The jeweler held the stone against the light. It was the size of a button but with a mass of almost two grams. An anomaly that gave off a uniform glow despite its deep redness; an ovoid red aura was cast around it like a shadow. He took off his glasses and made a pass over his eyes with his sleeve, unable to even find time to draw a handkerchief.

  “I have never felt both awe and sorrow by looking at a stone.” The shop owner wiped the lenses with a cloth before putting his glasses back on. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Tell me, how did you get your hands on this gem?”

  “That is my secret to keep,” Kirk answered. “But I’ll tell you it’s not something the common miner would know. So, how much are you willing to give for this?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever see a stone like this if I turn away from it.”

  The jeweler picked up the second ruby. It had the same size as the first: perfect for a pair of rings, or as a pendant’s center of attention. It took him moments before answering:

  “Thirteen thousand Marks. Each.”

  “That’s driving a hard bargain.” Kirk placed his hand above the stones, blocking them from view. “I would have to ask around for a better price.”

  Kirk beamed at the jeweler while securing his gems with a fist. There was a cough, followed by a follow-up from the storekeeper, the moment when he was about to walk away:

  “Thirty-two thousand Marks. No more.”

  “That’s more like it. Looks like we’re doing good business.”

  ????

  Kirk exited the store with a full purse; its bulge hung limply even when inside the thick jacket pocket. He crossed the street to a table where Euphemia and Rook sat. An empty glass of milk was seen on the boy’s side.

  “Did your business go well?”

  “A little less than what I wanted for, prayer lady.” Kirk pulled out part of the payment as a thin fan of money. “How far will, more or less, thirty thousand Marks go in this place?”

  “I see you’re not a gambler…” Euphemia said, “Up to four months, if you only spend on what you need.”

  “Monster-caller is a liar.” A smug grin was etched on Rook’s face. “He got a little more for two little stones.”

  “You saw everything from this far?” Kirk scratched his head. “You must have some kind of spyglass with you, do you not?”

  “Not telling.” Rook strummed his fingers against the table. "Got nothing on my hands, see?"

  “I believe you have settled what you meant to do at the jeweler’s, Kirk?” Euphemia stood up and fixed the seat back under the table.

  “Yes, actually.” Kirk looked around. “And the boy and I are about to witness what your business in this city is?”

  “Let me take the two of you to the answer.”

  · · ─ ·?· ─ · ·

  Euphemia stood in the middle of the Academy when she looked at the imposing visage of the Brillanz; the tip of its cone made an illusion of the sun standing at its zenith. Carved out of a rare rock, the tower gave off an orange hue when daylight touched it, much like a smoothed version of an upturned funnel. It was little wonder Academy students and alumni referred to it as ‘The Pointy Hat’—much to the vexation of the wizened tower occupants. Windows of unconventional shapes spiraled upwards on the structure: circles, half-circles, and crescents—motifs invoking the phases of the moon that were common among Luminberg's structures of old. Such layouts were reminders that an older era of the city existed—one which was vaguely remembered, if at all, by the newer generations of its people.

  She stopped at the closed front door where an attendant stood guard; the shining visor giving off a red gleam made recognizing his face hard for the canoness. The man asked:

  "Your purpose of the visit, church sister?"

  "I wish to see the Headmaster. I'm seeking his approval to access a level in your library."

  "Rare for church people to have such requests. You may proceed." The guard looked at the others behind the cleric. “The same goes for these two behind you, as long as you don’t wander around where you shouldn’t be.”

  "They will stay with me at all times, I assure you. Thank you, Sir." Euphemia nodded before handing visitor passes to Kirk and Rook.

  More lights greeted the cleric's eyes as she set herself within the interior of Brillanz; white light, in the form of floating crystal torches, guided the building’s visitors. How they hovered inside the building was a mystery for most visitors: a secret that Brillanz’s staff did not openly give. The interior was somewhat silent that day; it wasn't as occupied as the canoness had envisioned it to be. A pair of custodians, carrying buckets of dirty water and mops, was about to settle into one of the rooms. One of them paid attention to her longer than necessary, though it was more the case of rare church people entering the seat of magical studies.

  There was the scent of ink and, oddly enough, burning wood that ventured from one of the ground-floor rooms. Kirk searched for a cue, probably a thread of smoke; something to trace the source of the smell to. His eyes made a single pass, and he looked at the staircase ahead.

