle flame burns straight and even, fed by a steady breath of air. Jupiter allows herself a small smile, her focus never wavering from the delicate balance. There is joy in this, yes. But it is a quiet thing, an abiding wonder at the way her power harmonizes so easily with the elements when she does not force or grasp. She settles in, prepared to feed the flame as long as needed. There is peace in feeling her place in the web of unseen currents that move through this world. No need to control, only connect. The wind guides the movements of her heart.

Roiyani circles around, lighting candles, offering guidance. Many seem promising, though there are a few who seem wholly unsuited to the wind, and there is no shame in that. For those people, she speaks to them of sunlight, of heat, of warmth drawn and offered. But not from their bodies, never from their bodies. Not until they can control it. And when everyone has a candle burning bright, held steady by current flow, she begins weaving them together. Those who are attuned with the wind meld easily enough, met by the same taste of a soul. Those that are struggling take a bit more coaxing, like a kitten on the side of the road. Still, she is a trusted authority, and they too weave themselves in. The flames are more difficult to tuck under the dance of the wind, fed and fostered by the shine, but they feel the warmth and accept it. They are all linked now, and will stay linked as long as none of them disturb the steady flow.

Jupiter focuses intently on the flickering flame before her, feeling its heat resonate through the web of magic woven between her classmates. Each student a junction, their powers mingling and flowing as Professor Roiyani guides them into harmony. Jupiter breathes deep, aligning her currents to the pattern. The candles blaze bright, flames dancing in time to a rhythm beyond hearing. She glances at the students around her, all focused on maintaining the delicate balance. And she smiles. There is joy in this, yes. But deeper still runs the sense of connection, of belonging to something greater than herself. Her magic harmonizes so easily when she does not force or grasp. In this moment, she is part of the flowing currents that move through the world, linking all who dwell here. There is peace in finding her place, and wonder at the beauty they create together under their professor's guidance. The exercise leaves her calm but invigorated.

Soon the candles burn down, and Roiyani begins picking apart the tapestry of connection. The risk with novice wizard hopefuls disconnecting on their own is that they may cling too much to the fading network and find themselves torn. The people feeding flame with heat separate from the larger cluster, then from each other. She teases the wind apart into several streams of air, one for each student. Then she lets them come back to themselves. "To master a thing, you must first know it entirely. You must first understand it entirely. You must first connect with it entirely. Once you have mastered the connection, then we will concern ourselves with the true nature of this course. Amplitude manipulation."

Jupiter blinks slowly as the connection dissolves, the room seeming strangely muted in its absence. But Professor Roiyani's words resonate within her. To truly understand these forces, she must connect fully - become part of the flowing currents, rather than grasping at them from without. But for now, the lesson is over. She can see the waves, much like in her own world, but here there are no crystal diodes to help her on her journey.

With the conclusion of the class, it is now free period. Jupiter is free to visit the library, consult teachers, explore personal projects, or anything she can think of. Alternatively, she could take a nap, as many of her peers are wont to do.

Jupiter decides to head back to the library and do some research on the magical theory behind the lesson today. She wants to better understand how mages connect with and manipulate the elements.

The index of library books lists magic as the luminous section, organized in alphabetical order by field. Elemental magic specifically has several volumes on underlying principles, though some seem a bit advanced for her current understanding. Amplitude manipulation more generally has some introductory volumes, but the field is so general that it quickly divides into subfields surrounding resonance. 

Jupiter peruses the selection of books on elemental magic, looking for an introductory text that will explain the basics. She selects a volume titled "Elemental Magic: Connecting to the Forces of Creation" and finds a cozy reading nook. Settling in, she begins reading about how mages tap into the resonant energies of the natural world.

The book's cover design ripples like the sea, a simple enough charm but difficult to maintain across time and distance.

Introduction

For centuries, mages have strived to concoct a theory of the elements. During the first Age of Wizardry, the four-element theory reigned. Fire, water, air, and earth. A simplistic framework that functioned for the era. Later, scholars theorized the existence of aether, the material of the cosmos. It aligned well with regular polyhedra, so the more mathematically inclined were content. How foolish, to settle for a minimalist understanding on the basis of convenience. The modern understanding of our world is that each substance is a combination of properties rather than elements, and each property can be manipulated. Elements, then, are the definitional properties, that which cannot be changed without changing a thing entire. Clairvoyants describe such things in terms of "soul". Alchemists describe them in terms of "quintessence". Elementalists simply use the term "element". 

Consider the wind. The wind is still the wind whether it blows quickly or slowly, warm or cold, wet or dry. These are properties easily changed. But is the wind still the wind if it were no longer the light and compressible air we know and breathe? For some, envisioning the wind as heavier than the air is anathema and cannot be done. Such an act would, for them, violate the wind's element. For others, it could be done so long as it remained flowing. Through this, we find that elements are seen through the mind of the mage. Each must identify which properties are inviolate and which are malleable. Each must find the truth of a thing in their own mind.

