Two years had passed since I stepped foot in the Academy. Two years, and the size of its entrance hall still struck me.

  I stood there, looking around at the statues lining the hall. Each was a monument to a life spent pursuing the greatest heights of magic, secrets unsolved, and mysteries unknown. It was a chain stretching back centuries, one which I might someday join if I continued along this path.

  Countless citizens moved between these statues, interspersed by various apprentices dressed in their typical uniforms. I glanced over several of these faces, recognizing one or two dimly from my time as an apprentice, but none to the point of true familiarity.

  After a second, I turned to Flynn, who waited patiently a few steps away. Together, we made our way past the entrance hall and into the Academy proper. It wasn't far to the Archives, but that short walk was enough to put me on edge, my eyes darting from side to side and my senses outstretched for even a wisp of familiar mana.

  We reached the Archives without incident, and it was here that I found myself struck by a bit of irony. Back when I was an apprentice, I had no idea what to read. At the time, my knowledge of magic was non-existent, my research fumbling, and my goals unformed. My understanding was the limitation, not time, despite the threats looming in the far-off distance.

  Now, it was the exact opposite. I knew more about magic and how it worked than I could have ever imagined, but I was limited instead by the realities of time. I just didn't have the years to spend here reading and researching.

  Not for the first time, I wondered if I had made a mistake leaving my training early, but I banished those thoughts after a moment. Regret wouldn't change anything. One version of me had made a spell to change the past, but I didn't much see the point in trying to do the same.

  Flynn cleared his throat beside me. "Impressive place. Bit, spacious, and yet oddly cramped feeling."

  "That goes away," I remarked, walking towards one of the archivists.

  This one in particular was an older woman, in her late fifties or early sixties, with graying brown hair and a face bearing the weathered lines of a lifetime spent smiling. She bowed her head as we approached before straightening with a warm expression already in place.

  "Good morning, my lords. How may I be of assistance?" she asked, her eyes briefly flicking to our wrists.

  I returned her smile before replying, "We are looking for any available texts on mind magic. Preferably works either written by Archmagus Alexandria or, failing that, directly cited by her."

  "Of course, my lords. But first, I'm afraid I must review a few particulars about the Archives. First, due to the specifics of your particular situations, I'm afraid you must wait here while I retrieve the indicated works. Second, you will not be able to make copies, and all original texts must remain at the designated tables, which you may find nearest the entrance to the Archives. Lastly, if you violate either of these rules, I'm afraid your access may be revoked at our discretion."

  Flynn smoothly stepped forward, all smiles as he replied, "Perfectly reasonable, and we'd never dream of breaking such rules. And thank you for the clarification. Please, take your time."

  The aide bowed once before turning and hurrying off. As we sat at the indicated table, Flynn sighed and leaned forward, muttering, "So, how long do you think she'll be?"

  "Depends on how many useful books we can access," I responded, holding up my left wrist and glancing at the bracelet hanging there. "I've suspected for a while now that the Academy uses these to indicate access to certain materials for the students. It stands to reason they'd do the same for us, restricting visitors to the least valuable works."

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  "Meaning we'll get the most boring and least useful books possible?"

  "Or the most purely academic ones that discuss magic only in broad terms."

  "Oh? What, you don't think we can figure it out from just that?" Flynn asked with a grin. "Ye of little faith."

  "If you'd like to try and independently recreate the pinnacle of an Archmagus' magic, be my guest."

  Flynn chuckled but didn't reply, and our conversation died. After about fifteen minutes, the same archivist returned with a stack of books. The thickest was several inches wide at the spine, while the thinnest appeared only a few hundred pages long at most.

  She placed them down before us, letting out a soft breath before smiling.

  "These are some of our introductory texts on mental magic. Each comes with the personal recommendation of the honored Archmagus as the best place to start for any prospective researchers and scholars."

  "Do you not have any of her personal works?" I asked, already reaching forward to pick up the first book. "Surely an Archmagus has written at least one text on her expertise?"

  The woman hesitated, but her smile was unwavering. "My sincerest apologies, my lord, but I cannot grant access to such works. I can submit a request for—"

  Flynn once more stepped in, standing and smiling as he said, "That would be lovely. Why don't we talk about this a bit more? Is there anything you need from us to make that process easier? I'd be more than happy to..."