  The canoness stared at the ceiling; around her were at least eight spiraling flights of stairs that led to the floor of the headmaster's office. She had been out of the Academy for years; this was a time she felt less of a visitor and more of a returning student.

  Crystallized vines were engraved on the black rock used for the interior; each of the 'leaves' glowed in faint green. At the center of the tower was a wide, transparent pillar where a black, capsule-like object traveled up and down. The dark part of the pillar rested on the ground, where an opening that led to a small space appeared.

  She was about to enter the strange elevator car when a graying man, whose hair flared like a frayed fan, was about to go with them. Euphemia looked at him, noticing that a traditional cloak of Luminberg’s magical caste draped an otherwise modern-day suit and pants. She could remember who this man was, but Euphemia was not too sure. Assuming an identity was imprudent, after all. They were both about to proceed when the cleric asked:

  "Is the headmaster's office still on the top floor of this tower?"

  "Of course. You have come at the right time, as I am about to return to my office."

  The elderly tower resident waved a hand and pressed a button on the left panel. There was no door; the space they used to enter vanished in front of them as the hexagonal car began its ascent.

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  "I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you right away, Magister Silbern of Luminberg." Euphemia made a slight curtsy, despite the cramped space, before she resumed speaking. "I am Euphemia, of House Schild. There are matters, personal concerns, that I wish to speak to you about."

  "Euphemia...?" The old man stared at her face long before he resumed speaking. "As in Lady Euphemia of Alberta? Why would you come to me in a veil and a habit?"

  "I... have pursued a life in the clergy, Headmaster." She closed her eyes for a moment.

  "Such a waste of talent. Surely, Carolus has taught you better than to throw it all away. You have not turned your back on the ways of furthering magic, have you?"

  Euphemia read some of Church's letters about Luminberg going too far into its studies, even attracting heresy. Even her order was not known to publicly showcase healing arts when it was decided to limit its use within the safety of the cloister, or only through personal exchanges between a healer and a patient. Her right hand gripped tight, though she had to understand that the headmaster was holding a strong sense of opinion. The last thing she wanted was to express displeasure in front of someone she was seeking help from. If only she could speak more directly, but she had to keep her decorum. A sense of ethics had to be maintained. Instead, she responded with:

  “I… have never thought of not using what I have learned at this school, Headmaster.”

  It was the first time the canoness felt small. She stopped before uttering a rebuttal, and her companions were quick to notice. Rook was about to approach her when she looked back, smiled, and shook her head. Euphemia took a deep breath and walked behind the Academy rector. She rallied what confidence she held and said:

  “I believe I can apply much of what I have learned in these halls. Even as I have chosen to answer the Creator’s calling.”

  “Carolus was right about you. The tales of you taking Duke Cecil's bullishness unfold before me.” Demian muted his laughter. "And what about these two behind you?"

  “They’re my companions.”

  Kirk was about to raise his palm, but he resorted to a last-moment nod. Rook paid the headmaster no mind; his eyes were following the lights floating in the tower’s vast central space. Euphemia continued:

  "They’re also my friends I’ve found in my travels. I need people I can trust." Euphemia looked at the two behind her, then she focused back on the headmaster. "I would like to tell you about my situation in private."

  "If our esteemed student, or Academy graduate, wishes."

  The three visitors reached the top floor; Kirk was the last to exit the cabin and looked back at the staircases, imagining how a student, books, bags, and the robe-like garb would want to see this school's authority daily. Headmaster Silbern opened the arched door that led to his office. Euphemia nodded at her companions before raising an empty palm. Kirk nodded back, while Rook registered a puzzled stare at the cleric. The door closed behind them.

  “Take a seat, Lady Euphemia.” Demian offered the chair closest to his desk. “Your father's situation is told in whispers among the nobility. They're rarely quiet, but always have something to talk about, albeit in hushed voices.”

  “Then… I do not need to start from the beginning and be more direct.” Euphemia's hands withdrew into her sleeves. “I’d like to know. There are other works made by one… Reinhardt G?hler.”

  “G?hler… your father also came to me seeking his works.” He set a few books aside, putting them on an empty snack table. “You won’t find what you’re looking for anywhere in our library, but I have what you’re most likely looking for.”

  Headmaster Silbern pushed a button on the pillar beside his desk. It revealed a section of his office with a lower ceiling and more bookshelves. Demian had to crane his head inside; there was hardly enough space to reach out for three books. He said:

  “G?hler touched on subjects… an innovative man, but the Empire was less interested, or perhaps misunderstood his pursuits, during his time.”

