Aaron froze, the door still in hand. Not this shit again.

Soldiers, slaves, and fellow students were kneeling on the ground, heads lowered toward his cottage's door. Kendia's gasp told him this wasn't a normal occurrence. Is it 'worship the Champion' day again?

He sighed and straightened. "You all may rise."

Nothing happened. No one moved. Oh, fuck this. "I am honored by the respect, but I do need someone to tell me what is going on. Rise and tell me."

A few people twitched at his order. Then he saw Rhea. She pointed two fingers to her eyes, signed with a flat hand, and pointed at him. No. Not at him. Next to me? She's warning me about something next to me?

Aaron took a careful step forward. If this was something dangerous, the soldiers wouldn't be on the ground. Maybe a sage has dropped in for breakfast? Why not?

He took a deep breath and poked his head around the corner. A wall of light-swallowing black stood beside his door. Some weird spell?

He looked up—and yelped, stumbling back from the towering titan. Grey skin covered arms as thick as his thighs. Eyes the size of pillows waved lazily, framing a face with bejeweled tusks, a curled-up trunk, and oh—those eyes. Aaron looked up in awe at the xenosophont twice his height.

It inclined its giant head and exhaled resonantly. "I am Master Medianisa, High Priestess of the Flame and Master Philosopher of Aesthetics. It is an honor to meet the Weaver's Champion in the flesh."

Aaron gulped and took another step back. His neck strained as he met the xenosophont's eyes. What do I say? Why can't it be a cute catgirl instead of something weird for once?

He shook himself back to the present. How do I make this sound officious—I mean official?

"The Weaver's Champion greets the High Priestess." High Priestess of what? The Flame? The Founding Flame everyone keeps talking about?

He inclined his head in turn. "It is an honor to meet such an impressive figure here and now."

The giant trumpeted, and Aaron flinched back. Its face was a static mask, in sharp contrast to the depth of those brown eyes. "You are handling my ambush pretty well. Though your barbs need work—it will not do to have the Champion give unsophisticated signs of his annoyance."

Aaron ground his teeth. Why do I get another fucking wise mentor figure? The position is currently occupied.

He took a few deep breaths. I need to up my game. I can't be this off-kelter just because someone dropped in unannounced. Fuck.

"I intended no offense," he said, inclining his head again. Would Reikaia scold me for apologizing here? Fuck. "What business brings you to our humble accommodations?"

"Matters of great import, vital for the future of the polis—and yourself." The trunk swung back and forth. Of course. Why wouldn't I decide about the future of this city I barely know before breakfast?

Aaron nodded solemnly and threw a tentative look at the common hall. "May we discuss this over breakfast, in the presence of my two… advisers?" 'Friends' feels wrong in this context.

A soft drone escaped from the bipedal elephant's trunk. "Most certainly."

The High Priestess waved one of her tree-trunk-like arms. "You may rise, with the blessing of the Flame. The squadmates of the Champion may join us for breakfast."

She turned her head toward Bug and Bark. "And we will not be needing an additional guard."

Aaron's eyes darted toward Bug and Bark. The statement landed too clean. She knows about them. Or suspects. Shit. He masked his reaction and kept walking. Then he led the Priestess into the dining hall.

She settled at one end of the table, and Aaron chose the other. Rhea followed, looking as if she expected an ambush. They sat down on one side of him. Lyra followed and sat on the other, giving him a radiant but forced smile.

Erai and Ceiro looked disheveled. Aaron inhaled sharply—and he noticed the stump where Ceiro's arm should be. It was the only sign of the evening's events. All the blood had been washed away, as if it had never been. Lyra must hate me after what I did to her brother.

Aaron studied her for a moment—Lyra's radiant smile didn't quite hide the shadow behind her eyes. She flinched when he saw Ceiro's stump. No words had been spoken, but the silence screamed.

Esnita served the morning porridge with fruit, then left with a deep bow on the floor. The Priestess had simply gotten an ornate pot.

Aaron smirked. The logistics of living with aliens.

They ate in tense silence for a while. Aaron barely tasted the meal. Shortly before he finished, one of his furtive glances at the elephantine Priestess was reciprocated by her dark brown eyes. She straightened and cleaned her trunk with a handkerchief. "Are you in contact with the Cabal of the Preservers, Champion?"

Aaron coughed and dropped his spoon. Across the table, Rhea's hand drifted to the fruit knife. Not sure that'll help against a giant. Is it the thought that counts?

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Aaron smiled at the Priestess and took a deliberate spoon of porridge. I need time. That is my answer. Dissemble until I understand. "May I ask why you would wonder about such private matters?"

Another soft trumpeting filled the room. "Every other group had made their move. I was merely trying to understand the game board."

Aaron's spoon froze mid-air. He didn't dare look at Theon or Lyra. This isn't just politics—it's a fucking declaration. The room felt smaller. Hotter. "Master Bug and Magister Bark must have gotten very interested in you during your trial. Did you know they sought to preserve the contact by seeking this assignment?"

Then she looked intently at Aaron. Both Lyra and Theon tensed. She knows. Cold sweat ran down Aaron's back. The rich smell of fruit and porridge suddenly turned oppressive.

The giant continued with another trumpeting sound. "Magus Blade seeks only to guard you and the polis. And you should consider yourself lucky to have a noble fon such pure blood as Master Shard at their side. A healer is always an asset, so I hope you are happy with my assignments."