  Their voices faded as they walked away, and I took the implicit signal. While Flynn worked on this problem, I'd get started on my research.

  The first book was a dense tome titled A Brief History of Mental Magic, an ironic name considering its nearly one-thousand-page length. I weighed whether I should wait for Flynn to return or start on something smaller, then sighed and flipped to the first page.

  I wanted to skip ahead and get to the "interesting" bits, but proper research into unfamiliar magic wasn't a race. If I wanted even a dim hope of succeeding without a real mentor, I needed to do this right.

  Hours passed as I read and took notes, trying to commit as much of the book to memory as possible. Much of it was review, but when I finally took a break, it felt as though my head was an overstuffed satchel. I rubbed my eyes with one hand, going over what I had already read and how it connected with my previous knowledge.

  Mind magic was, simply put, useless for most mages across nearly our entire history. Early experiments had shown promise, but reading surface-level thoughts, sending brief messages, and inducing moderate headaches wasn't exactly world-shattering spellcraft. Even back then, a decent warmage could blast apart houses with one spell, and the strongest of us could turn significant portions of a city into ruins.

  Yet there was some utility, even back then. Understanding a person's true thoughts and emotions was an invaluable weapon for a social climber, but the possibilities extended to combat. Knowing an opponent's moves even as they thought of them was a significant advantage. Not insurmountable, but significant.

  However, the risks had become even clearer now. This particular work detailed many past efforts at advancing the field, and nearly all had failed with disastrous consequences.

  I read through countless stories of mages who flooded their brains with mana, only to induce horrific seizures or lose control over limbs permanently. More than one researcher had experimented with turning their abilities inward in an effort to "rebuild" their minds, accidentally and irrevocably changing parts of their personality or outright erasing memories along the way.

  There were deaths, too, but far fewer than I expected. The mind was a remarkably resilient thing, and most suffered permanent but not fatal consequences. Then again, I wondered if that was a mercy or a curse. Spending decades trapped in your own body, unable to move or control it as you once had seemed a damned fate to me.

  As the centuries had passed, these experiments yielded some success, but not much. Mages had developed exercises and techniques to improve those empathic and telepathic talents, and the first crude efforts at mental combat emerged. Yet the entire field remained weighed down by its shortcomings. It was difficult to learn, slow to master, and too risky for most practitioners.

  I hadn't finished reading, but what I had already found led me to conclude Alexandria was either the most ambitious mage I'd ever heard of or absolutely insane. Who would look at a field that drove most of its researchers mad within twenty years and decide to make it their life's work?

  As I was about to dive back into my readings, Flynn came around the corner with the archivist. He held a few more books, but I could tell based on his expression that they weren't what we hoped to obtain. Still, he smiled at the aide and thanked her several times for her assistance before sitting down across from me.

  "How's it going?" he asked, glancing at the open notebook beside me.

  "Slow," I replied carefully. "I think we can learn quite a bit from these readings, though."

  Flynn nodded. "Do you think we can learn enough?"

  "It's too early to say. This book, at least, is more historical than instructive, but that might not be true for all of them."

  Flynn sighed, sliding the three books he'd returned with towards me. "I managed to get us a few more, but I'd suspect these are the same. Maybe I can take another day, try to gain access to more interesting materials?"

  "We have the time to do this right. We'll take a few days, read through all of these, and re-evaluate then. Knowing the basics and the pitfalls can't hurt."

  Flynn smiled. "Always the pragmatist."

  I was going to shoot back a reply when I realized that I had already spent several hours in the Archives. If I didn't leave soon, I'd likely be late for my meeting with Vesper."

  "Start wherever, take notes as you work, and keep an eye out for references to other books," I said as I stood, pushing my chair in as I smoothed the front of my shirt. "I'll return in a few hours."

  Flynn waved a hand. "Sure, sure. Good luck wooing the Ollais heiress."

  He said it just loud enough to draw a few curious glances from nearby students. I glared at him, but he studiously ignored me with a faint smile on his lips, flipping through the book without so much as glancing in my direction.

  After a few seconds, I let out a sigh, straightened my back, and left my brother to his work.

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