“You're not my servant, my underling, or even my apprentice. My purpose is to put you on the right track to make sure you aren't stuck wearing that white cloak for the rest of your life.”

Hearing Nevrakis’ response to Sarahi’s remarks gave Berenice a much-needed affirmation of her previous assumptions; this magus’ personality was different than others. At first glance, she might seem aloof to the point of arrogance, but she is not one to judge just off of her appearance. Of course, Berenice had been taught to never do that by her father but her youthful mind couldn’t help but do it subconsciously.

“It seems I lucked out this time around, little friend,” she thought with a slight smile as she patted her chest; the tutelary underneath her cloak hissing back in a happy, affirmative manner.

Berenice continued walking behind the group, glancing at the guards once as they opened the door for them to pass through, before walking into the pyramid itself. She had heard about the rank differentiation between magi back at the academy; the acolytes were the ones dealing with most of the day to day activities of the Cults anyway, leaving the magi to their machinations. She thought about asking how long it would take for them to take the mantle of an acolyte, but decided against it for the time being; Nevrakis seemed to be rather keen on getting straight into their training so Berenice needn’t be in a hurry, she would get answers to her questions soon enough. Or so she hoped.

The moment the group was inside the pyramid itself, Nevrakis seemed to pick up the pace even more; even with her trained body, Berenice found it hard to keep up. They whizzed through the place, passing through corridors and chambers that grew seemingly more and more bizarre the deeper they delved into the pyramid. She became increasingly weary of her surroundings after they entered one especially strange place, a chamber filled with corpses of all kinds of creatures; humans could be considered a rare specimen should one consider the selection of corpses that were on display.

At some point, Atum peeked his head from underneath he cloak only to jump right back inside in a hurry. Berenice could feel the discomfort stemming from his soul through their link; she could not say that she felt otherwise.

As they made their way deeper into the pyramid, Berenice kept tabs on her fellow novitiates and their reactions to everything they had been witnessing. From their facial expressions, curiosity, discomfort, surprise, frustration, eagerness, and everything in between, Berenice’s thoughts pretty much mirrored theirs. Ultimately, when they came into the dusty chamber housing the mushroom and were promptly locked in it, with only getting a few words of advice and not so much as a hint of what they were looking for, Berenice could not help but sigh at the magus’ teaching methods.

After looking at the mushroom for a few seconds, Berenice turned to the others with a question. “Any ideas?”

---

Judging by the way this guy was fumbling, he was likely just bad at talking to people rather than riding some egotistical high from rising above his station. Still, Radaam really should learn to choose his words more carefully in the future. Kho opened his mouth to advise such when he was interrupted by a relatively familiar voice barrelling into the conversation. Great. As lackadaisical as Khaemtir was, he was still a power player here - yet another point on the list of things Kho needed to be conscious of.

The real question was how someone like Radaam ended up buddies with the Maryatum kid. Granted, he was pretty sure he recalled Khaemtir being some forgotten sibling that would have to miraculously outlive half his family in order to become heir apparent, not to mention contend with the Maryatum's matriarchal tendencies, but even that supplied plenty of status in near any circle. Definitely enough to not have to mingle with commoners, in any case. Maybe they were in the same Cult; Kho hadn't really been paying attention to anyone else, as wrapped up in his thoughts as he was.

Kho straightened his posture back to formal rigidity at Khaemtir's addressal of him. Kho - since when were they close like that? Teken needed to stop encouraging people he'd just met to buddy up with him.

"Likewise, Novitiate Maryatum," Kho responded, establishing boundaries for his own sake even if Khaemtir was content to ignore them, "I wouldn't say it's rude, though it might come off as a tad insecure. You wouldn't want your magus to think you believe you're undeserving of your role." Ugh, that was another thought. What was the proper balance between wide-eyed student and self-assured magician that portrayed necessary willpower without looking arrogant? So many variables here; how did anyone keep up with this public status dance?

Now for the nagging question, "How do you two know each other, if I may be so bold? I don't recognize him from the Pesedjet."

---

@Obscene Symphony@Achronum

Novitiate Khain

As Ishara accepted his invitation, Sekhandur's expression did not change. His polite, reserved smile, and glinting, golden eyes didn't waver for a moment, as though he had no doubt in his mind at all that she would accept. His mask of patrician contentment said gave away little, but still said much. It spoke of his unwavering confidence in himself and his control of everything around him. How he had the whole game of life already figured out, and he was the one moving the pieces on the board.

After a moment's pause, he clasped his hands together in a pleased gesture and said, "Marvelous. Let's not waste any time, shall we? I'd love to introduce you to your new Fellows."

Sekhandur extended his arm to be taken by Ishara in a gesture of noble elegance, and set out into the banquet crowd in search of where his compatriots were sat. This was perhaps the first time that Ishara had sensed something resembling a flaw within him, as he seemed quite poor at navigating crowds; he continuously bumped into people, or paused, unsure of how to circumnavigate around a particularly large throng. The most logical conclusion was that he was accustomed to people simply moving out of his way, and their fellow sorcerers paid him no such heed. Still, after a bit of bumbling through the crowd, they arrived at a table around which a small handful of other Sorcerers sat. They too were from the year above Ishara, or seemingly even older than that, but all were still white-cloaked Novitates.

"Novitiate Thumotep, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the esteemed ranks of the Kha'Sherhan." Lion's Spirit, that meant, in a relatively obscure tribal dialect. If Ishara were not so diligently studious, its meaning likely would have blown past her altogether. Sekhandur put a finger on his hairless chin, its smoothness likely the result of him treating his face with beeswax, as he contemplated where to begin his introductions. "Let's proceed east to west, like the sun, yes?" He gestured to the young man sat to Ishara's right, who was tall, dark skinned, and had his long black hair tied back into rows of tight braids-- all clear indications of his descent from the southern river-dwelling clans. "Novitiate Ukris Barak, his mentor being Magus Omarhotec. The fisherman's son." He said, with a wry smile as he finished.

Ukris rolled his eyes and smiled at the friendly ribbing. One of his teeth had been replaced with a copper-red prosthetic. "My father is President of the Fellowship of Silver Sirens." A prominent fisher's Fellowship among the port districts, if Ishara remembered correctly from some overheard dinner conversation or another. "Welcome, Ishara." He said, still smiling.

