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It didn't seem like everyone was taking the ‘candy' well. Connie had gone off to help another new student, which wasn't exactly unusual for her. Rohan was helping another student, and the rest seemed to be about to have …he didn't even want to think about it. Before one of the twins simply enchanted everyone to leave, Franklin decided to make his way out. He'd gone off away from his dorm, wanting to sit outside in the courtyard and bask in the moonlit sky for a moment. It was cool in October, and he'd hoped a nice breeze would blow in that night.

It didn’t take long before he'd heard the sounds of another student's footsteps nearby. He expected it to be one of the myriad of others attending this place, but instead it was a boy from the party. He was cute, he'd give him that, but far from a perfect specimen if Franklin was looking for a brain. The body however… He decided to stand up and make his way over towards him. The boy looked…hurt? It was hard to tell what emotions ran through a puppy who had just been kicked, and yet that was what he appeared to be. “Hey? You ok? Need some help?”

Did he need help? Jake stared at the other boy - Frankie, he thought - completely confused. That didn’t feel right to him. He knew he was supposed to protect others. If he needed help, how was he supposed to do that? Was this why he felt so strange - something like the cold, but not quite? He tilted his head at Frankie. Had he done something wrong? He hadn’t gone back to his dorm, yes, but he hadn’t known how to get there. So instead he had just walked, letting his thoughts lead him as he tried to understand - tried to understand why he hurt.

Did he know why he was hurting, Frankie? Could he explain it? “I don’t… I don’t know.” He wanted to give a chipper hi, I’m Jake!! but the words seemed to catch in his throat. He didn’t know why. His hands were stuck in his pockets, his shoulders slightly slouched, and the phantom sensation of pressure still lingered in his skull. “Do… Do you need help? I can help, I think - I think that’s what I’m supposed to do.”

Franklin wasn't sure if Jake was still high or not. The bubbles had stopped but did the effects? He offered him a warm smile before nodding back towards where he had been sitting. “Not really. At least not right now, but I wouldn't mind a bit of company.” That wasn't exactly the truth. He had wished for a bit of alone time, to soak in the silence before entering his room once more. But he wasn't about to abandon someone who seemed so lost. He sat back down onto the cold night grass before tapping a spot next to him for Jake to sit. “That's what everyone should do. Help each other, even when some of us are afraid or too stubborn to ask for help.”

Jake didn’t understand the social cue to sit. He didn’t know why Frankie needed to tap on the grass. Maybe he wanted to make sure that it was still alive? He didn’t know why it would stop being alive, but this school was very strange. Lots of things seemed to be things they were not. The same was true for the people. Maybe the grass died sometimes. Maybe the people did, too. He frowned at that idea. And then, there was that same ache in his body, the one he didn’t understand. “I tried to help someone tonight,” he said. There was an idea struggling to form in his mind, but the closer he came to voicing it, the more it became difficult to do so - as if it were forbidden. So instead, he backed away from the thought, letting the mental tension lessen. “Why don’t people help others when they can?”

“Humans, people, they're selfish creatures. Individuals may be good and kind hearted, they may help those who need it, but as a group? They lack empathy. That's my thoughts anyways. Some people believe in Karma, some cosmic scale that balances so if you do good you get good back. Some people then start to do good so they get good back, but thats not doing good thats just selfishness. I try to help when I can, but mostly I like to be alone in my thoughts, my experiments. Though I'm never against having some good company.” Franklin watched as Jake continued to stand. Watching him as though he was a foreign object he was trying to decipher. “You want to sit? The morning dew hasn't set in yet so it isn't wet, just cold.”

Jake frowned. People did good because they wanted to have something good happen to them? There were cosmic scales that kept things in balance? The ideas were too abstract for him, but they brought along more of that cold feeling - more of that hurt. Did he want to protect people so that way good things would happen to him? “What if… what if you do good because you feel you’re supposed to?” he asked. He slowly sat down next to Frankie. He made sure to maintain a good distance between them. He didn’t know why. “Does that… can people be bad?”

“If you help people because you feel the urge to then you're just genuinely helping people. Everyone should feel that urge, but not everyone does. It's the same with magic. Everyone learns it for a different reason.” Franklin offered Jake a shrug. The last question seemed obvious. Can people be bad? Ofcourse. History had proved that time and again. Even Frankie had done some…questionable things in the pursuit of his magic. Even now as he spoke to Jake his mind wouldn’t stop measuring the distance between his eyes, the proportions of his features and how well they may fit the golden ratio. Sometimes it was hard not to view people as potential subjects, and that was why he liked to be alone at times. To ease his mind.

“What if… what if you help bad people?” Jake bit his lip. ”Am I a bad person then?”

“That's a morally gray area. I guess it depends on who and why? But people aren't as simple as good or bad. There's a complexity to them. Is…someone bad making you do something you don't want to?”

Jake’s body tensed as Frankie asked that. He couldn’t answer that question even if he wanted to. He didn’t understand that people could lie. “What does morally gray mean?” he asked instead, dodging the question. His face flushed. ”I don’t know a lot of things.”

“Its when…it's sort of like…” Frankie had no idea how to describe the concept of a moral gray area. His immediate thought was to turn to the Trolley Problem, but was both unsure if Jake would understand it or if it perfectly encapsulated what it meant to be morally gray. “Its kind of like doing bad things but for good reasons. Like killing someone to protect another i suppose.”

Killing could be good? His eyes almost crossed as his forehead pounded. This was all… very complicated. It didn’t seem simple at all. Helping someone who was bad was like killing someone to protect another person? What if the person you were protecting was bad? Or if the person telling him all of this was bad? But as he looked at Frankie, his face felt hot again, and he was suddenly very certain that Frankie couldn’t be bad. He seemed really smart too.

”Do you know why I hurt?” he then asked softly.

“Where do you hurt? How? Can you explain your symptoms and how you got them?” Franklin's mind shifted as the question was asked.

”Um, my face hurt really bad after I ate the candy - and then I got knocked over by a dragon and stepped on, but that was fine - but now I just feel… it’s like I’m cold, but on the inside,” he said, pointing at his chest. ”And my eyes keep on running with water.”

Franklin scooted closer to Jake now, lowering himself to place his head against his chest. Listening for any irregularities within. It was strange, the way that Jake felt and sounded, even now as he breathed. Something was surging within him, and it made it harder to diagnose anything. “You seem to have wild magic, its volatile and unpredictable which may explain a few things. Though –” Franklin wiped away a tear on Jake's cheek. “Sounds to me like your issues are more emotional than physical. Cold, crying, an ache in your chest you can't explain? You sound like you're sad, almost heartbroken. Usually happens later in the year but it's possible for it to be one the first day. Especially if someone's homesick.”

He had wild magic? Was that bad? Did he need to get rid of it somehow? He opened his mouth to blurt out his concern, only to be rendered speechless as Frankie touched his cheek. It wasn’t like how the pretty boy from before had touched him. And as much as it felt wrong, it felt warm, too - a warmth he wanted to lean into. “Homesick? I don’t - heartbroken? I don’t think I could be that. I don’t remember anything before I got here. There’s nothing for me to be sad about.”

“Please, if people needed reasons to become depressed it wouldn't be a mental illness. Its natural to feel this way, even if Alpha Male bros want to pretend it's not. It just means you're human.”

“Alpha male bros?” Jake tilted his head. And then, he frowned. “Are you depressed?”

“Sometimes. It happens, but it can't be helped really.”

Jake nodded. He looked at Frankie - really looked at him.

“Is that why you’re out here?”

Franklin's expression fell slightly. “I just wanted some fresh air before I went back to our dorm. Maybe…we should head back. We have mysteries in the morning to deal with and will need plenty of sleep.”

Sleep. Jake didn’t know what he would do while the others slept. He hesitated for a moment. It felt wrong. But he wanted to do it anyways. Quickly, as if he’d be caught, he hugged Frankie. And then he pulled away like he’d been burned.

Frankie chuckled at Jake's reaction. Like a closeted gay trying to show affection. He nudged Jake softly. “Come on, let's get to bed.” He said with a smile on his face. Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad?

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Hammer. Mallet. Chisels. Knife set. All secured. Wallbiter, the Mask of Other Things, arrows, and sword… Check. Churchwarden’s Seal, bone dagger, check. It was only a few hours ago that Annika left for bed, and all the academy was sound asleep. In his usual ways, he didn’t sleep himself. Rather, thanks to the Curse, he just stayed awake. Rohan liked to make use of that time in one way or another, either with his work or perhaps a book, or foraging if he was out in the woods. Those few extra hours were twice what the average person was awake for, it helped with everything from outrunning the Wrong Things to making new arrows for his bow.

Root had gone to sleep, though. He sat perched on Rohan’s staff, which he grabbed to wake the creature up.

”Let’s get going. It’s about that time.”

He loaded up a toolbox, and then strapped up with all his artifacts. The mask hung below his chin, the Seal rested on his left ring finger, and Wallbiter was slung over his back with a full quiver closed shut with arrow. Roof found his spot on Rohan’s shoulder.

He double checked the locks on the windows after last night, then went out the door. Best to over-prepare than to be caught without the wrong tool.

Root croaked.

”Nah. I’ll change later,” he answered. He was wearing what he had on during the party last night. ”Need to find this place first, and there’s no telling how hidden it really is. Stretch those wings, let’s get going.”

And going they were. Winding halls, secret passageways, more paintings with ominous airs of mystique about them… A school full of enlightened wizards was wasn’t ways so enlightening to walk through. But honestly, he didn’t mind. After all, he was technically early. Rohan was a woodsman at heart, trekking through unknown places was normal to him. And, of course, having an owl for a familiar helped with finding his way. Root was a scops owl in his previous life, a fast and nimble little thing that got around quick. He spared Rohan whole minutes with each pass down a hallway.

