I didn't sleep that night as I read and reread Julian's copied text on mind palaces. It wasn't particularly long, but it was the sort of book that demanded exacting focus and careful memorization. Flynn returned and asked me a few questions, but I saw that as a brief interruption to far more intriguing work.

  When I finally set the book down after an entire night of reading, note-taking, theorizing, and digesting, I felt awed and terrified in equal measure.

  Calling a mind palace complex was akin to calling a dragon "dangerous." It was true, but woefully inadequate.

  I would best describe mind magic as a great riddle written in a language no mage had ever learned to understand. Or rather, no mage until Alexandria. Unfortunately, her answer to said riddle was just as complex. Worse, finding the same solution or even speaking the language in the same way was next to impossible.

  The metaphor broke down when pressed, but it was how my mind had started to frame the problem.

  I had already known mind magic was old and, for most mages, useless. We'd poked and prodded over the centuries, but it had become a novelty set aside for more promising fields of research, such as alchemy, enchanting, and magical arrays.

  Alexandria's masterwork turned that belief on its head. She had learned to turn both enchanting and Forging inward, molding mana into semi-real constructs within a mental space. These constructs held portions of the mages will and intent, in effect acting almost like spells...only within the mage's mind rather than the world itself.

  When done right, these changes transformed the mental world into something peerless. It made an unpredictable process into something replicable. But when done wrong? Death seemed preferable to catatonia or irreversible insanity.

  Alexandria had tested the process on herself first. By the time her research became public knowledge, she was already a greater mind mage than every other practitioner in history combined. Apparently, several rivals had doubted her abilities, challenging her to prove her skill.

  The Winds of Desolation had lived up to her name, leaving all who stood against her as empty shells, unable to so much as string together a sentence.

  I was now sure that Alexandria was the far more dangerous Archmagus, but moreover, she was ambitious, bordering on suicidal. An improperly constructed mind palace might leave the practitioner mad. What kind of person would test something like that on themselves? Who would risk who they were on a fundamental level just for the sake of greater knowledge and power?

  The answer came easily, and I found that it didn't bother me as much as it might have once.

  Julian had cautioned me against starting to build a mind palace yet, and I agreed with him...to a point. Still, getting a handle on the process couldn't hurt too much, now could it?

  I took a short break, which involved a meal, several hours of sleep, and, most importantly, handing the book off to Flynn. He needed to study its contents as well, and I felt confident my memory and notes would work until I could make another copy.

  With that done, I sat down with Fortnatus and re-entered my mental world.

  I opened my eyes and found myself examining the flat, gray space with a new appreciation.

  The mist-shrouded floor, stormclouds swirling above me, and the strange, indistinct walls still reminded me of the Astral Plane, and I saw this resemblance as something almost fortuitous. For some, their mental worlds resembled grass-covered plains, others vast deserts or snowfrosted landscapes, and others still oceans of crystalline blue waters.

  But this was the first place I saw what kind of mage I might one day become, given time. Where else would I create a mind palace?

  I walked to the edge of the plane, pressing my hand into the "walls." It gave, but only just, as the book had suggested it would. The boundaries of a mental world should grow in time, particularly once I began building my mind palace.

  Slowly, I made a full loop of the space, dragging my fingers along the misty walls as I moved. After I finished my walk, I returned to the center of the mental world before closing my eyes and relaxing my breathing. There wasn't any real point, as I wasn't actually within a physical body, but I found the exercise helped me focus.

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  A mind palace was magic, and like all magic, it required mana and willpower to enact. So long as I focused on what I wanted, my mind should make it real. Sure, larger, more complex things would require mental and magical power, but I could do anything.

  The trickier part of a mind palace, and something that Alexandria hadn't solved when she wrote this book, was predicting the changes. Mind palaces represented a qualitative leap in mental magic, but there were still many, many years of refinement to go. What Alexandria could say for certain was that the precise nature of your mind palace would vary based on subjective beliefs.

  Some features created predictable changes. A larger mind palace with sturdier walls improved memory and comprehension speed, for example. However, most changes varied from person to person in both minor and dramatic ways.

  And even worse, prospective mind mages had to carefully balance the changes. If you crafted a mind palace with a great many windows, you might improve your perception, allowing you to notice damn near anything. However, if you didn't work to enhance your mental strength, you'd find your senses and mind overwhelmed with the sheer deluge of information.

  All of these factors led to the same recommendation. And it was here that I found the greatest similarity between mind magic and any other spellcasting school.

  Before all else, lay a strong foundation.

  I focused, picturing a black tile. It was square, a foot across, and made of a single plate of solidified Aether with perfect edges and a reflective, polished surface. The image was hazy and indistinct, but as I pushed mana into it, I felt it take shape.