Moving his indicating hand left, Sekhandur pointed out, "Mekhari of House Kahotep, and Djedhor of House Manat, both under Magus Khyber." Prominent houses both, the two young Sorcerers looked rather alike to each other, as well as to Sekhandur. All well-bred young nobles of Aemeni descent, bronze-skinned, dark-haired, fair-featured, and dressed in gold and silks. Mekhari and Djedhor both nodded politely to Ishara, and Sekhandur continued on.

"Last we have Novitiate Itzara Nefertari, under Magus Zarakynel." Apparently the only young woman among the Kha'Sherhan, Itzara was petite, pretty, and shared in the features of Aemeni-born nobility that much of their Brotherhood possessed. However, unlike most Aemeni women that kept their long, black hair tied up in braids, her head was shaved completely smooth, as though she could not grow any hair at all. Sekhandur did not elaborate on her pedigree or relations, leaving her something of a mystery compared to the others.

"Welcome." She said to Ishara, softly, regarding her with her gentle amber eyes.

"Hopefully it won't be much trouble telling you apart." Mekhari joked, sipping at some wine. "Ishara, Itzara." He said, gesturing at each of them with his cup in turn.

Sekhandur pulled out a seat for Ishara, and then seated himself. "Well then, again welcome. We've all been looking forward to meeting you, and I'm sure you have questions of your own. How are you feeling? Overwhelmed yet?" He said, again turning toward her with his knowing, regal smile.

---

Zahra

The elder Sorcerer sat back, watching Zahra go through her excited explanations with a look of amusement. By now the other Sorcerers sat with him- a few in black cloaks, a pair in indigo, and the one sat furthest in scarlet- had noticed who he was talking to, and looked over to his conversation. Most seemed only passingly interested, but some knitted their brows in concern upon seeing the extent of Zahra's disfigurement. If the man in feathers cared at all about the girl's scars, he did not show it.

"Yes, Radaam, I remember from the commencement." He said, upon hearing Zahra mention her brother's name. "Cult of the..." He trailed off, trying to remember.

"Crow." One of his table-mates offered helpfully.

"Yes, Crow, thank you. You must be very proud of him, Zahra." The man's smile only brightened as she went on to talk about his clothes, and he continued to indulge the young girl. "My name is Pavo Khalophis, and it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, young lady. I suppose there are still some that would consider me a Sorcerer, yes." He made a subtle joke, likely to go over Zahra's head, but he glanced over to the Sorcerer sat next to him, who smiled knowingly, before turning his attention back to Zahra. "I quite agree with you, I like my feathers very much as well." He took Zahra up and set her on his knee in a fatherly gesture, as he continued on, "Many people forget this, but Sorcerers aren't meant to only learn about magic and its place in the world. They're meant to celebrate it, too. They need to share its wonder with all of the people of Photep. Every day I get to learn and share magic with Photep is a celebration for me, so I dress with the intention to celebrate. Too many Sorcerers spend too much time with dusty, old books, and get to thinking they need to look dusty to fit the part."

Zahra offered a child’s bow at Pavo’s greeting, listening with rapt attention even as he picked her up and utterly blind to any strange looks the others at the table might give her. Unnoticed by her, Toruk tensed at the intrusion, only letting off a touch when he determined that the man didn’t mean any harm—yet. He would remain alert, though, serpentine eyes trained on the man and tongue flicking in agitation, not quite on the offensive but ready to strike if the situation demanded.

Meanwhile, Zahra’s smile faded to a thoughtful expression as she listened, and she was quiet for a moment when Pavo finished his explanation. He dressed to celebrate? She certainly liked the sound of that; it must be fun to be allowed to dress up every day! If they were supposed to stay all day in stuffy old pyramids like Radaam told her, then she didn’t know why more Sorcerers didn’t dress up like that. Wouldn’t it get boring being inside all day and be stuck with people who were all plain and drab?

After a long moment, she finally opened her mouth, thoughtful expression quickly yielding to a bright-eyed giggle. “Radaam likes dusty,” she joked, recalling all the times her mother told him to do something other than working or studying. “I think he spends more time with books and bricks than people.”

“I like you, though,” she continued. “Are you in the same pyramid as Radaam? Maybe you can brighten him up! He’s always so serious.” She punctuated the word with her best impression of her brother, arms crossed with brow set sternly and lips pursed together. She couldn’t hold it long, though, erupting into another fit of giggles shortly after.

“I don’t doubt you’re correct Kho but curiosity killed the cat and all that.” Khaemtir replied, laughing at the adorable way Novitiate Bekenamun established his comfort zone immediately. “I’ll likely ask anyways. I’m quite interested in the minds of our Masters and understanding their decision making would give us a brief glimpse into that, don’t you think? And seeing the mind of a Master may help us adjust to handle something none of us know anything about yet!” Khaemtir explained excitedly. He couldn’t wait to delve into the pyramids and finally see what he’d been preparing for basically their entire schooling at this point. It was a little terrifying, trudging into something that they’d only ever heard the faintest whisper about, but it was also equally exciting.

But he wasn’t going to waste time thinking about what was set in stone when he had fun to have!

“Lucky for you, fortune favors the bold Kho. Master Dagon called Radaam, Ishara, and me to the Cult of the Crows. We may have just met a bit ago but his directness and honesty is so charming, I couldn’t help but befriend him! We all agreed that a friendship would benefit our studies anyways so it worked out perfectly! We wouldn’t want our favorite prodigy to feel left out after all.” Khaemtir beamed, his excitement bubbling up again. “So I’ve opened my doors to both of them after the festivities end barring we disappear with our Master immediately, of course! I’m just not sure what to expect.” He snapped and turned to Radaam.

“Speaking of which, we must have our families meet today even if something forces us to reschedule. Make sure you remind me after this.” Khaemtir insisted. “It’ll be a headache otherwise. Our families will have to have dinner and then an evening of entertainment before you’d be permitted in alone. It would take forever to get the family together again.” Side note taken care of, he turned back to Kho.

“I hope we’ll be friends moving forward as well! I can only imagine our studies will be far more pleasant with others to learn with!”

Magister Khalophis

Answering Zahra's question, Khalophis said, "No, he wasn't chosen by my Cult, but I'm certain he's a fine lad all the same." A mischievous smile broke across the older man's features as he said, "Come, let's see if we can't liven him up a bit."

Khalophis stood up, and hoisted Zahra to sit up on his shoulder, tickling her face some with the feathers in his collar. With her vantage point above the crowd, he directed her to point out Radaam to him, wherever he was. He departed with a brief word to his colleagues, and the two set out in the crowd. Other Sorcerers that saw him coming immediately cleared from his path, usually bowing to him as they shuffled out of the way. A few in particular, usually those with little birds on their brooches, made a sort of salute as they acknowledged him, twining their hands together to resemble wings.

