Ortahn woke up before the rain spell began. He instinctively rolled off the bed to avoid the icy stream, but then realized that it was not only a way to wake up but also his only chance to wash. Today it was necessary—he had sweated heavily during the night, and the new skin on his wounds was itching unbearably.

  He had dreamed of Ildara, in a nightmarish sense. She had decided to cover herself in pink scales and laugh menacingly while Ortahn, at dream-speed (sometimes slow, sometimes sharp, sometimes in reverse), transformed into a defective homunculus. She grew larger, surrounding him with her black, abyss-like dress, and he couldn't move an inch, despite all his efforts. One didn't need to be a oneiromancer like his aunt to understand the meaning of the dream: fear, helplessness, projections.

  Ortahn sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the gray wall. He mentally replayed the events of the previous day until the homunculi came. His breakfast remained untouched—Ortahn's stomach was in as much turmoil as his thoughts. Time and temperature couldn't spoil this "food" anyway.

  The others were probably also tormented by nightmares. The air in the corridors thickened with anticipation and turned bitter with collective fear. Every distant footstep made the men flinch. Everyone was waiting for her and her invisible bio-whip.

  But she didn't come.

  Tulila appeared in her place. Under her vest, traces of accelerated healing were visible, like frost patterns on glass. She had paid for the speed of her healing with her beauty for weeks to come. The patterns didn't disfigure her (especially given their meaning), but they were a reminder that even the highest-ranking were not invulnerable. There was a new restraint in her movements, as if her body remembered the recent pain. All of this said (no, screamed) that her "illness" had been more serious than a simple cough. "Black Blood..." his aunt's voice involuntarily arose in Ortahn's head. Her tone always changed, as it did now, when she spoke of something she disapproved of. "...They are virtual monopolists in the development of curses. They hold seventy-eight percent of the patents, which gives them thirteen percent control over the entire spell market."

  But Tulila's gaze remained lively, even more energetic than usual. The class was silent.

  "What, girls, did you miss me?" Her voice was hoarser, but the old sarcasm was still there. She looked at the quieted men, and her artificial eye turned yellow and clicked softly as it focused. "To my great false regret, now I'll have to replace Ildara myself. She turned out to be weak in... literally everything. I'll have to return her own kindness to her, so to speak." The corner of her lip twitched in something between a smile and a snarl. "So, let's get to it! I have so much to tell you, and you have so much to let go in one ear and out the other. We only have one lecture and half a practice session."

  She threw open the door, and in the rustle of their entry into the classroom, an invisible but tangible mental burst of joy arose. The men were silently exulting. Vitl, who usually huddled in the back rows, sat down next to Ortahn, a move that did not escape the teacher's notice and, consequently, her commentary.

  "Oh," Tulila said, raising an eyebrow as she watched the maneuver. "A regrouping of forces. Interesting, Vitl. I hope you understand that if your answers now become as coherent as Ortahn's, I will have serious suspicions?" She waved half of her hands. "Fine, at least the correct information will seep into your head one more time."

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  Vitl nodded with such excessive diligence that his head jerked. On the subsequent test, he "answered" exactly half the questions—obviously, to avert suspicion. Exactly half.

  Ortahn didn't wait for the homunculi and hurried to his cell, having memorized the way the day before. As he approached, he caught a hot, bready-meaty smell, and upon entering, he found Esh with a mysterious package in her hands. He remembered the next part vaguely, but he returned to reality with the torn package in his own hands and a warm satisfaction in his stomach. Esh was standing with her hands raised in a placating gesture.

  "Wow, you were starving, Ort...ahn. Or is this your northern tradition of food consumption? A way to flatter Abundance with great enthusiasm?"

  "Thank you," Ortahn said, wiping his greasy lips. "I'm not exactly sure what happened, but I probably should have asked if this food was for me."

  "I wouldn't have brought it here just to eat it in front of you. I decided you needed to refuel," Esh stated, her face lit by a shy smile that immediately morphed into a mischievous one. "Although, it would be a good punishment. If you teach me bad things, I'll... But no, as I understand it, standing between you and good food is a terrible idea."

  "Wait, where did you get food?" Ortahn suddenly realized.

  "Certainly not from the kitchen. The models working there are the same as in the corridors. I'm a hired worker, I can leave this place. There just wasn't any point. But now there's a point—to repay my teacher." Esh grew shy again. "If you want, I can bring you food every day. Except for the last day of the month; I'm busy with reports all day then. Or if some other nonsense happens."

  Ortahn looked at the mercilessly torn and still fragrant package in his hands. His world, which just yesterday had consisted of gray apathy and pain, was now bursting at the seams. And through the cracks, something new was growing. Something dangerous. And beautiful.

  He was about to say something, to reflect even a tiny part of his state, but he was interrupted by Vitl, who appeared in the doorway.

  "What are people doing here if they don't have to follow a stupid lug around?" he began, but upon noticing Esh, he almost pulled his body back out, only stopping himself by grabbing the doorframe with both hands. "Oh, there are two of you? Then you should have closed the door."

  "We're studying magic here!" Esh explained proudly, hands on her hips.

  "I'd love to do some 'magic' with someone..." Vitl said wistfully.

  "But you have Tulila for that," Esh said, surprised. "And for your whole class."

  Watching these two speak different languages that only occasionally, accidentally coincided, seeing the way Vitl's face contorted at the wild thought, and just from the sheer fact of living through this day, full of relief and real food, Ortahn couldn't hold back his laughter.

  "If you have nothing to do, you can join us and listen to Ortahn," Esh squinted, trying to figure out these strange men. "I'm actually sorry that his lectures are being wasted on just me."

  Vitl nodded and entered the room, standing right up against everything.

  "Smells nice," Vitl put in. “You even have a chest!”

  "There's not enough room for the three of us here," Ortahn said, his amusement fading.

  "Barely enough for two," Vitl put in.

  "Studying in the corridor is not an option," Esh mused, and an idea lit up her face. "Maybe we should go to the archive? There's a lot of space there."

  "Our school has an archive?" Vitl put in.

  "Seriously, Esh?" Ortahn had been expecting something like this, he just didn't know when she would suggest it. "We can't even close its door."

  "Your name is Esh? Mine's Vitl," Vitl put in.

  "A pleasure, Vitl. And we can't close here either," Esh answered both of them.

  "I could take a look at that lock, I'm the son of a clockwork mechanic, you know," Vitl put in.

  "At least here we have a right to be here," Ortahn countered.

  "Actually, I'm pretty sure only you have a right to be here, Ortahn," Vitl put in.

  "If we find a way to close the archive door, we could even try to practice your magic," Esh insisted. She looked at Ortahn with her big, pleading eyes.

  "Fine, we'll try tonight," Ortahn conceded. He was powerless against such sneaky tactics.

  "At night? In a closed room? For 'magic'? Are you sure I won't be superfluous?" Vitl put in.