"Beautiful place," said Saelin.

  The blue sky stretched above them, and the sharp white spire of the Institute’s main tower pierced it, gleaming in the sun so brightly the whiteness of the marble almost hurt the eyes. Around them lay the botanical garden, where alchemy students cultivated ingredients for their potions; yet here, too, was a flowerbed where roses bloomed and exhaled their fragrance. White, yellow, crimson, cream, their heavy buds opened boldly toward the sun. They strolled in the shade of a colonnaded gallery, breathing in air steeped with the scent of summer.

  "Future great wizards are truly fortunate if this is where they learn their craft… You studied here too, didn’t you, Vergilius?"

  "Yes, long ago," the mage replied vaguely. "I like this place as well. And where did you study, Saelin?"

  "I've never finished a higher academy," Saelin sighed. "Only the Guild School in Boreain, that’s all. You know, I always thought it was a waste of time: if you’ve got the brains and the drive, you can master anything yourself. And I always preferred tinkering with tools and making things with my hands. Take alchemy: if you really understand it, you don’t just learn how to transform one substance into another. You eventually realize you can mix sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter and get a blend that, when ignited, unleashes an incredible amount of energy… I think that could have very interesting applications in weaponry. But somehow nobody seems to look in that direction."

  "Why not?" Vergilius laughed. "War has always been the main driver of progress. Kings will pay dearly for new ways to destroy enemy armies… True, we’re at peace now, but who knows when your idea might come in handy? You could make a fortune pursuing research in that field."

  "I’m not interested in money," Saelin grimaced. "And certainly not in military research. My interest is purely scientific."

  "Still, it’s remarkable what a career you’ve built with only a Guild School diploma," Vergilius said, studying him closely. "That’s one in a hundred; it means you’re truly gifted. Ashley was the same—she outshone everyone in alchemy, though she had to learn other sciences here at the Institute… May I ask you a somewhat personal question?"

  "Of course, Vergilius. We’re in the same boat—we should all know one another."

  "How did you meet Petros? He became a magister five years ago, at a time when nobody in the academic world had even heard of you. He’s a historian, and you—a natural-born engineer. How did the two of you come together? And why Crossroads of time?"

  "Excellent question." Saelin smiled. "I just happened across some papers from the Department of Time Magic, and I was absolutely fascinated by the problem. Time is such a strange thing. We know it flows only one way, and yet we also know about the existence of Crossroads that connect different points on the timeline, isn’t that so? Doesn’t that mean we might treat time simply as an extension of space? I spent a lot of time trying to understand how it works. And Petros… well, he’s different. A star, a real genius. I listened to his lectures in Asternia, like everyone else. At one of them, he spoke about the religion of the ancient Nocturns, about how their cornerstone was this notion of Elysium, and about their Seer-priests who supposedly foresaw the future. And in their texts and myths, there are references to the Crossroads of time—or to something very much like them. After the lecture, I caught up with Petros, started asking questions, and shared my idea: that I wanted to uncover the Nocturns’ technology for seeing the future. My thought was that if we found enough documents from that era, we could reproduce it in our time. Petros liked the idea, and we began corresponding. Eventually, he discovered something very intriguing about the Nocturn religion and time magic—this archive in the Temple of Tornir. That’s when I suggested we work together and apply for the grant together."

  "Splendid!" Vergilius exclaimed. "He must have truly seen something in you. You know, in academic circles, opinions about Petros are divided. Many respect him, seeing in him a future Archmage of Aktida, but few can claim that he considers them friends. With you, though, he seems inseparable."

  "I think he’s a wonderful person," Saelin said warmly. "Yes, a bit sharp at times, but that’s just his noble upbringing speaking… And you, Vergilius—how did you meet him?"

  "My story’s simple," Vergilius said proudly. "I’ve also spent years trying to uncover the link between Nocturn religion and the possibility of controlling time. I’ve written a few papers on it, by the way—I recommend reading them, they might help you grasp the technical side of things. Petros once came to our department for a consultation, and I was delighted to talk with him for several hours. That’s how it started—not that I invited myself into the expedition, but when a specialist was needed, I was the first to volunteer to accompany him and assist him. For me, too, it’s an honor to work with him. But you know, Saelin—I’ll tell you something in confidence, just between us…"

  "Of course, Vergilius. You can trust me like a brother."