After a short while and only a couple of diversions to watch entertainers or scoop up tasty snacks, the pair eventually found its way back to Radaam, approaching him from behind. Two other Novitiates were with him, who were at such an angle that they could see Khalophis approach. Once he was close enough, he set Zahra down for her to run and greet her brother, and strode up to them behind her. He cut an imperious figure when standing at his full height, as his colorful robes seemed to practically come alive on his tall, willowy frame. With a thought, he haloed his body in a corona of heat-shimmers, making himself seem as ethereal as a desert mirage.

He laid one if his radiating hands on Radaam's shoulder, grabbing his attention as he announced his presence, "Sorcerer-Novitiate Esi," Khalpohis said, in the most authoritative voice he could muster, "I have just had a most entertaining conversation with your dear sister. She is wise beyond her years, I would heed her closely if I were you." Retracting his hand, he crossed his arms across his chest and continued, "That aside, allow me to extend my personal congratulations to you on your commencement. We will expect much of all of you very soon." Recognizing Khotanebre as one of the Novitiates with Radaam, he turned to address him personally. "Sorcerer-Novitiate Bekenamun, I see you are integrating well among your peers. How is your father?"

The Novitiate and the Magister had met, if only briefly, years before, at a small gathering on another noble family's estate. Various aristocrats, politicians, Red Order officers, and other notable figures had gathered to schmooze and consolidate support for some political venture or another. Khalpohis had been in attendance, representing the Cult of the Phoenix, and spent quite some time conversing with the nobility and Sekhmet masters, including Lord Bekenamun. Kho himself had been dragged along to this affair, as he often was, and the genial Sorcerer had even sat and shared some light conversation with the boy. The Cult of the Phoenix held the reputation of being the most bellicose among the Cults of Heka, the destructive potential of their pyromantic arts heavily valued by the Ruiners of the Red Orders. Khalophis was noted to have a surprisingly ambivalent attitude toward the Red Orders' presence within his own Cult, where most other Magisters held them at arm's length.

Despite Khaemtir’s timely interruption, Radaam could practically feel the unamusement rolling off Khotanebre, once more regretting his decision to strike up any conversation beyond ‘hey, sorry my sister was bugging you, see you around the Dijat’. Ugh. This was what he got for following his mother’s advice. Things didn’t work in the Heka the same as they did on the outskirts of Photep, woman!

And of course, Khotanebre attended Pesedjet as well. Had all of the other Novitiates attended? Oh, who was he kidding, of course they had. His plan for his entire future had hinged on the low, low chance he had of being selected to the Cults after graduating Udebtekhat; it was all but guaranteed the other Novitiates were all Pesedjet alumni.

Luckily his input wasn’t needed, as Khaemtir took hold of the conversation and ran far, far away with it. The prospect of some sort of high society evening of hobnobbing to introduce their families, while it would probably delight his mother, wasn’t the most comforting one, but at least then he’d have the chance to give his family a crash course on how not to behave; he was no expert on aristocratic politesse, but he was pretty sure he’d discovered every “do not” in the book by stumbling into them this very afternoon.

“Daama!”

Oh, but the universe held ever more surprises.

He had opened his mouth to offer some word of confirmation to Khaemtir when he felt a small girl collide with the backs of his legs, the smiling - and somehow mischievous, why was she making that face, what did she do - face of his sister staring up at him. Radaam wasn’t sure what she’d done to look so smug, but the only confirmation he needed that it was something she probably shouldn’t have was Toruk sheepishly crawling off her and around Radaam’s arm, avoiding eye contact in a classic show of guilt. Honestly, weren’t snakes supposed to be crafty? Toruk couldn’t lie to save his skin. And considering what Radaam was about to find out, his skin was very much in jeopardy.

Before he could even get out a word of inquiry, Radaam felt a heavy, sweltering heat on his shoulder. The heat was followed by the weight of a hand on his shoulder and a booming voice that made Radaam’s blood run cold.

“Sorcerer-Novitiate Esi, I have just had a most entertaining conversation with your dear sister. She is wise beyond her years, I would heed her closely if I were you.”

Catching the look of utter horror on her brother’s face, Zahra offered Pavo a wave before bouncing off into the crowd in the direction of her parents, wisely getting out of dodge as Radaam stood pin-straight and turned to face the voice’s owner, bone-deep embarrassment etched into his otherwise stoic expression like a statue carved with a wavering hand.

“That aside, allow me to extend my personal congratulations to you on your commencement. We will expect much of all of you very soon.”

The figure before him, adorned in outlandish feathers and swathed in the glimmer of heat, might as well have been more god than man for how reverently Radaam considered him. A lifetime of watching the Khenetai in awe had taught him that the red trim adorning the man’s cloak was a telltale sign of an official in the Crimson King’s employ, and the ornate brooch pinned to his shoulder announced his affiliation with the Cult of the Phoenix proudly. The Magister of the Cult of the Phoenix himself. And Zahra had somehow struck up a conversation with him.

“...Thank you, Magister. I’ll be honoured to try to meet those expectations.” His reply came slowly, quietly, and looking like he'd seen a ghost, but at the very least, less detached than his stumbling with Kho; a stress response no doubt, one triggered in such a situation where missteps were not an option. Mercifully, the Magister went on to address Kho directly, and only when his eyes were off him could Radaam breathe again. The most he could otherwise muster was a positively deadly look at Toruk for letting Zahra get herself into trouble. There wasn’t even any need for a telepathic reprimand; judging by how the viper shrank away, the poison in Radaam’s look alone was potent enough to get his point across.

---

Well, that figures. Khaemtir got thrown into a study group with someone new and couldn't help but find the peasantry quaint and amusing. Kho would've been worried for Radaam if he weren't certain Khaemtir's antics were mostly harmless. Honestly, Kho probably should still be a tad worried; the boy was going to have to sit through dinner with the entire Maryatum family without sticking his foot in his mouth. Ishara being in their group only brought further confusion. Odd that their master took on two prestigious students from the Pesedjet and then some nobody. Radaam had to be talented somehow; maybe their master saw his potential in some portent, they were Crows after all.

Kho flashed Radaam a sympathetic look before refocusing on Khaemtir. Collaboration wasn't something he was averse to, even between cults, though he had to admit his concern for divination was more idle curiosity than academic interest. Still, a Maryatum was a powerful ally, and it wasn't like he had a reason to say no, even if Khaemtir was a bit... much.