Theon nudged Aaron softly when the Priestess said "guard," and again when she said "pure." Are those other cabals?

Aaron inclined his head. "I am most grateful for those whom you have given the duty to guard me."

He paused. I'm getting tired of this shit. Let's hit her with something. "So what landmine should I avoid to keep your precious polis intact?"

Everyone tensed. Aaron tried his best in the staring match against the High Priestess. He began to sweat. Is the room growing hotter?

Then Aaron saw the first dull red spark on the floor. A wave of heat shimmered outward like desert air. He tensed. Lyra moved first, cupping her hands as she began to whisper a prayer. Rhea and the others followed—only Ceiro shifted about awkwardly with his one hand. A pressure settled in all around his mind shield. Is everyone here a fucking mindmage? Well, round three, I guess.

He visualized the metallic orb at the center of his dreamgarden. I held back for Bug. A little bit. But I am tired of this.

He inhaled and opened his mouth—and screamed as loud and high as he could, focusing all his intent on the metallic sphere. The dreamgarden lit with cracks, the metal orb pulsing. The reaction was immediate.

His squadmates flinched back, shocked by Aaron's scream. The Priestess sprang lithely to her full height. One hand shot up to her temple, the other drew a ridiculously large sawed-off shotgun—or maybe rather a small mortar—from her robes.

The presence shattered.

Then the heat in the room rose to oven levels. Aaron scrambled to his feet as red veins seeped from the floor's edges, turning orange and then yellow. He swayed, feeling a headache coming on. His metallic shoe rang like a bell with the aftershock.

The elephantine Priestess stomped the ground hard. "I am in no danger, honored Genius Loci. He meant no offense."

Her voice sounded like an incantation, a drone vibrating the room on a level below sound. Aaron knelt, leaning on his hands in the middle of a spiderweb of now-orange cracks. What is she talking to?

The voice of the Priestess was now accompanied by a threatening drone. "It is most unwise to attack the Genius Loci or its Priestess. Even with such crude tricks. It was merely curious about you."

Aaron pressed his eyes shut. "I want explanations. Now."

The tremor in his voice betrayed his bravado. The spiderweb began brightening again as a new wave of heat hit him. The Priestess raised her palms, as if to calm a frightened animal. "I am sorry. It seems I underestimated the impact the powerful already had on you. You are tired of being treated as a chess piece."

She swayed her trunk from side to side as the spiderweb dimmed to a dull red again. Aaron just nodded, unable to trust his voice. Why can't I have one nice day? Fuck this.

The silence dragged. Aaron slumped back into his seat, breath ragged. My brain's cooked. Mind games and molten floors—before breakfast. He forced himself to nod as the Priestess picked up the thread, her voice calm again. "Yesterday evening the Council of Sixteen met to discuss the question of your mentorship. I ensured that you would get to choose the candidate. We will compete over you. Do your best to get what you need."

The swaying of her trunk intensified. "And try not to antagonize all your official mentor candidates. Many have extraordinarily valuable lessons and support for you."

Aaron bit down on the spike of guilt. She wasn't attacking him—just trying to get close. And that made it worse somehow. Aaron nodded again. "So you came to warn me and to introduce yourself?"

A moment of silence followed, and Aaron took a deep breath. She shouldn't think I'm ungrateful. "Thank you for setting it up this way. A competition sounds indeed… profitable."

The Priestess flapped her ears—a gesture of calm or warning, Aaron couldn't tell.

The red lines faded, but their glow lingered, like embers beneath cracked stone. One by one the others stopped praying. The Priestess gestured for Aaron to sit as she lowered herself back onto the ground. "Let us forget this episode. The Genius Loci does have a temper. Some believe it picks members of my family for that reason. We restrain it."

Aaron nodded, tunic clinging with sweat. Lyra didn't fare better—hair plastered to her forehead.

Swallowing, he spoke up. "A Genius Loci is the spirit of a place, right? How is it related to the Flame?"

The Priestess clapped her ears and her trunk shook. "On to matters of theology so fast? To answer your question: the Genius Loci is the Flame. Genius Loci are cores of dungeons. They build networks and establish domains. Wild ones are dangerous, but they can be tamed and become beneficial to those living inside the domains. One as old as Pella is capable of directly manifesting attacks—as you have felt."

Her trunk swayed back and forth as Aaron looked down into his bowl. Well, shit. What a morning. He took a slow spoon of porridge. It was hot again.

The Priestess continued. "I will instruct you all in the aesthetic arts myself and will continue to do so even if you do not choose me as your mentor. And I will be available to you in matters of practical theology."

She let out a thundering breath."To be upfront, I am a pragmatic conservative member of the Cabal of Archivists. Our order doesn't play games of cloak and dagger—we pursue knowledge."

Theon nodded vigorously, looking at the Priestess with something almost avaricious in his eyes. "You will meet all of the contenders over the next few days. You have already met the Rhetorician Keios Albastis Donia in your first class at his institute."

Aaron smirked. This day is going to be interesting. After all, what's a little religious confrontation between potential friends?

The Priestess—a Hyphant, as Theon told him—fell into lecture mode. They followed her on a hike towards a grove of structures where several students played instruments.

The squad learned about the meeting of the Council, and Aaron came to understand the role of the High Priestess. At some point, they began shuffle-shifting onto the aesthetics of politics, and how art relates to power.

Aaron relaxed more and more. Maybe not everyone trying to get in my good graces is a power-hungry asshole.

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