When they found their way to the place, and met Marino, Root settled back on his shoulder and eyed the woman curiously. Getting the lab coat on wasn’t too hard. He just sat stuff down, threw it over and put it back over his shoulders. Root fluttered up and hovered along, holding the toolbox in his talons while he got the goggles over his head. Then he walked in.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one to overprepare.

He followed Marino in, observing everything. It intrigued Rohan, that extreme exposure to the magic of this area could render one magically inert. That could, in theory, save him from the Curse. He wasn’t about to bring it up, however. When she mentioned going into the Neverish, though? That really got his attention. The Neverish was a place where even a stray thought risked doom. He’d had his fair share of strange realms already, but what was one more?

”We’re going in there, huh?” He asked. ”Okay, I’ll bite. What’s with the artifacts?”

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Blood.

It was the first thing she noticed, running down her finger and dripping onto the floor. Whose, she wasn't quite sure, but the ringing in her ears didn't help her focus. Her vision faded in and out and even standing hurt. Every part of her screamed in exhaustion, her muscles burning and her throat raw and the violent shake in her hands more and more apparent. The runic circle, carved in brown-reddish brick between the marble pavers, shattered ages ago and barely anything could be read on them. Centuries of enhancements failed beneath…

A long dragon's talon, the meat of the hand it was torn from still clinging to it, rolled into her view.

Her magic was spent. Every drop of red powered this hell. She couldn't muster any more energy - the easiest thing was to let go.

A butterfly, runes glowing on its wings, landed softly in Cassie's bloodied hand and its proboscis dipped into her blood. Every beat of its wings echoed, whispers following in its wake, and the exhaustion, and the scene fade as slumber reached up and claimed Cassie once again.

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Cassie's first sleep in her new home was...not ideal. She was used to nightmares. She got them often, some she remembered and some she wanted to forget. She woke up with a start, looking around her room, curious if she woke Rohan or Call. It seemed her worries were for naught as neither man was there with her. She took a few calming breaths before she sank back into her pillows. Herm mind racing over the meaning. Dreams meant something, didn't they? She thought she read about that in the myriad of books her parents expected her to read for her studies. But this dream, this was different. It felt like it was calling out to her. She also felt like there was something on the edge. Did one of the butterflies....speak to her? She closed her eyes and tried to recall.

`Healthy and hale they'd have you believe. Illusions belie what changes and lifts, in dire need a friend shall end.`

Those words meant little, but she knew she heard them. Another mystery in the ever growing assortment of them she was beginning to find here at this school.

She finally rolled out of bed and started making it up when she remembered. Magic. Would the room object because of laziness or reward for her ingenuity of magic, something she had not gotten used to? What harm did it do to try? Cassie did the same thing she did before, visualizing what she wanted her bed to look like. Same decorations, same adornments. Within a whisper of a moment her bed had shifted to how it was before she crawled in the night prior. All made up, no wrinkles, no creases. Cassie bounced on her feet and applauded herself. The dream slowly edging out of her mind, but never truly disappearing.

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Cassie got dressed (butterflies seemingly becoming a theme for her) as she made her way to Professor Mikail's sitting room. She was both anxious and excited to see what they would be doing. Would they be learning new spells? Exploring the grounds? Doing ice breakers that revealed deeply rooted secrets that would forever change their dynamic and relationships with each other going forward? It was unclear. But it was so thrilling!

Cassie entered and was amazed by everything she saw. There were wonders in every nook and cranny in his sitting room and she wanted to explore, but stopped herself. She was new here and this was her first day. She wanted to impress Professor Mikail, not scare him away by her nosiness. Instead, her eyes focused on the table and the four journals resting on it. She saw that one bore her name along with the cute symbol that was on her pin. She picked it up and sat down on the couch, eager to open it and see if it was filled with text or if she would be the one to do so. She held it close to her chest, hugging it, bouncing slightly in the chair as she waited for the others and for the day to start.

She knew it was going to be magical.

Finley did not heal faster than any other fae, not by themselves. However, Dysphoria could heal them rapidly if needed. Finley did not need, nor want it. The marks of pleasure from the night before stayed. They woke languidly.

Finley was not a morning person. They hated the dawn. It destroyed small magics and, in a way, hurt. Not in a meaningful way, but enough to make Finley the type to sleep through it and usually long after the dawn if they could help it. The fact that they had also been up later than advisable when one supposedly had school the next day also factored in. All of that meant that Finley almost always had to be woken up if it was any earlier than dusk. Through intention or not, the twins woke Finley up.

They rose and went through the usual motions of morning rituals. Clothes, food (mostly bread), other ablutions, and such things. They wore their masculine face, unchanged from the distractions of the night prior, after everyone had left Haven. Unsure of what to wear beyond ‘not loose’, they went for jeans and a simple shirt. These were not conjured from leaves and things as they had found clothes of illusion were not ideal for the learning environment. If something happened to disrupt the magic, they would be naked, while Fin was unbothered by that. Connie had sat them down one day to give them some etiquette. Part of that had been a warning that being naked in public areas was considered impolite. Finley also did not particularly care if they were impolite, but Connie had a way of making it clear that these types of rules were the social type that should not be messed with too much.

Finley did not have tools to gather. They brought their usual items they carried, but did not have measuring devices or things of creation, not beyond the detritus of nature that they used to craft illusions. Finley was not an artificer and had been quite confused on realizing they were placed with the artificers of the school. It was strange, but they would either figure out something they could do, or fail. Finley was not like some students who cared more about getting a grade. Finley attended the school for one primary reason. Exposure to the types of people who attended such schools.



Finley donned the attire Professor Sariel offered. They listened as she explained what they would be doing, the rules around it, and the dangers. Those last ones were something Finley found interesting (and a little terrifying). Fin was a fae creature. They were made more of magic than most. If this place, this ill-defined material, was a danger to magic, Finley was uninterested in messing with it. They had little desire to unravel their very being.

Odd that people were willing to do such things to themselves. Finley was immortal, ageless; they could die if killed. They did not want to die. They had only just started seeing the world and experiencing it. Why would they want to work with something that could destroy them in such a way? They eyed the items and the gate with suspicion. Was this an elaborate way to test if fae could be destroyed by such things? Finley kept their hands in their pockets and stayed away from any of the items. Keeping as clear a berth as possible.

”I still do not understand why I am one of your students. I have little understanding of such types of magic. I am an illusionist and blood worker. Does this material you speak of have blood? If so, from what you have said, I have little desire to use it directly.” Finley had been through the Neverish. That was not a new experience. This gate was different than the doors they had previously used.

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Connie woke early. She noticed that the man with the many familiars was missing. Pedro, if she remembered his name correctly. Maybe he had gotten back after her and gotten up before her? She thought about that as she got ready for the day and caught some time to study. He had not been at Haven the night prior. He was one of her coven mates, so hopefully he would arrive on time. Croan would have little sympathy for a tardy student.

Connie’s morning was not wasted. She did several things before eating, including going by the library and asking for any information already in the stacks about room 12 or the Statue of Adrolyn.

There was no way that Connie didn’t believe in curses. She lived in a magical school. Her father was a wizard, and she had been trained to be one as well since she was twelve. However, she struggled with the short text about the statue.


Upon meeting with the others, she nodded at Barty and smiled at Jake. She wondered what had happened to him the night prior, after he had started spewing bubbles, and did not remember seeing him leave Haven. He had obviously eventually made it back to his room. She didn’t say anything other than the short hello greeting because she did not want to deal with Croan’s attitude yet.

Connie had been tempted by the worst idea to touch the statue without a glove. In reality, she had no desire to touch it with the glove. However, the part of her that wanted to do the insane wondered if she could shift this from stone into flesh. She had never succeeded in giving such things true life, so it would be a corpse, but maybe it would be free of the pain.

She did not do this. Instead, she opened to a fresh page in the notebook she had started that morning. She made a small notation at the top of the page, including time, date, and moon phase. The previous pages included everything she had already known about the object and room. That had been precious little. The library had been frustratingly unhelpful. There hadn’t been a single text of someone else’s descent into madness studying the object. Just the myth surrounding the statue.

She sketched the statue from each side with just enough detail that it was clear the angle and dimensions. Then she started annotating the sketch, starting with copying the symbols. She timed the pulses. Connie’s notes were not clean. They never were the first time. Barty had seen her take notes enough to know she always had two notebooks. One was the first copy that was messy; the second copy was clean and organized with additional annotations. She was clearly working on her first copy. It was in pencil, and even still, she didn’t always erase errors, but instead lightly crossed those out and started over.

If she would have all semester to study this statue, she would take her time. She also would make sure that if it made her crazy at least the next student to ask the library for any information about it would not go in with a dearth of previous texts.

Connie made a note of a theory on the back of one page. Said theory did not help with her desire to try to turn stone into flesh. She couldn’t do it through the gloves. She refused to touch the statue without them. Since those two things conflicted, she would not attempt to do it.

Her theory was simple. Ardyon had been cursed when he touched the object. Supposedly, this cube-shaped thing, the person in the statue was curled around. The object had turned him from flesh into stone. Something she knew, from watching her mother’s face, was painful. Had it been the previous night’s conversation about escaping family that made the past so near in her mind? Or was it thinking about the process of transfiguration?

Connie stared at the man’s face.

She was a healer. Her heart went out to him. Yes, if this story was true he was a thief, but that did not mean he deserved such a fate. She wanted to heal him. Wanted to release him. Was he still aware? Or had time stopped when his heart became stone?

