Orestis left the inn earlier than necessary. Not because he was worried; the review would not be difficult. At all.
I very much doubt the Consortium could present anything that would even make me break a sweat. Let’s hope it’s at least somewhat interesting.
Once the review concluded, the arrangement would become official. A recognised association with the Consortium meant jurisdictional complications for anyone trying to pull him back to Kallistrate. Institutions disliked interfering with each other’s personnel, after all.
He turned a corner. The courier came from the opposite direction at a speed that suggested he had chosen urgency over caution.
They collided.
The courier’s satchel swung hard against his hip. Metal tubes inside rattled sharply. He caught the strap immediately, steadying the bag before anything could spill. His fingers moved across the caps in quick succession, checking each seal.
Only after confirming that everything was intact did he look up.
“If these were classified documents,” the courier said briskly, “you’d be arrested.”
Orestis was unimpressed. He had no doubt the documents were important. However: “If they were classified, you wouldn’t be carrying them.”
The courier paused. “… I suppose that’s fair.”
He adjusted the strap, already turning away. “Watch the corners,” he called out, disappearing down the street at the same reckless pace.
Orestis watched him go for a moment.
He did not consider the man rude. Couriers existed to move information quickly, and Orthessa was a city that valued efficiency. Stopping to exchange apologies would have defeated the point.
Speaking of—
I have my own appointment.
***
Orestis was the last person to enter the room. On account of being asked to wait until they were ready for him. Typical.
A slate was mounted on the wall, and several mages were already seated around the table. Alke was standing beside the table rather than at its head. She inclined her head and gestured him toward an empty chair.
Three mages occupied the opposite side. The senior systems mage sat closest to the slate—relaxed, authoritative. Beside him sat a mid-level reviewer, eyes alert. The junior mage stood briefly as Orestis entered, then sat again, already writing before anyone had spoken.
No introductions were offered. No one asked about his credentials.
Well, that
is
why I’m here. Asking would be redundant.
Alke waited until everyone was seated. “We have two items. Exploratory only. No demonstrations. No obligation to resolve either.”
Orestis inclined his head.
She activated the slate. Lines unfolded into a layered construct. He recognised it immediately: it was the same system that had been the subject of tavern frustration days earlier.
Orestis studied it in silence. Seeing the full construct gave him context he hadn’t had before.
“This system supports three relays and one stabilization ward,” the senior mage said. “It’s functional, and the recent correction helped—but it remains resource-intensive.”
“Yes,” Orestis said. “That was inevitable.”
He gestured—not toward the obvious bottleneck, but the supporting structure beneath it. “You corrected symptoms, not the structure.”
The mid-level mage frowned, then nodded. “You’re referring to the correction layer.”
“Yes. It compensates after instability occurs,” Orestis replied. “A better alternative would be to remove the correction layer, but keep the inverted third binding. Let the system fail faster.”
The senior mage frowned. “That sounds counterintuitive.”
“It is,” Orestis said. “Which is why it works. Right now, the system is spending resources to hide its own mistakes. Stop doing that, and the remaining structure can do what it was designed for.”
He pointed to the third binding. “This is doing two jobs. It shouldn’t be doing either. It’s meant to stabilize flow, but the orientation forces it to dampen feedback instead. You’re hiding the instability rather than preventing it.”
Silence followed. Not resistance; processing.
“And the failure modes?” the mid-level mage asked.
“Shorter. More visible,” Orestis replied. “It’ll be easier to diagnose. You’ll lose tolerance in edge cases, but gain stability under sustained load.”
“Oversight?”
“Reduced. You stop spending resources to conceal errors,” Orestis said.
The senior mage studied the slate, then nodded. “That aligns with our projections.”
He made a gesture. Alke nodded and tapped the slate, deactivating the display. “That will be all for the first item,” she said, smiling.
While the mages spoke quietly among themselves, Orestis leaned back and waited.
Their response was expected. The first system had never been the point. It was too familiar, too exposed. Anyone with sufficient theoretical grounding could have improved it given enough time.
This had been a filter—not for brilliance, but for restraint. Whether he would attempt to impress when clarity was sufficient.
They weren’t testing what I know. They were testing how I behave.
Which was fair enough. He would have done the same in their situation.
I have, in fact—usually to people who then tried to kill me, but the principle holds.
Their discussions went on for a couple of minutes. Then the second framework was brought up without ceremony.
The slate brightened again, resolving into a denser construct than the first—fewer redundancies, tighter spacing, and a complexity born from intent rather than scale.
