"The system needs more refining, but you've done well," Solomon said, ruffling Mirak's hair with a grin.
Mirak scowled and swatted at his hand, trying to move away. "Stop that," he grumbled.
"Why? It keeps you humble," Solomon teased. His white hair, loose and vibrant against his high cheekbones and strong jawline, swayed as he leaned closer. "Besides, I'm proud of you. I never thought you'd pick up heating the air in such a short time."
"Proud?" Mirak said dryly, straightening his tunic. "If you were really proud, you'd explain this 'system' concept properly. You keep saying it, but I only have the faintest idea of what it means. A space confined by walls with defined boundary conditions—is that it? Is it really that simple?"
"That's about as close as I can describe it," Solomon said, tapping the corner of his sharp, amythest eyes. "My gift lets me predefine systems with a few… extra bonuses."
"So you cheat," Mirak accused, crossing his arms.
"We all cheat," Solomon shot back with an easy grin. "I'm just better at it."
Mirak sighed, raising his hand again. In his mind, he pictured the system he wanted to create. He imagined the boundaries clearly: a small, hollow box floating just above his palm, no larger than his finger. Heat from the candlelight in the room and from his own palm should flow into it, contained within the walls he'd envisioned.
Yet, nothing happened.
The Atta—the force that governed the flow of energy in their world—swirled naturally in Mirak's palm but refused to obey his intent. No heat collected within the boundaries. It was as if the Atta mocked him, rushing in droves at his call but refusing to take shape.
"Why isn't it working?" Mirak muttered, clenching his fist. "I pictured the exact boundaries. I did everything right."
Solomon shrugged, leaning back in his chair like an uninterested cat. "There might be a calculation you've forgotten. Or maybe your picture isn't as clear as you think. Either way, I can't fix this for you."
"Then we're stuck again," Mirak muttered bitterly, his mind flashing back to his first days of training under Winter. It had been the same then—hours of study leading to nothing but frustration.
Solomon chuckled and ruffled his hair again, earning another scowl. "If you keep frowning like that, your face will stick," he teased. "It's only been a day, Mirak. You're trying to do something most people would never attempt in a lifetime. Give it time. Keep trying."
Mirak sighed but extended his hand once more, closing his eyes to concentrate. Silence filled the room, broken only by the faint crackle of the candle flame.
Solomon watched him for a moment before growing bored. Naturally, he began to prod.
"Good, good," he said mockingly. "That's the level of focus I like to see. Don't let me distract you."
Mirak ignored him, though his jaw tightened in irritation.
After a few minutes of silence, Solomon spoke again, his voice lighter, almost casual. "I take it you've heard about the wall falling?"
Mirak stiffened but kept his expression neutral. "The wall?" he asked, hoping his tone gave nothing away.
"Yes," Solomon said, his grin widening. "It's been the talk of the district. The third...or was it fifth wall of Koona, shattered into a million pieces. And all because one of the Revenant touched it. Poof—gone. I hear it collapsed onto anyone unlucky enough to be in the vicinity. Can you imagine?"
"A Sorcerer?" Mirak guessed, his tone calm despite the knot tightening in his chest.
"That's what they're saying," Solomon replied, resting his chin on his hand. "But the question is why. Why target Koona? I thought the Didacts had this city under their thumb. It seems their grip isn't as tight as we thought."
"Maybe it's something deeper," Mirak offered, hoping to steer the conversation away from dangerous speculation.
For a moment, Solomon's easy smile fell, replaced by a cold, calculating look that sent a shiver down Mirak's spine. His eyes—normally bright with mischief—seemed to swirl, like a storm brewing beneath their surface.
"Perhaps it's time I walked into the undercity myself," Solomon said softly. "Maybe I should crush those petty thief amphitheaters they hold so dear. They think their games will help them rise, but I've grown tired of it. Something needs to change."
Mirak froze. The very air seemed heavier, weighted by Solomon's presence. Then, just as quickly as it came, the tension vanished. Solomon's smile returned, bright and casual as ever.
"But that would take at least a year," he said lightly, waving a hand. "And I'll be away for a few months. Maybe I'll make it my next act when I get back."
Mirak's mind raced. A year? Surely, he was bluffing. Koona was vast—a city of nearly a million people, with countless thieves' dens scattered throughout the higher districts. Clearing them out in a single year was impossible. Even Solomon, for all his strength and cunning, couldn't accomplish such a feat.
But Mirak held his tongue, forcing himself to nod as if in agreement.
Solomon flopped into one of the room's many chairs, stretching like a satisfied cat. "I think that's enough for today," he said lazily. "Besides, Sanni expects you back before the night's end. Something about a breakthrough, apparently."
Before Mirak could protest, Solomon motioned for him to follow. "But first, we're taking a trip."
"A trip?" Mirak asked, his tone flat.
"Of course! My little apprentice has been huddled behind books and dusty tomes for far too long. You lack social skills, Mirak. It's a tragedy, really."
"I don't like how you said that," Mirak muttered. "You'll just drop me somewhere again."
"You drop someone once, and they never let it go," Solomon muttered under his breath, guiding Mirak out of the room.
The streets of the third district were alive with movement. Lesser nobles in shimmering satin walked arm in arm, their laughter mingling with the hum of merchants hawking their wares. The district was a sharp contrast to the dingy lower levels of Koona, but Mirak could still feel the weight of disdainful stares as they passed.
"Publici," some of them muttered under their breath.
Mirak's jaw clenched, but he kept his head down, letting Solomon lead. The Fell heir walked with an unbothered grace, his white hair catching the light like a beacon. He was untouchable, and everyone in the district knew it.
They stopped in front of a large building near the towering third wall of Koona. The wall loomed behind them, its gray stone streaked with silver veins, carved with intricate designs that reflected the wealth of the district. Mirak couldn't help but marvel at the sheer scale of it.
"This way," Solomon said, guiding Mirak into the building.
Inside, the air was cooler, filled with the quiet hum of conversation. Men and women filed in, their expensive clothes swishing as they took their seats.
Solomon ignored the ticket collector, his hand firm on Mirak's shoulder as he led them to a prime spot in the circular theater.
"They seemed angry," Mirak whispered as they sat.
"They care because I brought a Publici here," Solomon said casually. "Likely, I'll receive a few strongly worded letters by morning. Let them."
"Then why bother?" Mirak asked, his eyes scanning the ornate stage as the lights dimmed.
"Because this play costs more than you'd make in a year under House Fell," Solomon replied with a smirk. "And because you need to see it."
As the performance began, Mirak's attention drifted. The actors sang and danced across the stage, their flowing robes glittering under the warm glow of lanterns. The play, titled The Diedous, seemed simple in plot, but something caught his eye—something that stole his focus entirely.
The lead actress, a young woman draped in perfume and powder, moved with grace. Yet it wasn't her beauty or voice that captured Mirak's attention—it was her wrists.
There, barely visible beneath her sleeves, were the same shackles Mirak wore. She was a Publici.
His gaze never left the shackles, even as the story unfolded. He barely heard the dialogue or the music. What was Solomon trying to show him? Why had he brought him here?
And why did it feel like he was missing the point entirely?
Solomon leaned in close, his voice low. "You see her shackles, don't you? Good. Hold on to that feeling, Mirak. You'll need it where we're going."
Mirak turned to him, brow furrowed in confusion. But Solomon simply smiled, leaning back as the actress stepped forward to sing.