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Callaghan had escorted Willow back to her dorm and she had thanked him with a kiss upon his cheek, before heading inside. She noticed that Connie was already gone, and sighed softly. It seemed that she was an early riser, much like Willow usually was, if she was not shaken by bad visions. Willow groaned a bit as she rubbed at her temples a bit, and Luna nuzzled her softly. She reached over and pet her familiar lovingly, thanking her for her comfort. So many visions in just the past twelve hours. She would need to take time with the cards and the runes to sort through them later.

Willow was a bit thankful that the dorm was empty, and went to shower and clean up. The warm water caressed her skin and perked her up a bit as it flowed down her skin, and brought her back to reality. Touch was always so important to her, and kept her grounded in the now, as visions really didn't usually reach out and have a feel to them. However there were always exceptions.

She got dressed and then got something light to eat, never having been much of a big eater even from an early age. Something about what she was, probably. She really never put much thought into it, and unless someone pointed that out to her, she would continue to never put much thought into it.

While she wanted to explore more of the academy, she doubted she wanted to do that all alone. Even with Luna being her eyes, the academy was still a new location to her, and unlike the beautiful forest where she knew every tree, every path and every stone she didn't yet know the pathways here yet. So, she decided to make her way to Professor Mikkail's sitting room for their first lesson.

Thankfully, it was easy to find the way, and once she entered the room, she could feel the warm embrace of the room. The scent of tea and cakes filled the air, and she could feel the warmth of the sun upon her skin from the open window. She looked around to see that Cassie was there and smiled brightly.

"Good morning Cassie. Where shall I sit?" Willow didn't want to presume that Cassie wanted her to sit next to her, considering that Cal was also one of their coven mates. She did bend over and pick up the journal with her name on it and ran her fingers over the embossed writing, hoping she would have a good way to write in it.

Nicholas clicked his tongue in disappointment.

He'd woken with the gong, deliciously sore and stinging from the night prior, and promptly rolled back into his blankets until the sun was properly above the tree tops around the school. While the long breaks from school and Haven permitted them the luxury of exploration in a new era, he could do without the breaks from the exquisite delights their Fey and shifter offered. The addition of a moth was certainly appealing, but she seemed inexperienced and Callaghan and Finley were far more suited to aiding fledgling in their early sexual awakenings. Nicholas was well aware his own appetite for carnal delights would turn gentle lovemaking into something better suited for underground cults and clubs.

Nicholas found his footing and went about his morning routine. Washing, brushing, disinfecting, bandaging, and all the other necessities of wash room time. Professor Mikkail was the strangely supportive type and likely wouldn't blink an eye at his attire… Or maybe he wasn't and he'd chastise Nicholas for his lack of presentation. The idea did stir something in him, but he chased that away. He already had plans for the later evening and while a small orgy invigorated him, offering his blood to a vampire would take him the better part of a night and day to fully recuperate. Nicky pulled on a black dress shirt, pants, vest, and coat. The only pop of color was a deep red tie and an antique gold and ruby ring on the middle finger of his right hand that was a gift from some centuries ago. Croan would get the message. Nicky picked a pipe and tucked it away as he set off, a small box of gardening supplies in hand.

Which brought him to now, after a cup of coffee and a short smoke, staring at the once thriving calades now withered, shriveled, and dead. He was certain that he'd left them in the proper condition to handle his absence but clearly something interfered and now he had to start from scratch. He shrugged off his suit jacket, carefully hanging it on a hook at the door, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbow. He grabbed a few of his pots, brought them to the back where a hose lay and a drain, and crouched down to set the pots down, hissing as the stretch exacerbated the claw marks in his hip. It was a much missed pain and Nicholas decided not to linger on the touch he'd missed the touch of the people here. It was strange how easy it was to move on most of the time, but every now and then he found himself yearning for people long buried and he knew that when they had to leave this place, Callaghan and Finley would be two of those.

Marcus's face flashed to mind and it morphed into the strange boy from last night, before their trust when the party favors hit him hardest. Such an innocent seeming thing and the magic… Nicholas frowned as he gently dumped and scrubbed out the pots. How was it possible the boy made that happen when it was clear he could barely rub two brain cells together? The twins hadn't spiked the favors in any unusual way, other than the slight illusions to keep everyone confused about what they were grabbing, but bubbles were… infantile at best and… Nicholas wrinkled his nose in frustration with himself. Mostly for the brief flash of affection he'd felt looking at their old lover's face, but some for allowing himself to entertain the boy at all. Nicholas wouldn't go looking now, but he certainly needed to find him sooner rather than later.

Jake had not slept during the night. After Frankie had helped him find their shared room, he had spent much of his time sitting on the bed he had been assigned to, staring at the other boy. There was a small creature with him, too, watching him as he watched. Social cues were completely lost on him - he didn’t realize that it was strange, and their other roommate, Annika, had not returned to the dorm room either. So he watched, the steady rise and fall of Frankie’s chest soothing, almost charming. He was mesmerized.

But even the strongest of spells had to wane. So Jake had left their room, venturing out in exploration of… he wasn’t quite sure. The conversation he had with Frankie kept replaying in his mind, something which he found odd. He didn’t want to think about it, but it kept coming back. Was that normal? To be unable to get something out of his head? He’d have to ask. He trusted Frankie with these questions. The idea of asking the others… It was strange, his chest seemed to tighten at the very idea. He didn’t understand that either.

The dining hall didn’t interest him - he had no intention of eating anything again, not after that candy. And the libraries, while very pretty, lacked stimulation. Hardly any of the books contained pictures, and the librarian had stared at him the entire time he’d wandered, their eyes narrowed. Had he done something wrong? He didn’t know. No, the place he found himself appreciating the most at Strange Academy was outside, where he could see the sky - he loved the sky! It was so beautiful, with so many twinkling lights - and as time went on, the darkness fell away to a sea of enchanting reds and pinks and purples so pretty he had cried.

It must have been morning as he sat in the courtyard near a small building constructed entirely of glass, filled with so many plants it looked like it could burst - and his body suddenly felt warm. He startled, only to see that the pretty boy from the night before was there, heading inside the glass structure. His hands suddenly felt very cold. His body tensed. But that inner warmth did not fade. He didn’t know what to do. Jake just stared for a moment.

And then, he walked up to the glass house, went inside, and smiled at the boy. “Hi!!!”

Nicholas hadn't bothered to look up at the sound of the greenhouse doors. It wasn't uncommon for a groundskeeper to do their due diligence at this hour - someone had to check on the wider variety here and Barty wasn't paid to do that. So it came as a surprise when a loud voice disturbed his peace and Nicholas swore heavily as he fumbled a pot. It nearly slipped through his fingers, even with his gardening gloves on, but he managed to catch it with the tip of his fingers and set it down carefully. He stood to face the very subject of his last thoughts with a flat look and a cocked brow.

“Is there something you need?” Nicholas asked, stripping off his gloves and placing them on the table next to him. The boy looked chipper, instead of how Nicholas would have expected him to after his bubble fiasco. And, after he'd had some time to remember, Jake technically saved him from being knocked over by Callaghan during his transformation. Still, not a mark or suggestion at any of that. “You seem well after last night.”

Jake hesitated for a moment. He didn’t think he needed anything. He had to consciously resist the urge to try to help the boy with the pot he’d almost broken. The person last night at the bar had warned him about helping the boy, as much as he found himself yearning to do so. ”Nope! I don’t need anything!”

At least he could understand him now - he hadn’t been able to last night very much.

”Thanks!” Jake swallowed. ”Unless you didn’t want me to be well?”

Nicholas's other brow rose at the reply. He just wandered in here for no reason at all? The boy did seem rather… simple and lost so that very well could be true, but Nicholas was a suspicious person by nature. A boy wearing a dead man's face was a peculiar sort indeed. He picked his gloves back up and pulled them on. “It is not my business whether you are well or not but as a general rule, it is better to be well. And since you seem to be idle, get a pair of gloves and you'll help me with these.” Nicholas gestured to the small box he'd left near his spot in the greenhouse. This was an excellent opportunity to both feed his curiosity and get a helping hand with the prepping for his new plants.

Jake tilted his head slightly. He could understand the boy now, but he was still confused by him. He wanted him to help with something? And he told him to be well? A smile slowly crept on his face, and Jake nodded, going over to the box and fetching it. Were there gloves inside? Maybe? But he had the feeling the boy wouldn’t like him just opening up the box without asking first, so he just retrieved it for the moment. ”Um, I don’t know your name. I’ve been calling you the pretty boy in my head. Is that okay? Do you have a name? My name’s Jake. Short for Jake. And long for Jake.”

Nicholas, crouched down and reaching for the pot again, whipped back to face Jake. For a moment, the Greenhouse fell away and it was 1893 again. It was a stifling hot afternoon and the schoolhouse was a mess after he'd sent the children home while all he wanted to do was lock the doors and go swimming to take the edge off it all. He'd sighed at the sound of the doors opening up, fixed his face into a smile, but before he could turn to greet them, one of his two favorite voices settled into his bones like honey. “Hey, there pretty boy. Need a hand closing up?”

Nicholas snapped out of it. “Nicholas is fine.” He replied softly like he couldn't quite trust his voice yet, feeling a little raw at a memory he'd drown in drugs and sex for over a century. Distracted as he was, Nicholas simply took the box from Jake and opened it, offering him the pair of spare gloves in there. “I will endeavor to remember, Jake. Put your gloves on and I will show you how to clean these.”

Jake’s face flushed, and the heat rushed to his chest once more. There was something about how soft, how quiet the boy - Nicholas - had become. It made him want to take a thousand dragon’s blows to see that no harm came to him. It took conscious effort to tear his gaze away from Nicholas and to the gloves - there was already a good amount of grime and dirt under his fingernails. Nicholas seemed like he liked to be clean.