  "Only now, with the grant, with us working together, I’ve begun to understand why some people dislike Petros. Don’t you think he’s… a little too secretive? Yes, he always demonstrates brilliant knowledge, almost too brilliant—as if he has access to hidden sources he doesn’t share. He states things as absolute truths, but they’re hard to verify. I’m no historian, but… don’t you feel he’s keeping something from us? We’re supposed to be a team, yet he sometimes seems to make decisions alone, not giving us the chance to discuss them—or even vote on them."

  "Vergilius, my friend!" Saelin exclaimed. "I assure you, that’s just his way. He’s on the brink of a great discovery and doesn’t want to share the glory. But that’s nothing—the laurels of discovery and the fame will belong to everyone on this expedition. I think we should just trust him, and marvel at how he pulls the right answers out like a magician with rabbits from a hat."

  "I don’t understand why Vaimar," Vergilius said doubtfully. "I’ve looked into the matter, and from my sources, far more promising sites for research lie in the Southern Province. The legendary Shimoan Sanctuary, for instance. I asked him why he was so certain of his route, but he just brushed me off and advised me to… ahem… ‘stick to questions within my expertise.’"

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Let’s wait, Vergilius!" Saelin clapped his colleague encouragingly on the shoulder. "I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. The Temple of Tornir will answer many of our questions."

  "And then there are his student circles…" Vergilius went on, as though needing to air all that weighed on his mind. "He’s notorious for his sharp remarks about the king, and people forgive him that—but teaching students such heresies? I fear he might be arrested at any moment. Wouldn’t that endanger the entire project?"

  "That’s a good point," Saelin admitted, his tone darkening. "But you and I, Vergilius, have nothing to worry about. Our conscience is clear—we’re pursuing science, nothing more. I trust Petros is professional enough not to get tangled in some political mess in the middle of the expedition. I suggest we simply keep our distance from that side of things and not answer any provocations—if any should arise."

  Vergilius stopped walking. His face brightened slightly.

  "Listen, Saelin, I’m glad we talked like this," he said. "We’re in the same boat, and it’s important to trust one another. I find it hard to connect with Petros, but you—you’re his friend, you’re close to him, and I’d like to consider you my ally. I hope with your help, I’ll understand him better. I’ll let you know if I notice anything else that troubles me, and you do the same for me, alright?"

  "I’m glad too, Vergilius!" Saelin beamed. "Don’t worry—you can count on me. Everything will be fine."

  ***

  Ashley quietly closed the door behind her and slipped beneath the high stone vaults among the columns, wrapped in carved stone patterns. Sunlight burst through the enormous windows, refracted by colored stained glass that depicted the mages who, for centuries since the founding of the Institute, had guarded this place: the upper floors of the famous Occultum. Patterns wound across the ceiling. Along the walls stood evenly spaced lecterns with opened ancient tomes full of spells and formulas. On the floor, stones shimmered faintly with a pearly glow—diamonds that blocked careless use of magic, allowing only true professionals to practice here.

  The two mages presently in the hall, seated on stools and reading, immediately jumped to their feet when they saw the sorceress and bowed.

  "Magister Nielder…"

  "Not now," she stopped them with a gesture. "Go on with your work, don’t let me disturb you… I only want to pass into the inner courtyard. I’d like… to be alone for a while."

  The wizards bowed again and returned to their books. Ashley walked slowly and thoughtfully onward, passing between the columns, absentmindedly stretching out her hands and smiling at the memory of this gesture. It seemed so simple now, though once—back in her first year at the Guild School—she had failed her exam because of it. Now she could do it with ease. She felt the energy stored in the age-old stone arches, gathered magic into her palms, and reached toward it as naturally as a flower turns toward the sun at dawn.

