Swimming had been fun, but as the sun lowered itself over the distant sunset mountains, Aaron and Lyra left the river and joined the others again. Another two steps' worth of fabric had been woven in the meantime. Aaron motioned the majordomo over and began explaining his plans for the river.

Using rope and sticks, Aaron outlined his plan to dam up part of the vale after the waterfall and to create a channel going downhill. "You've got quicklime clay for buildings. I want you to use clay for the dam's and channel's core, then mix it with quicklime and compact it layer by layer on the surface. Only put in the wooden gate once you're done with the whole dam." In the end, the outline for a dam taller than two men had been created. Aaron nodded in satisfaction as they left the estate toward the city. Let's see what the majordomo gets done if I come back in ten days.

As they approached the city, he maneuvered closer to the Grandmaster, who was talking to Lyra. "So, what are your thoughts on my plans?"

Receiving a quick nod, Lyra turned to Aaron. "It's interesting. Feels like opening a door into the unknown." She leaned in and smiled. "I'm curious where this is gonna go…"

Aaron grinned in return and hooked his elbow with hers. He nodded and asked his next question with studied casualness. "So, I mean to ask—what does your family think about the prophecies of the Watcher?"

He felt Lyra stiffen slightly before she let out a long breath. Grandmaster Keios answered with a gentle smile.

"Abolitionists and similar ilk think that the only way forward is to grovel before the gods and enact the most obvious solutions. But Pella is unique. We do not restrict people based on birth. Each generation will rise and fall on their own merit. And the children will then play in the arena the parents set for them."

Aaron swallowed down a spike of anger. Yeah, apart from the mageborn children, who you just murder if they're born in the wrong social class. "So, what if She of the Psyche blesses a slave's child with magic? I've heard Rhea was born to the retainers of Theon's family." Am I being too obvious? His heart beat a bit faster.

The Grandmaster gave Aaron an enigmatic look. "So, you sense our reluctance to lift such people above their station? Lyra, why do we believe lowborn should not become aristocrats just by virtue of being psy-touched?"

Lyra straightened like a student called up by her favorite teacher. "Due to the nature of divine error, Uncle Keios. The gods are no true arbiters—just ascended mortals, twisted by power and unbound by consequence. They carry the seed of mortal error all the way up to their lofty heights of being."

Aaron frowned. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the gods—even if they are real entities—are still being twisted by the doctrines of political ideologies. He opened his mouth to reply, but the Grandmaster Rhetorician spoke up with a firm voice.

"Render unto the gods what is the gods' due. Render unto the mortals what is due the mortals. We have a right to resist the will of the gods. We are not slaves to their whims. Never slaves to the will of another." He stared at Aaron for a long moment. "The community gets to decide how to live, and the gods may critique."

Anger heated Aaron's chest. All this beautiful philosophy, and it's nothing but elaborate decoration for the genocide your faction is committing. "So you're saying your free will and agency are worth more than the lives lost by divine punishment?"

Lyra shook her arm, trying to distance herself from Aaron. Aaron tensed his in turn, keeping her close. I know what your mission is. I get to make my own decisions. And you get to choose where your loyalties belong, girl. No one can run from the blood on their gloves forever. Part of him felt tainted by this spite, but he swallowed down hard on the reaction.

The Grandmaster tilted his head at the little scuffle and chuckled. "Ah yes, the temper of the young. Worry not, niece."

He turned to Aaron and studied him as they left a dark orchard and walked back onto a silt-covered part of the road. The Grandmaster stopped and studied the golden tips of the mountains beyond the black shadows they cast over the earthen desert.

"Time. Time and our system of social mobility will remove the problem before any edict will be necessary. Fewer lowborn mages are born each year, as our system purges the lesser classes of genes suitable to be endowed with arcane might."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. He turned around, and his eyes met Aaron's as the Grandmaster was backlit by the sinking skylight. His hair glowed like the halo of a saint.