Jake put on the gloves, the extra layer of fabric feeling strange at first - his movements ever so slightly constricted. ”Do you like cleaning these things?”

“I enjoy gardening.” Nicholas offered, barely turning the hose so just more than a trickle came out. “It's messier than most of my hobbies, but it's pleasant to nurture something seed to bloom. It takes patience and time and for better or worse, I have time in spades. Grab that brush there, rinse the inside of the smaller pot, and then scrub all the way around. Then rinse again until all the dirt and debris is out.” Nicholas demonstrated step by step.

“If you wouldn't mind indulging my curiosity a moment…” Nicholas paused in his scrubbing and watched Jake closely. “Why suffer the brunt of Callaghan's transformation for me?”

Gardening. Not cleaning. And he liked things that took time. Jake was learning so much! A thought popped into his head, one that he didn’t want to have, but he couldn’t help it. He likes stepping on people, too. He shuddered slightly, trying his very hardest to think about other things - but the more he tried not to think about the precious night, the more it consumed him. He followed Nicholas’ instructions, taking the brush and the pot, letting the water hit it, and then he started to scrub. The example really helped. He just copied the motions he had seen Nicholas do.

He turned his head as Nicholas asked if he could indulge his curiosity. Jake nodded. He fidgeted slightly under the other boy’s stare. “It was the right thing to do,” Jake tried, before frowning. “I’m supposed to protect you.” That didn’t feel completely right still - like there was more that needed to be said. “I didn’t want to see you hurt.”

Nicholas offered a non-committal hum in response and returned to his task. Nicholas couldn't tell if Jake was being honest or still playing dumb; either way, the response made him feel warm and uneasy at the same time. Once upon a time, trust would have come simply with the expectation that Nicholas would have the upper hand if anything were to happen. And it was rare that someone would throw themselves in harm's way for a stranger. Those who did were usually preyed on until they found their grave early, or lived a long sad life with hopes of some sort of eternal reward later. But Nicholas's magic didn't sit at his fingertips now. His reflex to flee around Jake had disappeared within a night and that alarmed the witch more than if it had been. His magic was reliable, safe, and proven. It hadn't ever failed him, even when he asked terrible things about it, and his faith would not be shaken now, even if it seemed curiously quiet.

“To keep those around you safe, so must you be. If Callaghan had been someone other than himself and gone rampaging, what good is a door mat?” Nicholas chastised softly, placing down the pot. Nicholas held.out his hand. “The next time you find yourself with such chivalrous thoughts, pause a moment and consider my words. Give me your hand.”

He put his hand in Nicholas’ without hesitation, just complete innocent trust. With his other hand, he still held the pot he’d been cleaning, the brush tucked inside of it. He didn’t quite understand. Why would he need protecting? He didn’t need it - not like how Nicholas and the others did. He wasn’t fragile like them. “Can I ask you something then?” he paused for a moment. “Why did you step on me?” He shivered slightly.

Nicholas thought about it for a moment. “Beyond the bubbles, my memory fails in some parts. I confess I don't recall what occurred once you were on the floor; I believe my mind was occupied contemplating coupling with a dragon. Our favors hit stronger than expected; my brother's influence no doubt.” The witch sighed. Jake's hand in his felt new and familiar all in one, a tingling sensation where his fingertips met the other's hands. This was a bad idea - he absolutely should not be alone with Jake because old feelings started stirring and it would be so easy to give in, but he was just keeping them even. That's all this is. “Does that satiate your curiosity?"

He relaxed slightly hearing the explanation. The staff at the bar had been wrong, then. Nicholas hadn’t done this on purpose to hurt him - it had been an accident, a misunderstanding. And there was something to the touch - to the literal sparks he felt on the edge of his fingers. He smiled, before the grin became so large his cheeks started to hurt. And then gently, he rotated their hands, so that way Nicholas’ was on top, and his own on bottom. “Is there other stuff you wanted to ask me?”

There had been, but they seemed unimportant at the moment. Nicholas was not one to deny himself pleasure, but he tempted this urge down anyways. Kissing this man here without knowing what and who he was was a poor decision and there was nothing enough alcohol in his system to ignore that. He stared at their hands.

They looked…

“No. A debt is to be paid.” Nicholas cleared his throat, his voice breaking as he snapped himself out of whatever spell he'd fallen into. Nicholas plucked a flower from one plants, a few leaves from another, and a breeze blew softly. Barty's magic was flashy, fun, and entertaining, designed to be seen and heard and felt. Nicholas's was a quieter thing, turning and redirecting, and his favors no different. Between their hands, he placed the bloom upon a bed of leaves, and cupped between them he breathed. For a moment, nothing happened, until the faintest glimmer of his magic played at the edges and the flower settled, hardened, and dimmed.

“My gratitude for your actions.” Nicholas explained,.dropping Jake's hand and collecting the pots carefully. “A smaller token, to be sure, useful for something simple. Directions, a meal, help with your studies - call for any of these and I will answer.” Nicholas took the pot from Jake's hand. Time had gotten away from.him and it was closer to class than he'd cared.

Jake stared at the bloom in his hand, and once again he found his eyes watery. No one had ever given him anything before. He hadn’t even known that he could want for something like that. It was so beautiful. He was afraid that if he moved his hand, it would shatter, the petals falling to the ground lifelessly. Almost immediately, he vowed to himself that he would never use this token. He wanted to keep it. He considered for a moment putting it in his room, copying what he had seen Annika and Frankie do with their belongings, but he didn’t want to part from it, either.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “But you don’t need to pay me to help you.”

“A favor was owed and now it is marked. I expect a debt paid when I am owed; I will not tolerate mine own neglected.” Nicholas stood, putting pots back on the table and rolling down his sleeves.. He looked back where Jake was still staring at the flower as he buttoned up his jacket. “Tis near time for class to begin. Come along so that you will not be tardy.”

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Nicholas squinted as he took in his future classroom. Mikkail's sitting room was… vibrant, in clear contrast to even Nicholas's standard attire. He hadn't even crossed the threshold, standing in it with arm still holding the door handle, and seriously considered skipping. Mikkail was one of the few older than him here, but had all.the energy of a toddling child having found their feet and exploring the limits of their freedom. Skipping would likely land him in trouble and trouble meant leaving and they'd just settled in for another year and since it wasn't danger…

Nicholas sighed and fetched a flask from his inside pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took several long swigs before he stashed it, squared his shoulders, and took his steps into the room. His eyes wandered more freely, pausing on the two already in. Strangely, he recognized both. Other students typically remained nameless. In the years they'd been here, he could only name a handful. How strange it was that he would be sharing his class with faves he remembered and names that came easily to the tongue.

“Morning.” Nicholas offered the barest of greetings with the nod of his head, and folded himself into the furthest armchair without hesitation. Seeing Willow reminded him of last night's antics and he felt the faint sting from wounds unhealed that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Everyone sle…” He trailed off as his attention was caught by the books, clearly of good quality, embossed, and individually named.

Individually named

Nicholas quickly flipped his notebook over so the name was safely out of sight.

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Annika was no stranger to changing hallways, randomly appearing rooms, or dead ends…but this was a little excessive. On the seventh dead end Annika encountered, she squealed in frustration.

”Honestly Nochella, how do people get anything done in this place!?” The cat had appeared briefly, apparently entertained by Annika’s frustrations, before she licked her paw, meowed, and disappeared again. Blasted animal.

Annika continued to move through hallways, drifting from location to location until she finally found her hidden room.

”Ahha!” She burst through the door and instantly felt flushed. People were here. She fiddled with her braided space buns before she quickly slid into place next to her doormmate. She smiled briefly at Rohan before concentrating on Professor Sariel’s words.

Annika ensured she wore long pants and closed-toed shoes. She had pinned her hair up into twin, braided space buns to keep her hair from falling and getting caught in something. She had no idea what they would be facing today, but if it had anything to do with forge fire, Annika wanted to remain covered and safe. For now, she wore a baggy jean jacket with a black t-shirt underneath.

Sariel’s words intrigued Annika and helped her to feel excited about starting. She had brought some of her metalworking tools, as well as a notebook and writing implements. She had a feeling today would be heavily research-based, then she could get to work figuring out if something needed to be made. Or created. When Sariel stopped talking, Annika took a moment to acquire a lab coat and goggles. She was examining the different sizes when Sariel opened the door.

The first gate. ”Incredible,” Annika breathed. She mechanically grabbed a lab coat and a pair of goggles before she entered the next room. The door was gorgeous and seemed to pulse, drawing Annika nearer. Of course, the danger aspect was also appealing.

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Callaghan never returned to his room that night. Instead, he chose to shower on the twins' floor, borrowing a pair of suspenders and pairing them with a simple pair of black slacks from the night before, his shoes, and a white button-up. It was simple, but Cal still cut a striking figure if he did say so himself. And he did, even with some of the markings from the night before still upon his skin. He was instructed to leave them for a certain bubbly someone to see, and Cal wasn’t about to disappoint his companions from the night before.

After that, he slipped quickly into the bathroom on his floor to use his personal hair care and skin care products before he strode through the halls of Strange Academy well before anyone else was awake.

He took the familiar path up to the rooftop and stepped into the fresh dew-filled morning air. Callaghan sighed deeply, wishing he could take flight and stretch his wings for real. The night had been fun. He had worked out some resentment and repressed feelings, but now he had another primal urge begging to be released. Cal rested his hands along the metal rails. The cold that seeped into his body helped to ground him. He remained on the roof, watching the sun rise and listened to the first bells. He still had time before he needed to be in Mikkail’s office, but Cal was always punctual.