  This Institute was her home. She remembered how she had first entered this mysterious place, how she had gazed about in delight and wonder, becoming part of the knowledge of the highest circle of sorcerers… grasping what remained unknown to others.

  Petros and Saelin… For more than ten years, this pair of closest friends had never left the pages of the weekly papers, their names on everyone’s lips, yet never before had they attempted research of such seriousness. The crossroads of time… Ashley had encountered them herself. More than once, in the name of experimentation, she and other mages had stepped through such portals into another age and returned. Yet she had never been able to explain how it was possible.

  She remembered the strangeness of it. The crossroads were invisible until you stood right before them, and even then, you could perceive only a faint shimmer in the air, like gnats flitting before your eyes. And then… it was over. But something subtle always changed. Something that made you realize clearly that the trees around you were the same ones that had grown there perhaps hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago.

  Ashley had never seen anything dangerous in this phenomenon. Only something unspeakably strange. Something that broke all the laws of existence. The crossroads of time should not exist. They contradicted everything she had been taught at the Guild School and the Institute, defied the dogmas of religion and the axioms of natural science… And she could not imagine how such a thing could be studied.

  For Petros and Saelin were only human.

  She pushed open the tall wooden doors and stepped into the blinding sunlight of the round inner courtyard, enclosed by the white marble towers of the Institute, their crimson spires stabbing into the heavens like needles. She slipped off her light sandals so that even her bare feet might feel the power stored in this place. She walked forward barefoot, gazing up into the high, cloudless blue sky where the white orb of the sun blazed.

  She spun as though in a dance, lifting her hands to the sky, opening her palms, breathing deeply. The grass was soft and wet beneath her, and all around her seemed to shine… Magic was everywhere. Power touched Ashley with a gentle hand and whispered with exultation: You are young. You are clever. You are gifted. The whole world lies in your hands—use it, live while you can live fully and freely…

  Her journey began here. In this circle of grass beneath this sun.

  And it would be great. Ashley knew it. She knew that all tales end well.

  ***

  Nubel wandered through the Institute for a long time.

  He was alone, yet did not feel lonely. These walls had raised him. He remembered with affection every lecture hall, every staircase, the professors’ offices, the laboratories, and most of all, the library. He had spent more time here than anywhere else. Moving slowly along the shelves, he pulled out from the archive of antiquities familiar originals and copies of manuscripts—now, as a certified historian, he had full access to them. Once more, he skimmed the known scrolls of parchment, stone tablets, and foreign monographs that contained what he hoped were accurate sketches of artifacts unearthed across Laugdeil in different ages. He made the necessary copies, and some things he simply transcribed into his notebook.

  It was already evening when, unhurriedly, he left the Institute and strolled through the narrow streets of Mainor, whistling softly. He crossed almost the whole city before finally, in the Trade District, he entered a small but clean and cozy tavern. Nubel ordered supper and sat down on a stool beside a man wrapped in a gray cloak with a hood.

  "Hello," he said, without looking at his neighbor.

  "Hello, Nubel. I’m glad you finally made it to Mainor. How are things going?"

  "So far, all is calm. Petros gave me the outline of the plan, but kept the route details to himself. From what I gather, they’ll only become clear at the Temple of Tornir. Either he’s already decided everything, or he doesn’t want to reveal his hand too soon."

  "He doesn’t trust you?"

  "I doubt he trusts anyone at all," Nubel grimaced and slid a sheet of paper toward his companion. "Here’s the approximate route. I don’t know how much it will change in the end. Will you meet us there?"

  "Yes. I’ll try to simply follow you. If that fails, I’ll attempt to cut across and head north directly. I think sooner or later you’ll get there. If we miss each other, send word to me in Vairad from the Temple of Tornir. I’ll try to meet you in some other city along the way."

  "All right," Nubel said nervously. "Only, I beg you—send your messages so as not to give me away. Petros is unpredictable. Frankly, I’m afraid of him."

  The hooded man chuckled.

  "This is your trial, Nubel. And your chance. If you succeed, you’ll gain everything. But if not…

  "History will punish you."