As Libarius and the others enter the training grounds, Libarius repeatedly taps his cane against the ground, pushing around dirt as though playing with it. As the students go past him, Gracia stops right beside him, assuming something is troubling him.

  “Did you sleep well last night?”

  “No, not at all, don’t be absurd.” Gracia then asks a question, though she thinks she knows the answer and dreads to hear from Libarius’ own mouth.

  “You mean that you slept poorly, right?”

  “What are you talking about, Gracia? To ask such a thing, I think it’s quite below you. Of course I meant as I said: I had not slept, not at all.”

  “So you haven’t slept in two days.”

  “I haven’t. I’ve been working my way through the books in Father’s study, but they’re all dreadfully boring, if they even happen to be on magic at all.” Though he says he hasn’t slept in days, Libarius still seems fine in Gracia’s eyes, and as such she just assumes he must be.

  “Do you want me to pick again?”

  “No, such a service isn’t required. I’ve grown weary of this experiment, its results having no bearing on anything. Though in spite of that, for the sake of that insipid task thrust upon me ‘gainst my will, I suppose I still must see it through. I’ve decided to concoct a new method before the boredom stills my mind.” Gracia decides not to inquire further, not wanting to make herself party to whatever is about to be done.

  “Okay.”

  Gracia splits off from Libarius to deal with the rest of the students. Libarius, meanwhile, beckons both Levo and Flos to his side. They come before him, both seeming confused. They had seen him already take both Favonius and Flamma aside individually, and with there still being time before the match, they had expected the same to hold true for them. However, here they are. Much more than in the previous two cases, Libarius seems truly uninterested.

  “Now then, spar.”

  The two boys are caught off guard by the order, but get to it quick enough. They face each other down and begin to cast their spells. They chant the words in whispers, just loud enough for neither to be understandable. They form the image and weave their magics.

  They cast their spells at nearly the same moment, only a fraction of a second between their activations. A moment passes, and another. Yet still nothing happens. Libarius watches their non-interaction with eyes glazed over by boredom. Though it appears to the untrained eye that nothing is happening, both spells activated properly. Levo’s spell slowly bears down on Flos, and perhaps it will force him to his knees. Flos’ spell slowly grows ice crystals encircling Levo, and perhaps it will capture him fully. To the trained eye of Libarius, nothing is happening.

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  Growing bored, Libarius impatiently taps his cane against the ground before his time is up. With the first tap he casts a spell, and with the second another. Levo finds a great weight upon him and falls to the ground. A dome of ice swallows up Flos and encases him completely. Both of them are defeated, their own spells of course coming to an end. Without either being freed, Libarius begins his critique.

  “Utterly dull. In the time it takes for your spells to do much of anything, you could just as easily, and in a shorter time, find a superior mage and proposition them to cast the spell for you.”

  The shell of ice cracks and shatters into shimmering dust, while Levo slowly finds the pressure on him relieved. They both sit up, and both seem resigned. Neither of them can mount a defense against Libarius’s evaluation. While Levo seems to be receding into himself, Flos, at least, has enough courage.

  “Mr. Mitis, what do we need to do to get stronger?” Libarius begins to pace around.

  “Magic is the work of thought. Spells exist only in the mind. Tell me, what do you think of, if anything at all?” Flos doesn’t understand.

  “While casting magic, you mean? T-the spell?”

  “Is that all? Or rather, that cannot be all. Your minds are being led astray, by idle thoughts and pointless musings both, if I had to wager a guess. You use the fool’s crutch, the magic language, and yet still the spell comes too slow, what else could it be? There’s no issue in the flow of magic, I’d have felt it on the air. Neither is the issue with your circuitry, that much is clear. Indeed, you invite distraction into your mind, and as such the image fails to take root properly, even with the magic language constructing it in place of your own faculties.” Flos asks a question, sheepish beneath the cold eyes of Libarius.

  “How do we fix that?”

  “Rid your mind of all extraneous thoughts. Leave nothing but the spell. Even life must make way for magic. Let power run through your veins like blood; pure energy fill your lungs like air.”

  Flos, joined by Levo, who had, of course, been listening in, doesn’t understand what Libarius is saying. They had hoped for something actionable, but all they’re left with is what, for they wish to wake up the next morning, they take as a philosophical ramble. They figure it must have a hidden meaning they haven’t realized, and by now they’ve both become too bashful to ask.

  Life, of course, does not require thought. The body simply lives whether you think about it or not. And it’s much harder to breathe by choice than by instinct at that. And on that basis Flos and Levo decide that Libarius simply could not have been suggesting that death, or a state like death, is a requirement to become a proper mage. After all, surely their classmates, lively as they are, couldn’t be in such a state. And yet, looking at Libarius, their immensely powerful teacher, and his sallow features and dark, cold eyes, they cannot rule it out entirely. Before they can consider it much further, however, Libarius suddenly says something, seemingly just to himself, but loud enough for them to hear.

  “It’s all so trite. Why can’t they have just come before me as decent material to begin with.”

  Flos and Levo feel Libarius’ exacting gaze on them, and see him looking down on them, in their eyes as if he were looking at livestock, and they come to the terrifying conclusion that there must have been a hidden meaning, as the man before them surely wants them to live a long and healthy life.