"Friends, sure," he agreed awkwardly, "You'll have to come to the estate some time when you're not busy entertaining your families. On short enough notice that my brother glares at you everytime you walk past, of course." It would serve him right for informing Kho about important guests at the last minute all the time.

The boy gave them both a welcoming smile which was quickly wiped from his face by the approaching black cloak. That little girl really was fearless, wasn't she? This man was shimmering and she still probably tried tugging on his clothing like she did Kho's.

Not only that, but Khotanebre knew this man from somewhere. Red Order? No, he was a magister. Magister Khalophis. And that brooch - definitely Cult of the Phoenix, if the heat waves emanating from him weren't enough of a hint. This was his boss; his boss' boss, even. The social stakes just kept climbing higher around here. He was briefly thankful the Crimson King hadn't been in attendance; he'd have probably bumped into the man in line for refreshments at this rate. No, that was silly, His Majesty would never have to wait for his foo-

A telepathic jostling from Teken stirred Kho from his mental gymnastics. Right, he'd been addressed. Fuck, this was so much more stressful than being some dumb kid at an important party. The redhead locked his knees and clenched his fists under his cloak to prevent any unconscious fidgeting as he dipped his head in respectful greeting to Khalophis. Hopefully the sweat dripping down his cheek would be blamed on the heat and not his nerves.

"He's well, thank you, Magister. I think he's just relieved he won't have to arrange a marriage for me anymore, if I'm being honest," Kho let out a laugh that was supposed to sound lighthearted but came out more like a nervously forced titter. Stupid. Stupid. Who says that? The boy cleared his throat before continuing, "I look forward to working under you, in whatever capacity that may be."

---

@Obscene Symphony@Achronum@Dead Cruiser

---

The green-haired noble gave a respectful nod to each of the other Fellows as she was introduced, though otherwise mentally took note of the others in turn.

Ukris' name and his father were indeed people she'd heard of before, or at least their names were not registering as 'alien' to her, and his hair was rather indicative of his status as being among a certain southern river-dwelling clan. He seemed to jovial sort that had been through some kind of rough-and-tumble given his prosthetic tooth. Perhaps a hard working sort of person? Though Sekhandur wouldn't have taken him in if he was lazy, that much she could glean about the noble son's demeanor already.

Mekhari and Djedhor were another story, however, as their appearance almost seemed twin-like in effect. Or rather, more like a pair of siblings from at least one similar parents. Perhaps it was the Aemeni blood they had that led to such a thought, however, but she'd most definitely heard of their houses to be frank. A more noble demeanor seemed to hang about them, and the polite nod was something to be expected in that case. Perhaps the type of people to hang around a 'prodigy' such as Sekhandur. She got the feeling there was more than met the eye, however, when it came to the two noble sons.

Then came the final member of the "Lion's Spirit", and seemingly the only other other girl than herself that was to be among these ranks. Her head was shaved and her petite frame seemed to speak of a fragility or sickliness, at least traditionally speaking, though her beauty was something to note. Yet despite the distinctly odd lack of introducing her 'pedigree' or family's relations to Photep, which drew Ishara's curiosity even further, the girl seemed to carry gentle eyes and a soft voice that matched her outward appearance. Something to both note, but also something to keep herself from falling into the trap of. Considering the girl was here and involved with these people, it was reasonable enough to assume she was a rather adept Noviate in her own right.

Though of course Sekhandur, as much as she had respect for his skills, would push out those assumptions as expected. More than expected, actually, as she'd have been more surprised without him sounding as he had been. Fit the stereotype of a noble and magic prodigy to a 'T', so incredibly so she rather unconsciously and unthinkingly took a mental note to keep an eye on the boy.

"I must confess, to be looked forward to so much by others is something I did not expect. Even so I am honored to be here, and to have been invited in the first place!" Ishara confessed as she took the offered seat, an ever so noticeable hint of sheepishness in her voice as she genuinely tried to come off somewhat humble despite her polite manner of speaking, "Though I am embarrassed to admit I have many a question, and am eager to get working with you all! I pray I will at least be a good, contributing member of this Fellowship of course."

Sarahi wasn't sure if the shared cluelessness was comforting or concerning. Nervakis had said to 'meditate on it' with no other sort of clue or further instruction, so obviously she wanted them to figure out the next step. As to what it was, Sarahi had no idea, though the sweltering heat of this place vaguely brought a grim idea that this was just some sort of elaborate plan to rid herself of her noviates. For all that talk of wanting to cultivate them, the 'master' sure went out of her way to be weird about it.

Letting out a scoff, Sarahi released the clasp holding her white cloak together, letting it slip off of her. She was probably going to pass out from a heatstroke before anything else. The many butterflies of Diadem scattered around, fluttering nearby as she draped the cloak across one arm. As one of Diadem's smaller forms landed on the butterfly, an idea came to mind. A stupid one, but seeing as how the other two were equally as lost, it was a place to start.

"Maybe we're supposed to split it into pieces to consume it and then meditate," She suggested, finding herself hating the idea as soon as the words left her mouth.

"Split it? That's an interesting take on the matter..." Berenice replied after a moment of consideration. "There's only one, and seeing as this is the only thing of note in this chamber, I doubt it's supposed to be destroyed. Maybe It's something magical in nature? An alchemic ingredient perhaps?" Berenice offered her thoughts as she walked towards the pot with the mushroom.

"I agree with Berenice, I do not think we are supposed to destroy or consume it". Sirvan had a hard look at the mushroom and looked around the chamber. "But, if it is a alchemic ingredient then what do we do with it? Gesturing to empty room, "There is no equipment or anything here that we use to can mess with it." Sirvan cocked his head to the side and shrugged. "Maybe it is as simple as what Nevrakis said. We... just meditate to it". Not sounding sure of what he is saying however. When Berenice walked torward the mushroom, Sirvan followed. "Maybe a closer look can help".

What a pain. Sarahi let out a sigh, placing her cloak on the ground in a makeshift sort of pillow. Taking a seat on it, she perched herself on her legs before taking in a less-than-satisfying breath. "Fine. Meditate it is," She replied, placing her hands on her lap as she closed her eyes. "If you come up with anything better, feel free to bring it up." She was still convinced this magus was a hack and they were probably going to pass out from heatstroke before figuring it out.

Berenice glanced at the sitting Sarahi before turning her attention back at the mushroom. "Let's be realistic here. We are inside a pyramid of the Cult of the Serpent, right? What is the signature magic of the Serpents?" Berenice asked before quickly continuing, answering her own question, "Biomancy. So, could this have something to do with Biomancy? Are we supposed to use magic on it? Maybe we are supposed to forcefully grow it further?"