  Slowly, the tile began to solidify. Distantly, I felt mana drain from my core as if it had sprung a leak, but those paled in comparison to the elation as the image within my imagination took shape. It grew more distinct, more real even as my power waned. The edges became sharp, the surface smooth, and I could feel it form before me even though my eyes remained closed.

  Soon, the rushing torrent of Aether became a steady stream, then a trickle before slowly stopping altogether. Finally, I opened my eyes and found a partner to the tile that I had imagined. It was imperfect, wrought with flaws that I knew made it unsuitable for my purposes, but it was a start.

  According to Alexandria's book, all it would take was a final, brief exertion of will. I could embed that tile into my mental world, fixing it in place with a bit of intent. My will would grow the tiniest bit firmer, my mind a hair stronger as I took the first step to erecting my palace.

  But I also knew those flaws represented something unacceptable. I might be able to fix them, and I might not, but it seemed best not to take the chance.

  So, I reached into the tile and broke it apart. I tried to reclaim what I could, but the disconnect between my physical body and mental world threw me off, and I was unable to hold onto the fleeing energy.

  I took a brief moment to examine my reserves. That little task had drained a sizable portion of my core, nearly a quarter in fact, and I had nothing to show for it. Still, I found myself smiling despite the overall failure.

  This was the easy part. I could throw myself headlong into training and improving my magic with a smile on my face. Some found themselves frustrated by the never-ending quest for mastery, but I had never understood that. What was the point of life if you ran out of things to do?

  I repeated the same process again and again until my core ran dry. The next few attempts took less mana than my first, but not much, and I only just had enough power to craft five tiles in total before I had to rest.

  Standing up, I looked around the space again and tried to estimate the task ahead. Math was never my strongest subject, but I'd put my mental world at around thirty feet in diameter. That gave me somewhere around seven hundred feet in total to cover, meaning roughly seven hundred tiles. I could craft five in one session, which put the total time to erect a foundation at... around a hundred and forty days.

  Flynn had estimated we had between five and seven months until we needed to perform the ritual. I needed around four and a half just to create a foundation. Sure, I'd likely get faster and more efficient over time, but I still needed to get the hang of making the tiles first.

  That wasn't exactly a glut of time. Worse, Flynn and Vesper needed to do the same in just as quick a time with fewer advantages.

  I let out a low breath, then relaxed and felt my mild slip back into the real world. When I opened my eyes, I nearly fell forward. Sweat drenched my body, my head pounded, and my back ached.

  It took a few minutes for the screaming headache to subside to a persistent, angry throb behind my eyes. When it did so, I stood and stretched, taking a brief moment to strip off my dirty clothes and bathe. Thankfully, our rented suite came with private bathrooms, including magically heated water that made the entire process quick and easy.

  I stepped back into my bedroom refreshed enough to sit and start sketching out my long-term plan. Alexandria had noted that this was crucial to a proper mind palace, as even this simple act tended to provide additional structure to the constructs.

  Unlike Alexandria, I didn't intend to pursue mind magic as a weapon in and of itself. There was use there, and I knew better than to discount it as a threat, but it felt...unfocused. I was already stretching myself thin. Maybe someday, but for now, I wanted to keep my plans narrower.

  Not a weapon but a tool to support and augment the rest of my magic.

  I had continued to hone my spells, but I was starting to see an issue in the future. Controlling all of the different pieces of magic at once would likely become impossible sooner or later. My mind just couldn't handle so much at once. At least, not without help.

  So, instead of some great weapon, I would create a mind palace with multiple rooms, which should allow me to create and sustain multiple streams of consciousness at once. A perfect foundation and strong walls would improve my memory, emotional self-control, and focus.

  But beyond that, I wanted to build each room around a single spell. Not only would this let me cast my magic with far less conscious effort, but I might be able to enhance them in other ways...eventually.

  My most ambitious plans included incorporating spatial and even temporal magic into each spell. I had no idea what form those might take, but if I was going to aim high, I might as well go all the way. At a minimum, I wanted to pursue demiplanes and teleportation, but those possibilities were still years away.

  If I was right, the changes would add up to something monstrous. If I was wrong, well, I likely wouldn't be in much condition to care.

  But the final question was what shape would the palace take? Alexandria noted that the precise form mattered only to the mage and that she suspected the exact layout didn't change much in terms of potential. Still, I wanted to create something that appealed to me on an instinctive level.

  I didn't have to think long before making my decision. Slowly, I sketched out the shape of a great tower, rising from a sturdy foundation to pierce the sky like a spear.

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