"The time between each divine messenger has increased. The inverse of the normal pattern. You were expected. Your antecessor will not be necessary. Panic around edicts and divine messengers is sadly common. But…"

The Grandmaster turned to Bug, who observed the exchange with a disgusted expression. "Master Bug, as an amateur historian, is it not true that for every five prophets, one champion appears? And that this is roughly the same ratio as champions to angels bearing edicts?"

Bug studied the sunset for a drawn-out moment. Then he ground out a single word. "Yes."

The Grandmaster nodded at Aaron, who noticed the tension between his teeth. I am getting mad at him. Infiltrating those self-righteous assholes. Fuck. He shook his expression into one of intrigued curiosity. Maybe it's too little too late. But even if they know I'm playing games, my side just has to play better.

Aaron stared at the Grandmaster. "So the will of the gods doesn't matter? Only what you perceive as right or wrong? Or rather, what's in the interest of the people?"

The Grandmaster shook his head with a sad smile. "What, Champion, beyond that would you propose as the highest essence of right? The will of the people—or rather, the best and wisest among the people—is the essence of what makes a state. Anything else would be tyranny."

Bug cleared his throat. "I do not think that anything the majority deems practical is permissible. Such an idea is the height of sophistry. Avarice without bounds does not become virtue just because it is commonplace."

The Grandmaster's eye twitched. "You see avarice where I see the most prosperous of the Dorian Leagues. Every society is built upon the bones of the weak." He gestured silently over the Bonded and slaves that were leaving the field for the villages. "A society devoted to the pursuit of nothing but the good is a snake devouring its own tail. Drawing arbitrary lines and calling one half good and the other evil over and over will leave you with nothing in the end."

Aaron stared into the sunset for a long while. I want to fight him on this. His justifications of evil. But I'm not here to be right. I'm here to infiltrate this hate group's party and to learn how they target baby mages. He rubbed a hand over his stomach as he felt Lyra slowly relaxing beside him.

Aaron nodded, well aware that the Grandmaster was observing him. "I guess you have a point, Grandmaster Keios. We humans tend to strive for ideal solutions, but nature imposes limits. Accepting those limits is necessary at some point. Still, why can't some mages just be integrated from the lower classes? Wouldn't that just speed up the process of segregation?"

Aaron had kept his voice vested and curious. If he believes I'm not genuine enough, if he smells the trap… What can I offer the purists that would convince them to take me seriously? Legitimacy? A shiver ran down Aaron's spine. But how do I do that without it seeming like a parody?

Lyra turned her head to him and studied him through her hair. "Those lowborn mages tend to join the ranks of abolitionists and worse—rebel-rousers like the Unchained. Only destabilization and cruelty grow from that stem, so pulling out the weeds before their seeds can spread throughout the garden is reasonable, right?"

Aaron closed his eyes, suppressed a swallow, and nodded silently. I don't trust myself to speak. Fuck.

"I guess there is sense in that. You don't want to cause large disruption and seek to prevent it with small disruptions?" Aaron forced himself to smile at Lyra. It is all for a cause. Just like they tell themselves, a distant part of his mind giggled. Cold ran down his spine.

"So… why are the abolitionists even an official faction? Nobody seems to agree with them." Aaron asked quickly, trying to move back onto safer ground.

Bug shook his head and let out a sigh. "Because, in the opinion of most of the esteemed leaders of this polis, it is preferable to allow the radicals their silent protest and official forum." He looked at Aaron with a toothy smile. "After all, while banning the Abolitionist faction is possible, the might of the glorious Conservationists is sadly insufficient to deal with the cabal of the Unchained. And too many who have tried only found their families butchered in a night of wolves."

Grandmaster Keios's amicable lecture expression flashed into a mask of fury. "Master Bug, I would recommend you control your tone. Wisdom is usually found in what is not said, after all."

Bug threw Aaron a quick and cold glance. A clear invitation. "What, is the Champion not to know what happened to your wife and family?"

The darkness around the Grandmaster grew sharper as dozens of gems on his robes began emitting a harsh light. He stared at Bug with undisguised hatred. Then he spun with the swiftness of a guillotine blade. "We've wasted enough time. The polis awaits."

Aaron watched the gems on Keios's robe pulse once more as he disappeared into the olive grove. A warning… or a promise?

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