A short while later, Cal found himself the last to arrive in his mentor’s office. Cal paused, taking in the other three members of his coven before a wry smirk lifted his lips. ”And here I thought I was going to be the punctual one. I see I will have to try harder next time.”

He drifted into the room, drawn to the shelf of books Mikkail had on rotation. His fingers tingled and twitched, the need to touch and examine each one overwhelmingly strong. As he walked to the bookshelf, his eyes slid to Nicky’s form. His smile turned secretive as his eyes dropped to the witch’s hips, knowing his claiming mark still rested there.

”Nicholas, sleep well?” he teased before shifting his gaze to Willow.

”Good morning, little one,” he said, his voice taking on a more tender tone. The protective urge he had felt over Willow the night before had faded after the late-night activities, but there was still a kinship Cal felt towards the creature that was more animal than human. The image of Willow watching last night filled his mind before he focused on Cassie and grinned.

”Cassiopeia! What do you have there?” He instantly noticed the tome she held close to her chest, his eyes looking for weaknesses so that he could pry the book from her hands and read the contents. He approached Cassie, eager to try his hand when he noticed the lonely book on the table with his name on it. ”Ah, I see.” Cal snatched the book up and took the seat next to Cassiopeia. He flipped the book open eagerly, uncaring if he was supposed to wait or not.

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Nicholas had escorted him from the greenhouse to the library, indicating to him which room he was supposed to go in for his studies. As Jake glanced inside, his spirits fell slightly. One of the girls from before had smiled at him, and there was the professor from the previous night, lurking in the back. He didn’t see anyone else present - no one else beyond a large statue, framed in candlelight. He then turned around, about to ask Nicholas something else, but he was already gone - as if he’d never been there at all. Something curdled in his stomach. Maybe whatever remnants of the candy from the night before?

He plastered a large smile on his face, and walked into the room. The air was thick and heavy with scents, and he immediately sneezed. His eyes widened a bit in surprise. He’d never sneezed before. It shocked him. It felt so strangely… violent.

The professor then gave them instructions. They had to wear gloves - Jake didn’t know why - and examine the statue. Connie had immediately set to work, taking notes. Jake didn’t know how to write. He wouldn’t take any. Instead, he slowly put on the gloves - he’d liked the ones in the greenhouse much better than these, they felt realer, somehow - and stared at the statue. He didn’t know what to do. Was he alive? “Um, hi! I don’t know if you can hear us, but my name is Jake. Her name is Connie. And we’re going to help you, I think - we are trying to help him, right?” he then asked, addressing this question to the professor directly. If he was a person, he needed help. Being stone seemed too harsh. It would have been better to just put him to sleep.

He then reached out, placing his gloved hand on the statue’s hand. Nothing happened. But he hoped the statue felt better.

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The events of last night had allowed Barty to start the new year in good spirits. Waking up just the same in the afterglow of euphoria, he decidedly went about his morning as he would any other. Staring down his wardrobe as he debated on what to wear and what was best suited for the day's events, he'd finally decided on something a bit more modern. Or as modern as a centuries old witch could be. He had a faded black David Bowie shirt with the short sleeves rolled up and above his shoulder, each safely secured by a safety pin, paired with his faded torn jeans and his Docs. His usual hex bag hung at his side with several others hidden amongst his person. A good witch was never without their resources.

As he made his way towards where they were meant to gather, he thought about the task at hand so far. A statue cursed with madness that had survived almost as long as he had. What were they meant to do with such a thing? What purpose did this doddering old vamp have for them? He didn't like it, but he was certainly intrigued. As he entered he was met with the familiar warmth of Connie and the equally familiar cold of Croan. No instructions yet, simply examine as you please. Connie went about her way to study and analyze as needed via a plethora of notes that she'd eventually make in duplicate, Jake had decided to touch the statue with a gloved hand and speak to it (Barty decided to hold back an eye roll at this companion), and Pedro…was missing. Strange.

But the lack of existence of another was not for Barty's concern or care. He had a task and as he opened his eyes to see the magic before him, what he saw was…perplexing. Curses were ugly things, dark knotted roots or tendrils of vile scents that wrapped around its victims choking them without their notice. They clung to you like a demon out of limbo gripping the backs of their victims. But this…this was made of golden thread and starlight, or at least the runes before it were. Barty bit his lip as his hand absentmindedly pulled out a small orb of amber, attempting to cast a probability hex on himself. The amber began to spark and smoke as the magic fought back at him, but Barty was always one to save face. Quickly he pulled out sandalwood and Moss, placing it over the burning amber to amplify the powers to drive out the darkness and bring forth prosperity in luck.

The scents of incense mixed with his own as he took the smoke and reached out to the statue with it. His own magic interacting with that of the enchanter who made this statue. Again, he watched as the woven magic within the statue was made of golden threads and starlights, uncharacteristic of curses. Barty felt a tug, looking down he watched as a sliver of his own magic slipped from him and was taken in by the statue, slithering deep within the golden threads. He quickly pulled his hand back as he took a step away. ”It was said this statue was cursed, but this is unlike any curse I've ever seen. Its sigils, its magic, all appear to…other. I see no smoke or demons, no knots or tendrils, only golden threads that pull on my own and starlight as serene as a clear sky.”

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The morning had begun to roll in and as Frankie awoke he found himself alone in his room. Neither Annika nor Jake seemed to be there, then as he tried to think on it he didn't believe he heard Annika make her way back last night. Franklin hoped she wasn't lost within the hallways of this school, Jake seemed to have been. He let out a sigh as he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes before stretching out wide with a loud yawn. Lips smacking as he turned to notice Igor was sitting at the foot of his bed scurrying back and forth. Franklin reached out for his glasses, placing them on before staring at his familiar. “What's wrong? You look like you've seen the dead.”

Igor began his flurry of squeaks and critters, explaining to Franklin how Jake had just sat there, watching him, all night (or at the very least the better part of it). Frankie didn't know what to make of it, should he be frightened? Threatened? Charmed by the notion? Sure Jake was handsome, but so were some serial killers. “I'll have to deal with that later. I haven't even had a morning potion, but I guess we can keep a closer eye on him if needed.” He got up, stretching once more, as he made his way and began to freshen up and change. He elected out of his usually baggy clothes, knowing that they may be needing to do experiments. Donning his own lab coat that he'd had as he buttoned it up before wrapping his goggles around the high collar that covered his neck. His hair was pulled back much in the same fashion that Rohan did, keeping it away from his face and more importantly open flames. Gloves stashed into his coat pocket before he picked up his doctor's bag full of supplies and made his way out.

Franklin followed the instructions towards where he needed to be. Annoyed at the times they proved to be incorrect before scribbling in the truth next to it so that he wouldn't need to deal with it again. He'd have to compare notes with the others to see if there was a set pattern or if certain pieces changed randomly. In the room Sariel gave the basic safety speech, nothing he didn't already know or figure. His eyes cared more to wander towards the instruments strewn about the room. Spiderwebbed tubing pumping magical power from one location to another, and three timers set above three experiments. His attention snapped back as she began to speak again, more dangers towards this material. What was it?

They stepped into the next room and everything felt so overwhelming. His eyes danced around from one object to another before landing upon the lon table that ran one length, he wasn't aware if there was any pattern to the madness before him, but if there was he mind hadn't been able to piece it together upon seeing it. He wanted to be the one to answer Rohan, to tell him why they were there and the significance, but he had nothing. Whereas Rohan worked on artifacts, Frankie's expertise was more in the likes of the tubing and energy generation happening above them.

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Connie, Barty, Jake

Croan watched as his students fumbled through their inital observations. One was missing. He would expel him if it was for anything shy of death and even that may not save him. Croan circled the room, glancing at Connie's notes critically, watching the simpleton try to offer comfort to the statue, and the MacLeod twin pluck at the magic. “Not incorrect, Mr. Macleod. The magic imprisoning the thief does not present as a curse; however, it behaves like one. Curses are malevolent intent made manifest through sorcery and their presentation to those privileged with sight are often coiled, tortured things. Why do you suppose that is, Ms. Withrop?”

He slapped Jake's hand off the statue. “Do not linger. Mr. Macleod explained it pulled at his magic - what can we surmise as a result of that observation?”

Willow, Nicky, Callaghan, Cassiopeia

The faintest squeaking could be heard outside the door, growing louder as it approached. The door burst open with a flair of vibrant magic and Professor Mikkail entered, bright eyed and bushy tailed, pushing a moderate sized chalkboard on small, squeaky wheels. The board had clearly been abandoned in some storage room or another, the faintest etchings of previous lessons still visible and the green faded and sun bleached. Still, the Professor looked at the thing like a child at candy and placed a piece of chalk and an eraser on the unstable shelf at the bottom before he beamed with clear pride at the group in his sitting room.

“Good morning, my little mystery seekers! Welcome to my sitting room. While you are part of this coven, you are most welcome any time even if I am not around. I do love surprise visitors!” Mikkail looked at where the journals once were. “I see we have broken into our presents already! I made these myself as a welcoming gift. I do not dare assume your note taking habits, but I always find a new adventure needs a fresh start so please fill it with what you will and I hope it makes the start of this journey we are taking together feel exciting!” With a wave of his hand, steam curled out of the tea pots spout.