Orestis leaned forward.
Well now. This one is much more interesting
.
It was a supplemental warding framework, designed to integrate into existing city wards without interrupting function. It was clever. It was also unstable.
“This subsystem is intended to attach to active wards,” the senior mage said. “In theory, it should integrate without downtime. In practice, it fails during attachment.”
The mid-level mage tapped a section of the display. “Material bonding releases energy at the interface. If we suppress it, the bonding doesn’t complete. If we allow it, the structure destabilises.”
“Violently,” the junior mage added, without looking up from his notes.
“We’ve modelled this extensively,” the senior mage said. “Every material combination behaves differently. The failure isn’t consistent enough to isolate a single cause.”
This reminds me of the time I tried to change my body’s composition with alchemy. There were a few explosions back then, too. The only difference is that I was trying to mix foreign materials into my flesh.
“When does the release occur?” Orestis asked.
“At the bonding threshold,” the mid-level mage replied. “The moment the matrices align.”
Orestis nodded, eyes still on the slate.
That’s about what I expected.
“You’re treating the energy release as a fault,” he said. “It isn’t. It’s the transition.”
There was silence again as everyone recalibrated.
The senior mage tilted his head. “You’re suggesting we stop trying to eliminate it.”
“Yes. Stop categorizing it as failure; let the system become what it’s trying to be,” Orestis said. “You’ve also designed each supplement as an exception. That’s why your matrices don’t generalize. Every attachment requires its own corrective logic.”
“The alternative?” Alke asked.
“A bonding interface,” Orestis replied. “Self-regulating. Parameterized by material properties rather than the material itself. Designed to consume the transition energy as fuel rather than suppress it.”
The mid-level mage frowned. “That would require the interface to adapt in real time.”
“Yes.”
“That’s… ambitious.”
“It’s inevitable,” Orestis replied. “You can keep solving this repeatedly, or you can solve it once.”
The senior mage leaned back, eyes never leaving the slate. “And testing?”
“Not in isolation. This would require iterative calibration within your infrastructure.”
The silence that followed was longer than before.
“If this works,” the mid-level mage said carefully, “it solves attachment for every future supplement.”
Alke deactivated the slate. “We’ll prototype internally. We may request clarification later.”
Orestis inclined his head. That was sufficient.
The session ended without ceremony. No praise, no excitement—only small procedural adjustments. The junior mage deferred slightly more than before. Alke’s notes reflected a marginally expanded access designation.
His schedule for the next five days was confirmed.
Five days of review, commentary, and quiet correction of whatever they placed in front of me. I’ve had worse employment.
He had been categorised and placed where further observation was convenient. Elevation would come if he continued to prove capable.
Orestis found no fault in that. For now.
***
When he entered his room, Orestis noticed the call-node emitting a faint, regular pulse—the sign that someone had tried to contact him.
He picked it up and activated it, sending the return signal. The reply came almost at once.
“Orestis?” his mother said, relief evident. “I was starting to think it hadn’t worked.”
“It did,” he said, his voice softening without him meaning it to. “I was out.”
“I thought you might be.” She paused. “They made an announcement today.”
He waited.
“They didn’t call it a draft,” she said. “Not officially. But that’s what it is. Mandatory service. Preparation. Training.”
“I expected that,” Orestis said.
She exhaled slowly. “You always do.”
“It sounds familiar. That’s all.”
More than familiar. I remember how this ends.
“The Temple’s involved,” she said. “More than usual. Cassia wouldn’t say much—only that it wasn’t just the Crown.”
“That makes sense.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You’re not coming back, right?”
“No,” he said gently. “Not now.”
“And they won’t make you?”
“They’ll try later. For the moment, I’m out of reach.”
“I don’t like that answer,” she said.
“I know. But I’m safe where I am.”
Another pause. “And Eirene?”
“She’ll be fine,” Orestis said. “If she’s called, it’ll be as a mage. They’re careful with people like her.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” He hesitated, then added, “I wouldn’t be calm if I wasn’t.”
That seemed to ease her worries, a little.
“All right,” she said. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”
“You did the right thing,” he said. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Take care,” she said quietly.
The connection ended.
Orestis set the device down and stayed where he was, listening to the quiet of his room.
Things were moving. That much was clear. He noted the timelines, adjusted a few expectations, and set the rest aside.
Nothing to be gained by speculating without any actual information.
For the time being, observation would suffice.
As always, if you’d like to read more, I’m 5 chapters ahead on Patreon, along with extra lore and author notes.