The gift of the mage is the gift of connection. Unlike Inersi, mages can direct their current flow to contain aspects of the world as if they were the self. To understand the element of a substance, one must know it truly, and there is no better way to know the world than as one knows the self. It is still possible to work elements without such knowledge, as evidenced by Inersi who make covenant to become warlocks, but such mages shatter the world with every breath. The first challenge is to meet a substance without changing it. Mages tragically have minds and bodies, which have their own properties. Connection without overriding the properties of the substance can be difficult for a novice mage. One must have focus and intent. The next challenge is maintaining that intent while altering the substance. It is a delicate and beautiful balance. 

Not every mage is suited for this field, but every mage can learn its principles. Learn well, mage hopeful. The world sings if you can learn to hear it.

Jupiter runs her fingers over the rippling cover, marveling at the magic or craftmanship that brings it to life. She takes in a deep breath, preparing to delve into this new knowledge, when a flash of color catches her eye. Glancing up, she spots someone familiar wandering the stacks.

The Professor walks through the stacks, seeking a very specific volume. His coworker in Inscribed Thaumaturgy has a false belief about a very specific set of runes. He knows this because he was in fact the one to make that set of runes when such things were still within his reach. He just needs to find the book.

Jupiter's eyes widen in recognition. She carefully marks her place in the elemental magic text before setting it aside. Catching the Professor's eye, she gives a small wave and gestures him over to the cozy nook where she sits. When he draws near, she smiles warmly in greeting. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor. What brings you to the library today?" Though focused on his apparent search, he seems well - no lingering shadows from their last intense conversation.

"A Treatise On The Runic Arts by an unnamed author. Have you seen it? It makes you taste your second-favourite food when you look at the cover." He does not often look through the stacks himself, given his predilection of bodily form, but when Madame Ryoko herself cannot locate the index of a book, then special measures must be taken.

Jupiter frowns thoughtfully, trying to recall if she's seen a book matching that unique description. "I can't say I've come across it in my readings here," she admits. "But I'm happy to help look, if you'll tell me a bit more about it."

She pauses, gazing up at the Professor with a sympathetic smile. "Unless this is a task you wish to take on alone. In that case, I understand completely." Jupiter has learned over their time together that he often prefers to handle things himself, reluctant to involve others unless expressly necessary. She does not take it personally - they both have their share of burdens best weathered in solitude.

He pauses, contemplating. Perhaps...? But no, as long as she doesn't ask too many probing questions down a very specific line of questioning, all should be well. "As the title implies, it's a comprehensive volume about runes and other formalised inscribed thauma. The color varies, but the runes are quite distinctive." He gestures slightly with his hands, and faint lines glimmer into being, curled in on themselves. They have no effect without invocation, but the runes themselves are visually distinct from the standard runic glyphs.

Jupiter examines the glowing runes with interest, her pale eyes tracing their distinct shape and curves. "I can certainly keep an eye out for any books with similar markings," she says. "Especially if they make me taste strawberry shortcake upon looking at the cover. That seems specific enough to be identifiable." Her breath on the glyphs causes them to flare slightly and her eyes widen. She quickly waves her hands through them, attempting to disperse the pattern.

The Professor drops his hands, allowing the image of the runes to fade. "Appreciated. I wouldn't put it past that Inscribed Thaumaturgy professor to have hidden it just to avoid me disproving him utterly." He glances to the side. Madame Ryoko is occupied with a student, so he whispers, "There is theoretically a chance that he managed to remove it from the library." Madame Ryoko glances over, and he gives her a curt nod. She may have heard him say that. Oh dear.

Jupiter gives a solemn nod at the Professor's whispered theory. "A grave accusation indeed. We shall have to be most thorough in our search, to either locate the volume here or confirm your colleague's underhanded actions."

She glances over as Madame Ryoko looks their way, and smiles innocently. Turning her attention back to the Professor, she adds in an undertone, "Worry not, my lips are sealed regarding...possibilities. I've no wish to falsely malign the reputation of a fellow scholar without evidence." Her eyes glint with subtle mirth even as her expression remains neutral. She's happy to play along with the intrigue.

The Professor carefully does not grin. "Perhaps Amos deserves to be maligned." Speaking entirely honestly, he is perhaps not the most fond of Amos. Traditionally, Inscribed Thaumaturgy is taught by the Magical Theory professor. It is an unfortunate quirk of non-physicality that has left him unable to invoke and power runes, largely due to no longer having an internal power source. Manipulating equilibrium flow can only go so far, and runes require significantly more investment than he is able to provide. As such, after... the incident, the University hired a new professor. A usurping professor, unworthy of presence in a classroom that was now shared. And to think that they could not even hire someone with competence. Obviously, the Rukoia proposal did not align with existing standards because it invoked multidirectional current flow. He just needs to find this book to prove it.