“Please enjoy some of the refreshments. I always find it easier to concentrate with a soothing cup of tea.” Mikkail gestured at the coffee table before he picked up the chalk and wrote on the board. “Our mystery will be a walk through time. I find that as those who explore the mysteries of magic, so too are we entrusted with its stewardship. Recording and preserving the twists and paths that magic takes through the ages is equally as important progress and innovation. For without knowledge of the past, how will we avoid blundering blindly into the future? So our mystery will be one even I have been stuck on for quite some time. A branch of magic, dark and bloodied indeed, was lost on this planet centuries ago and I have not yet been able to locate where its first grimoire vanished.” Mikkail finished writing and underlined the name.



“Can anyone tell me what this is and what it was used for?”

Rohan, Finley/Dysphoria, Frankie, Annika

“Imaginitively named Anchors, these artifacts stabilize pathways on the surface of the Neverish. These ones are those the school uses - both to safely sit on top of the Neverish and to connect to various places around the world.” Sariel explained as she continued around the first gate, gesturing for those to follow. “The magic employed branches from sympathetic magic, wherein a symbol is charged with the intent and power of a place and acts as a placeholder for magical effects. This is incredibly convenient for two major reasons. Can anyone tell me?”

Sariel nodded at Finley as she pulled out a small set of keys and removed a loose section of the wall beyond the gate, revealing a keyhole. “There is a little bit of randomness to the coven selection process - mysteries aren't assigned entirely based on skill set, but rather as a way to challenge you to grow in both your specializations and your critical thinking. It may seem confusing, but be patient and approach this as an opportunity to develop a facet of yourself that has gone unnoticed!”

Sariel slid the key in the keyhole, turned it, and a series of cogs behind the door whirring loudly. Two other spots popped open above the keyhole. One was a small, pointed spike that Sariel cut her thumb on and let blood drip down to the base before shutting it. Another was a small scale and Sariel pulled out a feather from her pocket and placed it in, sealing that one as well. She turned the first key again and a section of the wall slid out of the way. Beyond it was a hole in the wall barely four feet tall and stale air rushed out.

“This is where you will be working today.” Sariel ducked into the next room and the strike of flint and steel and the warmth embers of a fire began to build. Inside a massive cave, a variety of work station was available: a furnace and anvil, a kiln and potter's wheels, a loom, a leatherworking bench, a carpenter's bench, a jewelers table, and an alchemist furnace all.looking as if they'd been made hundreds of years ago. Next to each, was a variety of materials and fuel supplies. Sariel lit torches set into the wall.

A hexagonal table in the center of the room hosted a raised center and a variety of reading materials.

“Your task is to craft an anchor that represents the four of you.” Sariel informed them. “This will guide you back when you dive beyond what you have traversed so far. It can be anything you can imagine, and make, and once you have completed it, I will inspect it to ensure it won't explode during the final step. There is some literature available here about them as well, but this is a connection between the four of you - if you can't craft an anchor together, your chances of surviving the Neverish are disastrous."

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They needed to use all this to make something resembling all of them. A bit of each craft to create a singular object that could bring them all back here if they got lost. Rohan wasn’t much of a cosmic explorer, he preferred the woods to the worlds beyond Earth. His time in the Forest of Ghosts taught him that trespassing wasn’t something to be taken lightly. As for these other three, well… He knew Finely was from another world, he didn’t know about the other two. But if they were doing this, it made sense to have an “anchor.”

But what would it be? Wood, metal, something Fae-like, and whatever the hell the other quiet guy did. It wasn’t a terrible combination, assuming he wasn't the sort who worked with something like magic anthrax or iron. And it was surely going to be something magical. Rohan’s curse would have to be worked into the anchor. They’d cross that bridge shortly.

Instead, he thought back to Marino’s question.

”I can think of a few uses for that,” He answered. ”Places have their own kind of power unique to them, you can attract like to like that way if you know what you’re doing. Or you can cast a net out, pull something back to you when it lands, or just open up a door… And you can place it in an object to make an artifact. If you made two symbols carry the same power, I’m thinking you’d have two words in the same language, same context, pulling on it in different ways. Or maybe you’d have two people making portals to the same place without them crashing together.”

Root fluttered off from Rohan’s side and settled down onto the central table. He croaked at his master.

”That too.” Rohan nodded.

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Cassie sat and waited as the others trickled in. Willow being first. Cassie's eyes lit up seeing her, but diminished just as qickly. She still liked Willow, still wanted to be her friend, but she was still sore from Willow's words. Cassie had wanted to help, sure, but part of it was also both of them being new. As much as Cassie wanted to meet others and explore and learn, she also wanted to ensure she had someone here that was in the same boat as her, albeit Willow was obviously more trained. Cassie thought Willow understood that, but she was wrong. If she wanted to be with others and not her, Cassie would not get in her way. Cassie nodded slightly, but kept silent.

Cassie's eyes drifted over to the other jorunals as Willow picked up hers. The two that remained were for Cal and Nick but....wait did Cassie see that? She looked again and saw the name on one of the journals. It wasn't a name she recognized. Did they have someone new in their coven now?

Paedrus? And the last name was the same. Did they have another brother?

Her answers were quickly given as Nick entered. He looked...different. Last night's events must have taken it out of him. His eyes scanned the jorunals too and he quickly went over to get his, covering it up quickly. Cassie looked at him, wondering why she was being so weird about it.

Before she could ask Cal entered and sat down next to her, grabbing his own jorunal. She felt heat in her face. Was it her imagination or did he seem especially happy to see her? But wasn't he comfortable with the twins? With Willow? Was it for real or for pleasure? Was that a possibility for her also?

As her mind wandered to interesting areas, Professor Mikail entered flamboyantly. Cassie smiled warmly as he went on to explain what they would be doing together. She was thankful to have Professor Mikail as her mentor. She had a feeling out of all of the ones here, he would be he one she was most comfortable with.

Discovering mysteries of the past sounded intriguing and Cassie watched intensely as Mikail wrote on the old-fashioned chalkboard. The words he wrote tickled Cassie a bit. She was sure she remembered something. She studied Latin at home with her teachers, something she thought would never apply in real life, but she knew those words. And she remembered reading how it applied in history.

But, her eyes drifted to Cal. Would he be impressed with her knowledge? Perhaps so, but if she wanted to have a chance with him, she needed to be bold. Since Mikail offered tea, then tea would have to do. "I know this one," she said as she picked up two tea cups and placed them in front of her and Cal. She started to pour some in her's as she spoke. "Loosely translated it means 'Witch's Hammer'"

As Cassie started to turn to pour some tea for Cal, she felt her foot slide a bit on seemingly nothing as she stumbled a bit, tea pot inching over and the lid slipped off, as she saw the amber traces of the liquid leave its home and land squarely on Cal's lap. Cassie's eyes widened in horror as she swiftly set the pot down. "Oh god, I am so sorry Cal! Let me clean that up." Cassie grabbed a towel and started patting Cal's lap as she slowly realized how close she was to him and his....well you know. Heat burned her cheeks and she tried to clean up, but realized she should stop patting him. She left the towel there. "Sorry about that! Umm where was I...right so back in the 15th century there was a man named Heinrich Krammer who wrote a document detailing ways to handle witches, demons, and spirits in illegal manners. Despite being condembed by the Inquisition at the time, the Pope supported it. This also coincided with the invention of the printing press which allowed it to spread qucikly. This was also a huge part of the Witch Hunts in Europe." Cassie sat back down, decidedly not looking at Cal. "I am so sorry Cal."

She wished the Earth would just swallow her whole.

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Nicholas met Cal's teasing with feigned indifference, pressing his fingers gently where the dragon left marks. It stung pleasantly and if Cal's newest admirer wasn't here, perhaps he'd put on more of a show. However, between the mostly strangers and the blasted name, Nicholas wasn't inclined to play right now. He wasn't certain which footnote of history the Professor dredged it out of but Nicholas had thought it buried and dead centuries ago. Nothing good was associated with it and he'd been quite thorough when he'd run it into the ground and set it on fire when they crossed to the New World.

Nicholas didn't bother hiding his displeasure with the Professor's overwhelming introduction. Everything about him was flashy and boisterous and Nicholas made a genuine effort avoiding those types in his life. He had half a mind to silence the wheels of that monstrosity at the very least, but he kept himself carefully composed as the nostalgia rushed in at the smell of chalk. He'd still been teaching himself when the chalkboard was introduced and while his students were long gone, the instruments of his craft still brought some warm memories. Painful ones too, but if he looked far enough back, he could forget those parts. He glanced down at the offered tea but considering what the Professor offered already, Nicholas decided it wasn't trustworthy.

Nicholas felt himself tense, but soothed himself after a moment as the Professor wrote. On the outside, Nicholas kept himself the picture of indifference. He lounged a little further back in his armchair, threw a leg up over one arm, and rested his chin on the back of his hand as he considered the writing. His eyes flickered over to Cassie as she teacher's petted her way through it, pouring tea with all the grace of a calf freshly birthed (Cal would probably find her incompetency endearing somehow), and Nicholas rolled his eyes but spared no more attention to that mess.

Inside, Nicholas seethed. Mikkail quickly put himself on Nicholas's shit list. The Professor probably wanted someone with first hand experience when he was putting his little group together and Nicholas was certainly less inflammatory than his brother. Nicholas wondered if anyone ate dragon meat - he bet Mikkail's organs would earn him a few pretty favors in the right markets. “Memorialize evil and evil persists. Devils danced with that book for three centuries and you'd ensure its sins persevered? Witches suffered brutality at the hands of those who claimed supremacy over the wicked and the wretched and w- they who survived… They did not do so pleasantly. Explain yourself.” Nicholas picked up his journal and haphazardly tossed it at Mikkail's feet, never leaving his seat or breaking eye contact.