"Maybe but, all she said was meditate and that does not offer a lot of clues or hints if this was some kind of a test". Sirvan looked closely at the mushroom and then took a step back. "I am really not sure of what to do here other then to... well meditate unless you want to try growing it". So this is the first lesson from Nevrakis, actually mediating to a mushroom? If this is simply it then what are the rest of her lessons going to be. Seemingly pointless and confusing?

Sirvan audibly sighed as he sat down where he stood and got into a meditative stance. They will have their answer though, if it was this simple of a lesson or a hard test when Nevrakis comes back. Whenever she does come back that is; if the first lesson is to simply mediate to a mushroom then what would the rest of their time in the Cult be like?

After a moment of consideration, Berenice also took a few steps back and sat down, her back against the sturdy chamber wall. With the mushroom in front of her and the other novitiates in the vicinity, she too closed her eyes and focused on meditating, emptying her mind of stray thoughts.

She had one other guess: If there anything to be gained from meditating, it would be the knowledge of how magic interacted with the mushroom, so Berenice concentrated on that - seeking to find or sense any disturbances in the flow of magic around the plant.

The Cult of the Serpent

The Novitiates of the Cult of the Serpent sat silently meditating for a length of time that none of them could determine. It could have been hours, but it perhaps it had only been minutes. The passage of time was impossible to track in the tiny, sweltering chamber. The fire in the braziers did not seem to shrink at all, but the volume of smoke in the room didn't seem to change either. It was never enough to choke the lungs, but always just enough to make breathing a strenuous task. Still, with what little training they had, they reached out with their minds to feel for any aetheric presences or disturbances, but felt nothing but their fellow Novitiates. This carried on until they felt their patience beginning to slip, and were on the cusp of abandoning this endeavor.

A tiny whisper sounded from the center of the room, "Do you know the secret name of God?"

Eyes snapped open at the sound, but nothing in the room had changed. There was no one else there, just the three Novitiates. And the mushroom, still sitting at the room's center. With no source readily apparent for the sound, they wondered if their minds were playing tricks on them, but they had all heard the same thing. Perhaps Nevrakis was still in the room, disguised or invisible, and was toying with them? It seemed like the most likely answer.

That was until they looked at the chamber's walls. They had not changed, they were still raw stone carved out of the bedrock beneath Photep, but they were different. Where before the mineral veins in the stone and the imperfections in its carved surface were meaningless and random, patterns began to emerge. The chaos of it organized before their eyes, into words they could read but did not understand, and faces they recognized but could not name. The floors took on the same properties; loose, sandy clay now arranged to make a startling amount of sense, like constellations in the night sky.

"You are struggling." The voice sounded again, noticeably louder and clearer. "That is all you ever do. Your life is an endless struggle." It was not a man's voice. It was not a woman's voice. It was not a human voice. They heard it without sound, understood it without meaning. "You can feel it in your hot, animal heart. Blood pumping, lungs filling with air, flesh burning with friction and desire. A constant struggle to stay alive, to keep your imperfect machine of flesh and blood in motion."

The heat and smoke of the room were no longer as oppressive as they were before. Every drop of sweat they perspired felt like a tingling pinprick as the Novitiates became aware of the thousands upon thousands of microscopic processes at work within their own skin. Sebaceous glands produced their skin's oils. Tiny muscles attached to every hair along their bodies, pulling at them in rippling, involuntary waves. Their bodies seemed like separate beings, animal-shapes that their minds had merely attached to, along for the ride but not in control.

"Do you feel it? The fear inside you? It is the only thing your animal soul knows how to make." It was the mushroom talking to them, of course. The realization was so obvious, it hit the Novitiates like a crashing wave.

They turned their attention to it, the wisdom of the mushroom so profound and sincere and nonsensical that it brought tears to their eyes and knocked them to their knees. They looked at it and for the first time saw. It was not the mushroom, it was everything. It was this room. It was the whole pyramid. It was all of Photep. It was so clear now, it seemed impossible that they had not noticed it before. Like an imperceptible membrane, pulsing, undulating, its threading tendrils stretching out over and into everyone and everything, folding back over itself a million times a million times. It had mass without space and it grew and shrank outside of time. It reached through spaces that they did not know were there, so close they could touch but constantly out of reach. As they moved, it moved with them, their every motion and emotion mirrored like their reflection in the sky. It moved in and through them, nestling into the wet, dark caverns in their skulls. The age of it felt like the pressure of the deep ocean, impossibly ancient but reborn anew every waking moment.

"You cannot kill me in a way that matters." Said the mushroom, and they felt the fear reach up from their hearts and grab their brains in a crushing, caressing embrace. This was where they were meant to be, while they were everywhere, and so they could not escape while the fear still gripped them. They saw this, everything they ever were, and looked out into everything they never could be.

Well, that was far easier than Khaemtir thought it would be. He was certain Kho would have made him work a little more for it but it seemed he misjudged him. It wasn’t for him to judge and he’d take the easy route every time. “Seriously? It’s like the stars demanded our friendship! Of course we’ll come over. Annoying siblings is my specialty. Just let me know if there is anything else we can do to add to the fun.” Khaemtir babbled immediately, almost putting an arm around Kho―they were friends now so he could be affectionate, right? Probably not but where’s the fun in that?―when a familiar voice cut through his thoughts.

‘Stand up straight and still your tongue, little Khae. You have company.” Udjebten’s voice was sharp and direct in his mind as the tone drove him to attention reflexively. His mother had him on a string, even through his tutelary.

‘Who is important enough that you’re...oh. Khaemtir’s brain shut up as soon as the man―Magister Khalopis, Udjebten supplied silently when she realized he was far more focused on the shimmering heat than his introduction―approached them. He was a little dazed at the display of magic. It was probably little more than an evening trick than serious magic to him but Khaemtir couldn’t help but admire it. No wonder the little girl was dazzled by the Sorcerer; he was and he must have been about twice her age. Khaemtir wanted to ask so badly and his mouth would have taken off again as he looked on in child-like wonder, vibrarity with excitement, when his killjoy of a tutelary stomped hard on his toes.

‘You are a vile, awful creature.’ Khaemtir grumbled petulantly to Udjebten.

‘Wait your turn, little Khaem. You can pester the Magister once he’s made an introduction.’ Udjebten responded with a stern look from all three eyes.