Jupiter arches an eyebrow at the Professor's vehemence, though she keeps her tone light. "My, such strong words! I shall have to reserve judgment until we uncover the truth of the matter."

Inwardly, she feels a pang of sympathy. It's clear this Amos has usurped a position of importance from the Professor, one tied closely to his sense of identity and purpose. She longs to offer comfort, but knows he would reject open pity.

"Well then," she says briskly, "shall we begin this hunt in earnest?" Standing, she begins scanning the nearby shelves. "Tell me if you see any suspiciously empty spaces where it may have sat. Or taste an unexpected craving for your second favorite food." She pauses, glancing back. "Er, which food is that, exactly?"

He pauses, trying to remember. It has been many years since he had food, yet more years since he gave considerable thought to what he consumed. Perhaps the Estravian pastries? Or were they cakes? He can't remember. He can't even remember the taste. Instead of answering the question, he simply says, "I'll know it when I see it." The shelves are largely filled, as expected. The library typically has many copies of each book with only one on display, rotated in as people checked out books. There was only ever one copy of this particular book. He only had time to write the one and neglected to copy it while he was... extant. If it is lost... He does not have the ability to recreate the volume from memory, nor the ability to re-attempt much of his research. 

Jupiter nods, though she gives the Professor a searching look at his avoidance of specifying the food. There is clearly complex history tied to this missing volume.

"I imagine a unique text like that would be in the restricted archives, if anywhere," she muses. "Special permissions are likely required to access those materials." Her gaze flicks over to Madame Ryoko at the front desk. "Perhaps if we explain the situation, an exception could be made, given the...circumstances."

She looks back to the Professor. "Sorry, actually, did you really lose your knowledge of your second-favorite food?" And she's put her foot in her own mouth.

"Well, if you hadn't had food for twenty years, would you remember your favorites?" He abruptly regrets snapping at her. Her curiosity is to be encouraged. "Apologies. Anyway, the restricted archives should only be for texts prone to great damage if not handled with caution. This runic text isn't nearly as dangerous as that." Though perhaps anyone implementing the Ward of Totality could... "On second thought, perhaps we should ask the Madame."

Jupiter flinches slightly at the Professor's snap, looking down. "You're right, that was thoughtless of me. My apologies."

She takes a steadying breath before meeting his gaze again. "In any case, consulting Madame Ryoko seems wise. This text is clearly important, and if it has been misplaced or misappropriated, she should know."

Jupiter makes her way over to the front desk, the Professor following. "Madame Ryoko, apologies for the interruption. The Professor informed me of a concerning situation regarding a missing text. We were hoping you might be able to provide some insight, given the delicate nature of the matter." She glances to the Professor, deferring to him to explain further.

He did not particularly want to ask the Madame about this topic. She of all people would know what the book meant. "A Treatise On The Runic Arts," he says slowly. He can almost taste the vulnerability in the air, and the Madame, like any other predator, knows well how to use vulnerability. "I thought that perhaps since it was not listed in the index, it might be in the restricted archives, though of course it is not nearly so dangerous as that." 

Madame Ryoko looks at him with a bright smile full of glittering teeth. "Why, of course it is in the restricted archives! A ritual within its pages caused the death of three University affiliates and the dissolution of another. Imagine what it could do in the hands of a student!" She rustles her wings as her head dips towards him. "After all, a qualified individual could not avoid destruction." 

Jupiter glances between the Professor and Madame Ryoko, sensing the sudden tension in the air. There is history here she does not fully grasp. Still, the librarian's words give her pause. Death and dissolution are no small matters.

"I appreciate you taking steps to restrict such dangerous knowledge," Jupiter says carefully. "Especially with impressionable students about." She looks to the Professor. "Perhaps the text could be reviewed under supervision, for academic clarification? I'm certain no harm was intended by your colleague's request."

She keeps her tone neutral, but her pale gaze conveys a silent plea. Tread carefully. Some books are best left closed. She knows the Professor has his reasons, but worries what darker secrets might be stirred up if pursued relentlessly.

Madame Ryoko looks at Jupiter with bright and gleaming eyes. "Do you think that the person who killed three people with this text would merit adequate supervision?" The question, though sharp, is said gently, soft like silk wrapped around glass.

Jupiter meets Madame Ryoko's piercing gaze, heart sinking. So the Professor was directly involved in this tragedy. She chooses her next words with care. "You make a fair point. Some knowledge is too dangerous to be meddled with, even under the strictest supervision." She turns to the Professor, pale eyes filled with sympathy. "I apologize for my ignorance in this matter. I can see now why you advised secrecy."