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Willow had looked up as Nicky had entered the room and nodded her head to him softly. "Morning." She smiled softly as she watched him curl up in the other chair, and then watched as Cal entered the room and her grin brightened up more as he greeted her like that. "Good morning Cal~" Of course she had seen him not that long ago, but it was good he had still addressed her again. She had grown very fond of him and well after the previous night, who could blame her?

As Cal took the seat next to Cassie, she settled into the last armchair and relaxed a bit, turning the notebook over in her hand nervously. Writing was not a strong skill of hers. She had learned about braille recently, and was using that a lot for her note taking, and hoped that once the professor arrived she could ask him if they had access to such machines.

Professor Mikkail arrived with a burst of magic that she could feel, and see, since Luna's eyes nearly were overloaded by his arrival. His magic was warm, and she felt like she was safe there for the moment, much like she had last night. It made her wonder, but any thoughts were put on hold as the professor started to speak.

The smell of tea filled the air and Willow felt more relaxed at that point. She listened more as he spoke and then wrote the words upon the board. She could feel her brow twist with curiosity. Latin was not a language she knew well, just a handful of words there and then, but the first part, Mal, that meant bad, right?

Cassie spoke up, telling of the name before... stumbling. Willow could only watch with embarrassment as Cassie cleaned up the mess she had made and tried to clearly avoid Cal's lap. Willow did her best not to laugh at her new friend, (or she hoped they were friends,) embarrassment.

Then Nicky spoke up. The anger dripped from his words, and Willow felt pain for him. He had clearly suffered something due to this book, and it seemed that it was going to be a bad first day. Willow curled up in her chair, having no knowledge of the book, or its horrors. But it sounded like it had not been a good book for witches and yet, the Professor wanted to find the first volume of it? Why?

Her question about how she was going to take notes was forgotten, and she decided that was going to be a question she would ask him alone later.

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Annika watched her professor’s movements, hanging off the woman’s every word. All of this was fascinating to her. Annika thought about the professor’s question and listened to Rohan’s answer as they all entered the next room.

Annika gravitated towards the furnace and anvil. She knew these instruments intimately and set her bag on the table nearby. She had a feeling she would be stationed here. Maybe with the jewellery as well. Especially if she had to stay away from iron for Finley’s sake. She would have to create a comprehensive list of metals that were acceptable to work with while she was in this coven.

Annika caressed the anvil like it were a lover. ”Infusing magic into an object could be good if you need to pull on the magic of that place, as well. In a way, that can provide a bridge or a connection. As for crafting something... I could infuse silver or gold. Both are powerful, precious metals that can enhance magic, as well. Unless you would advise, I didn’t,” Annika said, turning to look at Finley fully. She didn’t want to make enemies here.

It was the first time Annika had worked with others aside from her dad or Uncle Max. She wanted to do both of them proud, but she also wanted to make her own connections. Her own mark.

”Also, I can make portals if we need them,” Annika added as an aside.

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Nicky’s subtle reaction to Cal’s words was pleasant, even if it was lacking. Cal knew Nick always made up for his indifference behind closed doors. Besides, the indifference was sort of a turn on for him. At least from Nicky.

Cal flipped through a few pages of the book until he realized it was a notebook meant to contain his findings for this year’s task. Ah, a shame. The knowledge would have to come later. Cal tucked the book into his seat’s cushion, resting an arm on the back of the couch. He crossed his left leg over his right and tapped his foot along to an invisible beat until Mikkail walked in with a flourish. Cal grinned. He had a thing for the theatrics. Honestly, Cal had a thing for everything.

Malleus Maleficarum. Cal ran the Latin word around in his head before he spoke it out loud, trying it out for size. Cal knew the translation of the word; he also knew it carried a dark past and was not, at all, a good thing. And that was all he knew. He turned his head, listening to Cassie speak out about the book. He smiled, leaning slightly forward as she divulged more of her knowledge.

While she explained, Cassie poured him a cup of tea before doing the same. The gesture was unnecessary but kind all the same, and Cal found Cassie adorable for it. His eyes drifted from the girl to glance at Willow and Nick to see what they thought. Cal always hoped to tease a little. It always made the release later on better. Then Cal felt a slight burning followed by vigorous patting. Cal looked down, quickly learning Cassie had spilt tea onto his lap and was trying in vain to clean it up. At least he was wearing black pants.

He started to laugh when she realized what she was doing. ”It is quite alright, Cassie.” He picked up the towel and patted the spot once more before he tossed it away. She quickly divulged more information, trying to recover the moment Cal imagined. Once Cassi sat back down, apologizing once more, Cal patted her knee.

”It’ll dry. I run warm,” he said with a wink at her before he picked up his cup of tea. He added a lump of sugar and stirred it briefly before taking a sip. His lips froze on the rim of the teacup when Nick started to talk. His tone was decidedly not okay with the task Mikkail presented to the group.

Cal shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, uncrossing and crossing his legs before he just left both feet firmly planted on the ground. Nick, Barty, and Cal had talked briefly about how times had changed. He had some of that knowledge, but he didn’t have the twins history. However, he had a collective shared history that reminded him of why some things remained buried, but also, the knowledge Cal craved had him desiring to push back. He wanted that information. Needed it. It was why he existed.

Cal decided to remain silent, even though he wished to speak in defence of his mentor. However, Nicky was a friend. And Cal had enough sense not to speak against Nick. At least not in public.

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Croan slapped Jake’s hand.

For a moment, he didn’t react. He just stared. Had that really happened? His gaze shifted, as he stared at the professor wordlessly. His jaw shifted. He was otherwise completely still, studying him. And then he broke into a smile, and removed his hand with a delayed flinch.

He tilted his head as Croan asked him to think. He’d only just learned what a curse was the previous night. Curses were cold things, cruel things - his mind flashed unbidden to the sensation of feet pressed on his back, his face struggling to contain swelling pressure. He shuddered again. And this statue… it had pulled at Barty’s magic, a description that raised his hackles, but he hadn’t said it was cold. He said it was light - that it was like the sky - Jake loved the sky. It couldn’t have been a curse, then.

If anything… the more he looked at the statue, the more it felt strangely familiar… The words were lost to him. It was just something he knew, something he couldn’t explain, but something he had forgotten all the same. His eyebrows furrowed, he turned to look at Connie and Barty, rather than Croan. “It’s hungry,” he said softly. “It needs more magic…”

And then, moving almost as if in a dreamlike trance, Jake removed his glove and pressed his hand to the statue. The very hand Croan had slapped away moments before. He didn’t know how much magic he had to give, but he gave it anyway.

The sensation took his breath away.

It was deep and old - powerful, almost endless magic. It was mesmerizing in its intensity, even as he felt the undercurrent of need. It wanted to consume him. It was what it had been made to do. His heart broke. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. It didn’t have a choice. And it wasn’t cold. It was warm and bright - it was love. Love and… and something that made his skin feel like it was crying, like he was being crushed under some weight, like he was running without escape. Desperation. That was the word.

It wasn’t a curse at all. Jake didn’t know the word for what it was. But it was for protection - for keeping someone safe. And deep within the stone, there was someone alive.

“He’s alive!” Jake pleaded, as if that would somehow - somehow make this stop. Whatever this was. “Can he hear us?” Could they hear him - communicate with him somehow? His mind darted to the token Nicholas had given him. Could Nicholas communicate with people who could not speak? “This is supposed to protect people - who did this? Why?” This he directed to Croan, almost as an accusation.

“We still do not understand - why does this happen in a cave? Is there water like the one we explored with our Dewdrop, remember!” Dysphoria asked Finley excitedly. “Is an anchor like us, a way where we all get mixed together? But the Woodling does not like mixing. I do not know about the other two. Do you two like mixing?” Dysphoria asked Frankie and Annika.

"I do not think Franklin enjoys mixing. He is friends with Constance. She definitely does not enjoy mixing.” Fin told Dysphoria. They tapped their chin, thinking.

"Hmm, if this is a way to tie ourselves together as a group, or keep a part of ourselves as a beacon to this world, I do believe there is something I can do with blood magic. Now I have no actual experience with using talismans of such make, but I do know that it is possible. There are items such as a Babylon candle, which require blood to be mixed with the candle.” Finley had never made such items before, but knowing that it was something that existed made the possibility a tangible thing.

"Gold and silver are not a danger to me.” Finley gave Annika an appreciative nod. Then Finley looked around the room, trying to find a station that called to them, that they thought they could make a blood artifact with.

Dysphoria nodded along with Finley's assessment of their classmates and looked around them. “The making of things is strange. It took us some time to understand why everyone did not just use their fluids, but I have been told humans do not have the same flexibility as us. Your objects are strange. Fun, but strange, and so I think Darling, your blood magic might be better as a core. Like a brain in a skull - crunchy and tasty on the outside, but yummy and soft on the inside.”

"Mmm brains.” Finley murmured in agreement. They had been denied such delicacies because it ‘was illegal’ for some reason.

"Ohh yes, good idea. If everyone does part of the design and inside of it, I place the blood of each of us, this would be a strong anchor. One that each of us has worked on. That would be strong.” They looked over at the others. Finley had some knowledge of Rohan’s talents, and sort of knew Franklin’s; Annika had given them some idea.

"We should design a couple of options.” They nodded.

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Connie gave Croan a slight glare as he said her name wrong. But she was already starting to turn over the question in her mind.

Connie chewed on her lip; she hadn’t noticed that she was shaking her hands. This thing, the curse, needed more magic. It was feeding on ambient magic and on that from those who spent too long in its presence. That’s why the others went mad. She quickly wrote her thoughts down.

"It eats magic. It needs the extra magic for a reason. Most curses, once cast, are self-sustaining enough or burns through whatever magic was used, and then it is over. This has lasted for decades. Others who have spent time around it have gone mad. I had hoped to find observations or notes from previous students who worked on this, but there wasn’t anything in the library.”