The Kha'Sherhan

Responding to Ishara's surprise, Itzara replied, "You were not chosen on a whim. Sekhandur foresaw your commencement, and we have made preparations to accommodate you for some time." Her voice was as soft and delicate as she seemed to be. Her family name, Nefertari, meant "beautiful companion" in the Aemeni tribal dialect, and couldn't have been a more apt description. Were her family part of a concubine's Fellowship? One could only wonder.

Seating himself, Sekhandur commented, "Anyone in this Cabal could have done the same." He said, deflecting the comment with humility that Ishara could not be sure was genuine. "Except maybe Mekhari." He added, golden eyes flashing with mischief.

"Ah!" Mekhari made an insulted noise, and pressed his hand to his chest in a mocking display of offense. A round of chuckles broke through the Cabal at the friendly jest, save for Itzara, who only smiled demurely.

Looking back to Ishara, Sekhandur attempted to assuage her concerns. "We don't expect anything from you that any of us wouldn't also give. The purpose of the Kha'Sherhan is to uplift each other, and pool our talents and resources for the betterment of us all. We're stronger as brothers than as rivals." After a moment, he realized what he said didn't quite make sense, and tacked on, "So to speak."

"You're quite lucky to be working with Magus Dagon." Djedhor spoke up for the first time, looking Ishara in the eye. He seemed more steadfast than the playful Mekhari, which would hopefully make it easier to tell them apart. "He's considered the authority on aetheric projection. A few of us have spoken with him directly, hoping to gain some insight from him. You're fortunate to have ready access to a respected expert."

"I find him... unpleasant. To speak to, I mean." Ukris added his thoughts on the matter. "I always feel like there's something... wrong with him."

Not looking up from his drink, Sekhandur coolly replied, "Perhaps he leaves something of himself behind on his forays into the Aether."

"Perhaps my protege engages in far too much baseless speculation." spoke a long, low voice that did not have a readily apparent source.

Then, a second after she had heard it, Ishara noticed the speaker, who had evidently been using a telepathic technique to divert attention away from his presence. Standing behind Sekhandur, gripping the seated Novitiate firmly by the shoulders, was a tall man in hooded robes of gold and black. His hands and face were as white as bone, and his hair was the pure white of a rare desert cloud. The man's eyes were a raw, bloody red, as though he had just been weeping sanguine tears. The man's pallor gave him an unnatural, corpse-like appearance, and though his features were far from unpleasant, the effects of aging likely dulled by the use of biomancy, his white hair gave him the impression of senescence. This could be none other than the Magus Ashur Kai, known across Photep as the White Seer.

Where Makhai Amon was considered the most influential Sorcerer in all of Photep, those that cared to impose such rankings would be more likely to position Kai above him in terms of sheer ability. Kai was not one to dabble in politics, which he considered a waste of time. His distaste for such matters was as well known as his genius in crafting prophecy and divining the future and the unseen. So when the previous Magister of the Cult of the Crow, Mainyu Azekh, was sentenced to exile by the Crimson King half a century ago, rumor had it that he was not even considered for the position. However, he was content to throw the weight of his reputation around when it suited him, such as when given the opportunity to take on a young prodigy from the Pesedjdet as his pupil. What's more was that he took on Sekhandur as his only Novitiate, when it was common practice for Magi to take on two or more at a time.

"You gossip like an old woman, Sekhandur," he said in his dry, gravely voice, squeezing his Novitiate's shoulders as Sekhandur sat, clearly trying to mask his embarrassment. "I will have to break you of that habit. That said, the only thing wrong with Callis Dagon of the Irkuk is also wrong with me. He simply doesn't fare well in this climate." He looked over to Ishara, noticing that she was new among the gathering of Novitates, and his blood-red gaze bore down on her. "You are the newest of Sekhandur's little band of sycophants, yes? I'll say the same to you as I did to them: don't inflate his ego any more, else his head is likely to explode. If you become an obstacle to his studies, I will have such an obstacle removed."

Sekhandur rolled his eyes, wrenching free of Kai's grasp, "Magus, please." He complained like a child embarrassed by an overly doting parent. He addressed Ishara, apology written plain in his golden eyes, "Please don't mind my master, he is overly protective of me. It stems from his insecurity of having never sired children of his own." Kai seemed to take the returned barb in stride, though his smile had all of the warmth of a clenched fist.

---

Magister Khalophis

"Good, good." Said Khalophis, nodding in turn to each of the Novitiates. "Well, I look forward to speaking with you all again, perhaps once you're wearing something with a bit more color." He punctuated his sentence by picking up the corner of Radaam's cloak, and briefly looking at it with bemusement, before letting it fall back away. "I hope sincerely that young Zahra follows in your stead, Novitiate Esi. She has quite a spark in her, and I could see her achieving much... in the correct Cult." He finished slyly, side-eyeing Kho.

With that, he reached behind his head and plucked one of the peacock feathers from vestments, and held in carefully in front of him. He focused intently on the feather, gesticulating at it with his long, thin fingers. Then, with a spark, the feather went up in flames, but the feather itself was not consumed by the fire. The flame was white, smokeless, and seemed to emit no heat. Khalophis ran his fingers over the burning feather to show that it did no harm, nor did it spread onto his sleeve.

He offered the feather to Radaam, saying, "Give this to her, if you would. There's a good lad. Let her know that I hope we meet again in ten years' time." Not allowing any chance for objection, the Magister turned on his foot and marched back the way he came, leaving the Novitates alone with his strange memento.

Kho fared well enough before the Magister, but Radaam shouldn’t have been surprised; the Magister spoke to him like a family friend. He was shocked, however, to see Khaemtir of all people lose his tongue. He’d only known the boy for the lesser part of an afternoon and still it was foreign and strange to see him so silent, staring at the Magister like a child before a mural.

The Magister left little room for reply, and Radaam was still as a statue when he grabbed his cloak, eyes forward until he had a flaming feather thrust in his direction. His heart jumped into his throat at the sight of the white flame, but there was no choice but to take it; the Magister all but forced it into his hand. Holding it as gingerly as a thorned flower—though markedly moreso as he wasn’t confident this flower wouldn’t flare up to consume him—he practically threw it at his tutelary the moment the Magister turned his back, Toruk catching it fearlessly in his mouth.

“You heard him,” Radaam ordered sharply, the extra bite in his words most likely there to disguise the trembling in his voice and fingers, “take that to Zahra and deliver his message, then come straight back to me.”