Looking between them both, she adds softly, "The text clearly holds painful history for you both. I do not wish to reopen old wounds needlessly." Unless.

The Professor grimaced. "The Madame is dramatizing old history. She is likely still upset about the wing of the Library that was destroyed in the incident." He rolls his shoulders back, playing at calm confidence. "She knows well that the instigator of the incident was legally declared deceased, and that any remnant of that individual is no longer capable of using the text in such a manner." And what a heartbreak it is to no longer be able to invoke runes, his field of choice, the arc of his thauma. That is the worst part of his state of existence. Not the absence or the loss of magical storage or the inability to hold things, but knowing that the greatest moment of his research was also the end of it. He couldn't care less about the Madame's lost texts. She, by contrast, could not care more.

Jupiter's heart aches for the Professor as the full impact of his loss becomes clear. His beloved field of magic, stolen from him along with life itself. She longs to offer comfort, but knows he would reject open pity, especially with Madame Ryoko looking on.

"I see," Jupiter says softly, turning her gaze between them once more. "A tragic happenstance indeed. My condolences for all you have lost." Her eyes linger on the Professor, filled with quiet empathy. She knows that drive, that restless seeking after impossible knowledge. Were it her research so devastatingly cut short, she would be devastated.

Drawing herself up, she inclines her head respectfully to Madame Ryoko. "Thank you for enlightening me on this sensitive history. I shall not bring it up again." Looking to the Professor, she asks gently, "Shall we go? I'm sure you have much to attend to." An opportunity to withdraw gracefully, without conceding defeat.

The Professor contemplates for a moment. Madame Ryoko will not concede the volume to his hands, and the restricted archives are warded heavily. However, the particulars of his situation provide many opportunities. He will have to be swift. "Yes. Let us depart." He walks away, neglecting to make sound with his footsteps in his haste.

Jupiter follows the Professor out of the library, matching his swift strides. Once they are out of earshot, she moves to hover her hand over his arm gently. "Professor, wait." Her eyes search his face, brow furrowed with concern. "That was quite the revelation back there. Are you alright?" She knows it's a foolish question - of course he isn't, with the specter of his greatest tragedy dragged to light.

He takes a breath, holds it, then exhales. A pantomime ritual, considering that he doesn't need to breathe anymore. "It has been many years since the incident in question. I have made my peace with it." This is a blatant lie, and he knows even as the words are said that it's obvious. The edges of his hands are fuzzy and blurred, even as he clenches them into fists.

She glances around to ensure no one is in earshot before leaning in close. "I know that look. You haven't given up on getting that text, have you?" She searches his face, pale eyes filled with gentle concern. "I won't try to dissuade you. But please, be careful. Some knowledge has a heavy cost." It probably shows on her face that she is, so, very, curious.

"It's my book," he snaps, hands abruptly coming back into focus. "I wrote it, I know everything in its pages, and it has no safer place than with me. The incident will never happen again." He looks down and takes another false breath. "I could get it right." The last part is muttered, soft, as though not meant to be said. 

Jupiter draws back slightly at the intensity of the Professor's words, but her gaze remains steady. "I believe you," she says softly. "If anyone can handle that knowledge safely, it's you."

She hesitates, then adds in an undertone, "And if you think you could get it right this time... I trust your judgment." Her pale eyes flicker with something unreadable.

His hands twitch. He could get it right, if he could try again. But he can't. He lacks current. He lacks a well of magic to draw from. Once the runes were invoked, perhaps. He could manipulate the flux and pulse of activated runes. But no one would do it for him. Not after the incident. "Your trust is appreciated, though likely unwarranted." He needs that book. For the theory, if nothing else. There is so much that he has forgotten. So much of himself that he lost before managing to stabilize this lingering form. 

Jupiter takes a step closer, pale eyes searching the Professor's face. "You're right. Getting your hands on that text won't change the past. And attempting its workings again would be...inadvisable, given your current state." She sighs, raking a hand through her hair. "But I understand the desire to reclaim what you've lost. To prove yourself once more." Her smile is crooked. "Some of us are drawn to impossible tasks like moths to flame, compelled to chase knowledge no matter the cost."

She looks away, expression distant. "If the book truly holds such meaning for you, I will help you retrieve it. But on one condition." Her gaze snaps back to his, sharp and intent. "You must promise me you will not attempt to invoke its magic. Not without proper safeguards in place first. I won't see you risk further harm." Her hands clench at her sides. "Do we have an accord?"

He stares at her. He wants... He needs this book, and he cannot deny that it would be easier with her help. And he can't invoke the runes regardless, so it's a useless promise. But there are no proper safeguards. Not for this. Not for his grand and speculative rituals. "We do," he says, and he truly does not know if he means it.