She watched Jake as he ignored Croan’s admonitions. He was angry, which was a new emotion from him. Connie tilted her head, watching him. Could she? If this person were still alive, could she bring them back? Could her ability to transmute stone to flesh save him? Or would it just eat her magic and drain her? She wrote her thoughts, her questions, her worries.

In her opinion, Croan wasn’t trustworthy. She wished that she could trust that he had their safety in mind. She didn’t know if he would give her an honest and true answer if she asked him a question. This was the real reason she was upset about being in his cohort. He would consider it interesting if one of them died. That left Barty as the next-most-knowledgeable person in the room. She knew he was educated and doubted he would watch her die for his own interest.

"Barty, you have heard the stories about this. Do you have more history, real history, than I do? What have previous cohorts done, do you know?”

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‘Jakes’ antics were beginning to gnaw at Barty ever so slightly. He wanted to solve this cursed mystery and with one Coven member missing and another so blithely unaware of everything, he began to wonder if he ever could. Perhaps the true curse of madness wasn't the statue but those one gets paired with in order to solve it. But at least he didn't need to enchant someone to do the dangerous tasks, this simpleton seemed more than eager to do them which made getting answers to tests far easier he supposed. Yet when Jake had suggested it was created to protect people, Barty couldn't help but scoff.

He looked towards Connie as she began to answer Croan's riddle and crossed his arms as she asked him what he knew of it. She'd jotted something down but he doubted she would share her thoughts so early without an end to them. ”There isn't much you'll find in books. The statue's secrets are kept well hidden by the covens who study it, which is why you are lucky that I had previously enchanted one such member. He didn't divulge much, only that they suggested the statue was a cursed gift given to an Eastern European nobleman. This was centuries ago of course, and it is said the spellwork was made to be a convoluted expression of madness. Whether you wish to take this as real history is up to you. I have found history is often full of falsehoods in the first place.”

Barty turned his attention to Jake, taking a measured step closer towards the student before eyeing him up and down. ”I'll bite, don't make me regret it. Why do you feel this statue is alive? What's more, what makes you believe it's meant to protect others? “

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For the most part everyone seemed to be touching on the question but never outright answering it. They gave ideas and examples on how this anchor would function for its purposes but not why it was needed. “Safety.” Frankie finally spoke up. He'd been contemplating on exactly what they should be looking for as well as what Sariel had intended and was only able to arrive at one of the answers. “It is typically easier for someone to secure and seal an anchor away than it would be to secure and seal the original target of a spell. With that, by sealing away the anchor the spell placed upon it becomes much harder to break because it itself isn't readily available to others.” This he was certain of.

“With that being said, we are working with sympathetic magic. The symbol itself holds power beyond what we create, and we need it to symbolize all of us. I was thinking we may be able to ‘craft' something more literal to a degree. A tree. One whose branches are grafted from the various realms and lands we hail from. Each branch a symbol of ourselves, each branch now growing from a singular trunk, a singular tree, and its branches will run deep within the Neverish to guide us back to where it's planted.” Franklin knew of trees having various fruits grafted into a singular tree, it was possible, but he wasn't sure if it would be enough to work as an anchor. “Within its hollow we can have Finley create a Blood Talisman as they've suggested, let it feed the tree's life. Oh, for those wondering on my medium of craft, its organics.”

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Connie, Barty, Jake

“The foolishness of youth.” Croan shook his head, frowning in disapproval at Jake. “Your recklessness may have killed you and endangered others - a vague notion is not enough to interact with unknown artifacts safely. Consider those around you before your naivety kills them.” He took on the distinct look of having sucked a lemon.

“However, you are not entirely incorrect. The spellwork maintaining the effect is crafted with the intent to persist in perpetuity. While we cannot identify the source maintaining it, previous covens have confirmed that failed attempts to break the spell only feed it and make it more challenging to break.” Croan offered. "As for your question, I believe the statue is likely playing with your head. It is unlikely he can hear us and from what analysis we have completed, he is alive. I do not know anything about protecting - as you can see the theif is stuck in its own prision."

Willow, Nicky, Callaghan, Cassiopeia

Mikkail watched Nicholas's outburst with mild concern and he let the heavy thud at his feet linger between them for a few moments. He glanced down, sighed, and a rainbow hue traced the veins up his throat from his chest and into his mouth before vanishing. He squatted down, knees cracking loudly as he did, and picked up the book and looked at the name for a long, long while. He contemplated his next words carefully.

“Cha fhuasgail mealladh an duilgheadas gu bràth, Paedrus. An ceann greis, iarraidh an àm a dh’fhalbh a dhìcheall. Tha mi an dòchas gu bheil fios agad dè a tha thu a’ seasamh air a shon nuair a thig an t-àm.” Mikkail stood with a groan and crossed the room, where old and tattered notebooks sat on a glass shelf with star themed book ends. “When you're ready.” He slipped Nicholas's notebook onto the shelf and returned to the board, patting Nicholas on the shoulder as he did. The somberness passed and he beamed at Cassie.

“Well done, Cassie! That is all quite correct and for being the first student to answer a question this year, a special surprise to go along with your notebook!” Mikkail plucked a tiger's eye fountain pen from the air and presented it to her with a flourish. “Im some magical traditions, Tiger's Eye is meant to bring good luck and inspire courage in those who wear it. I hope it does all that and more for you my dear.” He turned and picked up the chalk once more writing underneath the name of their subject.

“The grimoire was copied in such a way that the magic could not be accessed - pieces of spells and rituals were cut out to keep the effects within the religious intentions of the author. It was censored, which I believe to be one reason it was used so aggressively against the witches and magical beings of the age. They remind me of a time when I was across the stars and settled on a little planetoid that was home to exactly seventy three organisms at any given time.” Mikkal turned away from the board, but the chalk continued to write behind him. “Their magic was more a form of shifting energies and pure, unaltered expressions of will rather than our formulas and incantations and such, but the few rituals they did employ were quite similar enough that it intrigued me. Was this grimoire a product of these people? And if so did it merge with the magic of this world's people? Or is it simply happenstance that two worlds, thousands of light years apart, developed the same magic? These questions plague me, day and night, and your assistance will help bring me peace and you new skills in research and investigation, the core of all developmental practices!”

Behind him, the chalk stilled and settled in the tray beneath. Written in a language none of the students knew, five lines of text written in shaky stared back at them. Only one line, comprised of one word, was in english:



“Now, off-site travel is typically restricted the first few weeks of the year so I would use this time to plunder the library. You'll have access to far more material now that you are in a coven and you are of course, welcome to my own material anytime you wish! It'll be important to determine when and where the grimoire first appeared and then you can slowly follow through time; of course, it is difficult to do that when you don't know which one is the original! Does anyone suppose they know the best way to tackle that particular quandry?”

Rohan, Finley/Dysphoria, Frankie, Annika

“Very good, Frankie. One reason is security. As many of you may have surmised, power is the other. The magic poured into a sympathetic construct is far lesser than the magic needed to perform the same effect on the full sized object.” Sariel explained, walking to the center table and holding her palm flat over it. Sparks of magic extended into humming energy and struck into the table. The floor shook as something moved beneath their feet. “Its also a useful technique because you can draw on power, although at significantly reduced conversion efficiency, of other locations to feed into the spell since a single sympathetic construct can represent multiple people, areas, effects, etc. It is incredibly convenient so the question then becomes why not use it for every spell? And the answer is simple.” The center of the table finished rising and a safe door, no taller than 18 inches and no wider than 12, greeted them. Sariel twisted and turned the dial and popped open the door.

Inside, a velvet wrapped chamber greeted them, empty and a little dusty. “Its a vulnerability. Since it is a representation of you or whatever it is symbolizing, sympathetic constructs are an opening in your natural defenses against magical intrusion. I'm sure everyone knows what a voodoo doll is? It's the perfect example. It is why whatever you create must fit in this space, so we can lock it up and then safely dispose of it once you have completed your time with me.” Sariel patted the velvet cushioning. “Now, your task is to complete the anchor and place it in the safe. I will lock it up and then I will cast the spell to activate it. I will be here to supervise and offer whatever guidance I may, but this task is otherwise yours to complete before leaving today.”

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Organics, blood, precious metals and wood. That was what they had to work with, to make something easy and effective at bringing them back. More efficient, quicker and easier to access. That was the point, here. And between the five of them, they’d have to make something today. Well, that wouldn’t be too difficult.

Rohan thought about it, and the question of why it had to be only one item came to mind. If it was one anchor, wouldn’t they all get lost if it was destroyed? If there were four, they could all be connected to four separate anchors. It must have been some sort of trust exercise to get them used to working together. That made sense. Annika seemed reasonable, he didn’t know Franklin at all. And he absolutely, unequivocally, empathically lacked any trust in Finley. But he had a sword for that.

He dropped his toolbox down on the table and pulled out a ruler, a pen and a notebook. He wrote the safe’s dimensions down and instructed Root to start getting tools laid out.

Rohan helped himself to the material pile on the carpenter station. Juniper wood, bogwood… Maybe blackthorn would work for the connotations. He grabbed a few pieces and tapped them against the center table.

”If we’ve only got today to build it, now’s a good time to mention I don’t actually have blood.” Finley’s blood charms probably didn’t work without real blood, right? ”I get my magic from a curse, so instead of blood, I’ve got cursed sap in my veins. Whatever we’re making together, it’ll channel that curse- That’s how I make all my artifacts. It might be easiest to make something alive, decorate it in metals and let it act however one of us knows how to manage. Assuming blood charms don’t work on me.”