  “My father was also reading about him?”

  Nothing could be mysterious enough when it came to the Duke of Alberta. Euphemia understood that her father encouraged her to use her talents in confrontational applications. How this led to him reading about someone who wanted to fuse the arcane and the procedural left a question in her mind. She kept herself from expressing further, fearing that she would miss out on what the headmaster was saying.

  “It wasn’t long ago.” Demian placed the books on the table. “I think these books, or the knowledge inside them, are cursed. Never put into practice, but feels off, if anyone would be crazy enough to test his theories.”

  Euphemia reached out for the books; a moment when time and space slipped away, reducing the world to only her and what secrets these old records had. There was no other meaning: this information must have led Lord Cecil to whom he was tracking down. She shuddered at the thought that someone in ‘Fox’ had connections to these works. A knowledge so dangerous that it gave that much power to whoever wielded it. She returned to reality when Demian continued speaking:

  “These documents are not meant to be seen beyond these halls. Can you find everything you need here?”

  “Can I make copies of these books instead?”

  Euphemia bowed to reach for something in her pocket: three crystals, the ones she used as lamps back in Aurelburg, were shown to the rector. Demian couldn’t hide the baffled look on his face and asked:

  “Crystals?”

  He witnessed what the old tomes recorded in drawings; the cleric guided the quartz-colored stub above one of G?hler’s books. Light enveloped the document in moments; the crystal remained above it. An unseen force flipped pages; each confirmation was a strong flash of light. Three crystal sticks, now loaded with a dim glow, lay on Demian Silbern’s desk. Euphemia took one of them and infused it with energy from her half-hidden armlet. A projection of the book in solid light appeared on the desk.

  “A remnant of the First Empire’s bookkeeping practices… I never imagined you could use something apart from purposely-created stones for this trick.”

  Demian looked at the light construct with renewed interest. He moved around, surveying how this 'copy' had practically the same dimensions as what the First Empire used, but with the color of natural light instead of the ethereal green shade of the ancient copies. He remarked:

  “Normally, I would not let you walk away with this, even if you’re the only one who can open these ‘books’. I am about to propose something only you can do, though.”

  Euphemia held her hands tighter. Surely, the head of the Academy wouldn’t be asking something that needed her family’s authority. The cleric remained sitting straight, though she felt that the headmaster could almost read her thoughts. Her eyes were far from exuding the same confidence as before. Demian said:

  “I will have to invite you to present this skill in front of Luminberg’s faculty.” Demian said, “This would mean you’ll have to show this multiple times so that we can imprint this practice successfully in our wands and staves.”

  “I…” She cut the flow of magical energy from her hand to the floating crystal; it bounced twice before it lay still on the table. “I think I’ll be able to show you the entire technique… once I find Father.”

  “I knew it.” Demian took back the three G?hler books to the safety of the hidden shelf. “My son-in-law works as an investigator."

  With another press of the pillar-mounted contraption, the shelf disappeared from view. There was no noise, no mechanism. A trick of the light, Euphemia deduced. Demian shook his head, saying:

  "Your meister told me of the kind of potential you possess." Demian's smile stood out on his wrinkled face. "You would never know your truest extent if you throw your life away in this pursuit. I’m sure your father wanted you out of danger as best as he could.”

  “Thank you, Headmaster, for everything. Please don't worry for my sake.” Euphemia took the three quartz stones and placed them in her waist pocket. If only she could summon the same obstinate confidence she had before Headmaster Silbern. "I may come to you again- if- when... I need more help."

  ????

  Euphemia exited the headmaster’s office and saw Kirk and Rook looking at the floating lamps. It was the latter who immediately noticed her footsteps:

  “You and that old man done talking?”

  “Yes, Rook.” Euphemia nodded. She remained smiling, though her eyes moved between looking at the walls and the contents of her waist pocket.

  “What did you talk about?” Kirk finally turned around and faced both of them.

  “I’ll tell you everything once we return to the inn.” Her hands were lowered and clasped together. “My father. He is missing, and I hope I can find him with this knowledge.”

  In her possession were the books her father once read. She wondered what was in them and how they helped the old duke to track down this elusive group, only known as 'Fox'. Neither Kirk nor Rook was talking to her, and she was failing to notice either stealing a glance or keeping a check on her at times. Euphemia looked ahead. Finally, all her traveling would lead to at least a direction to an answer.