Toruk didn’t need to be told twice, slithering off with the Magister’s frightening gift with surprising speed. Radaam could only relax when the white flame blinked out of sight, and a hand rubbed behind his neck came back damp with cold sweat. Dammit, yet another way to make a fool of himself, and in front of a Magister no less. Was his every insecurity intent on being dragged into the sun? And whose idea was it to give a child marred with burn scars a flaming feather as a gift?!

Oh, who was he kidding? She'd love it. Not only would she be absolutely elated by the magic, but the girl was so nonchalant around fire Radaam swore she didn't even remember her accident. No, it was just him, the grown man, who shrunk away from the torches on the walls—and the Pyromancers, apparently. Ugh. How learned and dignified he'd look making a wide berth around the Phoenixes in the Dijat. He could only pray that his actual aetheric prowess would justify his presence among the Sorcerers of the Heka, because his every other quality so far was falling pitifully short.

Or, hey, maybe they'd expel him from their ranks. Did the Khenetai accept Heka rejects?

Either way, that was enough humiliation for the day. He offered Kho a stiff nod. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Novitiate Bekenamun. Good luck with your studies, I’m sure we’ll meet again,” he bid his curt farewell, then turned to Khae. “We should find our families before they leave,” he suggested, though he dove into the crowd without waiting for an answer.

---

Kho stayed rigid and attentive as the Magister made what seemed to be his closing remarks. Hopefully the man hadn't found him distasteful; Khalophis was dismissive now, but what could one so low in the hierarchy expect from a Magister? The fact that he addressed them at all was a good sign. Probably. He seemed more interested in Zahra than anyone here anyway, though Kho couldn't make up his mind whether the implication a girl covered in burns should be a pyromancer was fitting or tasteless.

'The whole plaza can hear you thinking, you nervous wreck,' Teken teased in the back of his mind.

The boy's brow furrowed in visible irritation at the unheard comment as he worked his jaw in silence. Still respectful of the authority in their presence, his head subtly cocked toward the falcon on his shoulder, unamused, only for both novitiate and tutelary to immediately snap their attention to the feather in Khalophis' hand as it flared to life.

The white glow had Teken completely enraptured; the bird's head tilted and turned as its eyes pointedly followed the fire wherever it moved. The gleam in its eyes faded as Khalophis made his demonstration of the fire being harmless, but the falcon continued to watch until Toruk had carried the feather out of sight. Likewise, the tension in Kho's body visibly melted in the heatless flame. It looked to be such a simple spell - at least he assumed, it was just as likely a flame that didn't burn was the Magister's way of reinforcing the skill gap between them - but Kho could only think of what it would be like to do that himself.

Khalophis was long gone by the time Khotanebre snapped back to attention and stiffened with embarrassment at Radaam's farewell. He hoped the other novitiates hadn't noticed him standing there with his mouth parted in wonder like a drooling simpleton.

"Erm. Yes. Nice meeting you too. And, err, good luck," Kho rambled as he tried to get his thoughts in order. Right. He needed to talk to his family too. Wait, no, his magus was more important. He really needed to know how sorcerers were supposed to talk to each other before he ran into anyone else with a title around here. Dismissing himself with a quick bow to Khaemtir, Kho made his way back toward the dais they'd been inducted on, scanning the crowd for the imposing man with the embers for eyes.

When he finally located the man, Khotanebre approached to present himself before Magus Xavier with a stiff bow of his head. "Apologies if I kept you waiting, Magus."

---

@Obscene Symphony@Achronum@Dead Cruiser

Magus Xavier looked up a Kho with an expression that might have been bemusement. Given the otherworldly quality his burning eyes possessed, it was difficult to tell much of anything from his expression at all. He was seated relatively near the dais, in the company of a few other Sorcerers from their Cult, and had was clearly in the midst of enjoying the spread. A few empty plates were stacked in front of him, and he seemed to currently be working on the drumstick of some sort of roasted fowl. A large, brass goblet of water was positioned in front of him, with the hes he was filling it from positioned within arm's reach.

"It's no trouble. Come, have a seat." Xavier's voice rumbled deep in his chest, but did not seem as unearthly as his gaze. He pulled out the chair next to him and set another goblet in front of it, which he then filled with water from the hes without Kho's asking. "I noticed you were making new acquaintances, and felt no need to interrupt. I'm surprised you've set your sights so high so early, though, my young Novitiate." Xavier teased, grinning at Kho. Though the expression was probably meant to put him at ease, Xavier's eyes made it seem as sinister as any other expression he wore.

Kho took the seat he was offered with a thankful bow of his head. This guy seemed less intimidating than he should up close, at least. Though that could've just been because he was less imposing when seated. He took a sip from his goblet before responding, grateful for the drink in the midday heat, not to mention the stress-inducing conversation he'd just been through.

"Ah, I can't take much credit for that. I was sort of dragged into that discussion by one of the novitiates' curious younger sister. Who also garnered the attention of Magister Khalophis, apparently," Kho confessed, shrinking in his chair as he spoke.

Xavier laughed as he sipped from his cup, setting it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "It may behoove you to try and relax. This will certainly not be the last absurdity you encounter as a Sorcerer, and it will do you no good to twist yourself into knots over every peculiar situation you find yourself in. I know it sounds easier said than done, especially given the house you were raised in, but given enough time I hope you will find life as a Sorcerer liberating. It's impossible to completely escape the political machine," He added, shrugging, "But as long as you are diligent and professional, it will never seriously hinder you."

Yeah, relaxing would definitely do Kho some good. At this rate he'd have gray hairs by the end of the year. At the risk of appearing impolite, the boy kept his gaze on the water in his cup - easier to imagine Xavier as a pudgy uncle giving life advice when one couldn't see his face. "That's probably wise, yes. I'm not really versed on the proper decorum here and I didn't want to step on anyone's toes," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "but everyone else seems content enough with informality, so I think I might be worrying over nothing." At the very least, he had the 'diligent and professional' part down. Mostly.

"Set your expectations, test your approach, review your results, determine what you must change, and then start over again." Xavier prattled on between bites of his meal. "That's standard practice among Sorcerers, as you'll come to learn." He washed down his food with more water, and refilled his cup. "But we can speak more on that tomorrow. Discussing work while eating gives you indigestion." He looked back at Kho, appraising him seriously with his burning gaze. "Expectations and decorum aside, how are you feeling, Khotanabre? Is this what you want?"

How was Kho feeling? Nervous. Like he'd made an ass of himself all day. Way out of his league. But that was all over expectations and decorum. It sounded pointless when the Magus spelled it out like that.

"I'm feeling... good. Excited, I guess. Definitely eager. I aim to please, in any case," he mused, fussing with a stray lock of hair that had gotten tangled in his circlet. The redhead thought on the question for a moment more before letting out a soft chuckle, "I guess that still sounds like I'm not relaxed. I'll settle in, I'm sure of it." Familarity was all he needed to get over his nerves, but his primary concern needed to be magic now. The fact that he managed to forget that was probably the only social blunder he'd made today that he actually felt bad about in retrospect.

"It'll come with time," Xavier assured him, "Fretting over it won't do you any good." He reiterated, before setting the defleshed drumstick down on his now-empty plate. "In any case, you've done your due dilligence with me. Go join your family, let them fawn over you for a while yet. I'll meet you tomorrow in front of our Cult's pyramid at dawn." He poked Kho in the chest with a thick finger. "Be ready, boy."

That was it? Kho was getting dismissed that easily? That was much less stressful than he thought it would be. The boy flinched a bit at the prodding, but quickly composed himself to nod in understanding. He forced himself to meet Xavier's burning gaze as he replied, "Of course, Magus."

Standing from his seat, he adjusted his cloak and gave a quick bow to the other sorcerers nearby on the off-chance he'd interrupted anything. "Pardon me," He muttered quickly before departing, ignoring the muffled snickering coming from the avian voice ringing through his mind like a creeping headache. That bird was enjoying this more than he was, at this rate.

Khaemtir stood quietly for a moment after everyone left. It was a struggle to process but it seemed… he’d been left behind on this one. It was an unusual position for him. Intentionally or not, Khaemtir wasn’t blind to the fact that his energy usually swept people up in his stride and struggled to match pace with him. Other than with his family, he couldn’t think of a recent time where he hadn’t stayed in the center of the conversation, easily filling in awkward silences and unintentional pauses like it was his job, and it was jarring to be on the other end of the situation. An unwelcome sinking feeling filled his chest and he couldn’t stop the scowl that crossed his face. He hadn’t even had a moment to ask about the magic. That was probably the most disappointing part of this whole thing.

‘Oh yes. Keep your silence, she said. It’ll be fine, she said.’ Khaemtir shot mockingly at his tutelary along with his petulant glare.

‘It was not my intention to upset you, little Khaem. I apologize for my poor judgement on the matter.’ Udjebten sent back soothingly. ‘We’ve learned a valuable lesson from this; I’ll be sure to keep it in mind as we move on.’ Khaemtir clicked his tongue disapprovingly, a habit he’d unconsciously picked up from his mother, and carded a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath, forced himself to relax a little, and his smile returned. Not quite as bright and easy as before, the uncomfortable feeling clawing at his throat ensuring that, but much better than a scowl nonetheless. He still had fun planned later today after all so his mood brightened considerably.

“Well, we should be off. We have to find Radaam before he slips out of my clutches!” Khaemtir beamed, heading off in the direction his fellow Novitate ran off in.

“I expect you to play nicely with him, little Khae.” Udjebten said sternly as she fell in stride with him. Khaemtir laughed at that.

“When don’t I?”

Despite the sweltering heat within the chamber, Berenice's mind was near empty. She had cast aside unnecessary thoughts and emotions; searching for a meaning to the mushroom as well as sensing the flow of magic in her surroundings were the only things she strived for at that moment. One of the first things she had learned back when she started studying magic was to put herself in this kind of trance, for it was one of the most important thing a magus needed to learn in order to succeed in the long, arduous road of the arcane. Berenice did not think of herself as having mastered this particular skill, but she believed she had attained enough experience in it to help her solve this riddle.

And what riddle it was. Magus Nevrakis had given them no clues; with only luck and their wits about them, the trio had one by one sat down and meditated for what seemed to be hours for them. Then, just as Berenice's will was beginning to wane, a faint sound, akin to a whisper, was heard from somewhere within the chamber, catching her off guard. She immediately opened her eyes to look around for whoever had spoken, but found equally quizzical looks being given to her by the other two.

She was about to ask if any of them had spoken when she noticed some minute changes on the walls of the chamber. Amidst the cracks and uneven surface, now strange patterns started slowly emerging. The faint, ethereal glow about them almost mesmerized Berenice and she had to withdraw her attention lest she forgot herself entirely.

And then she heard it again, not a simple whisper this time. It was clear in her ears, and yet it struck her as gibberish. She felt as if she could understand it, but at the same time she could not. This split and diverging feeling threatened to overwhelm her, but she could not shake the voice off for it echoed in her mind. She felt her body react to the sound of voice, attuning itself with a wavelength wholly unfamiliar. She found her sensitivity had skyrocketed; everything from the tiny follicles of her hair to the blood vessels in her body, to the pores of her skin, Berenice could feel everything 'moving' with the rhythm of her heartbeat. She could feel the sloshing of liquid inside her skull, muscles all over her body relaxing and contracting.

All the while she was experiencing these newfound sensations, the voice was talking. It's droning did not go unnoticed by Berenice, but with the sheer sensory overload threatening to overwhelm her, she could not spare much attention to what it was saying, However, there was one thing she did pick up among the words that were spoken, something akin to her being afraid.

Her scrunched up face revealed a smile as the thought entered her mind. If the voice thought she was afraid of what was happening, then it was definitely not an omnipotent being conversing to them, for she was anything but. No, instead of being afraid, she was more so excited by the sheer uniqueness of the experience. Somewhere on the back of her mind, she held the belief that Nevrakis would not put their lives in danger on their very first lesson, so despite the weirdness of the situation she felt that with perseverance she would eventually overcome it.

But then it hit her, and she saw. Her eyes glossed over as if a door was pulled open for her to peer at the unknown. She found herself short of breath as tears started flowing profusely while at the same time, her mind felt connected to a well of knowledge; within that well resided an existence beyond any scope comprehension.

Then she felt the door slowly closing, and the voice slowly reverted back to a faint whisper. With its last words, Berenice felt as if a giant weight slipped off her, leaving behind only a massive headache. She held her head in her hands, trying but failing to stay lucid. With a final, blurred up look at the pedestal where the mushroom was situated, Berenice fell to the side with a thump. There was but only one thought in her mind.

"What an interesting little mushroom..."

---

Initially she raised an eyebrow at Itzara's comments that Sekhandur had forseen her coming, and that they'd planned for her from the start to accommodate her to boot! It was something to be expected for those who looked into the future itself, perhaps, but even so it was something most curious to be told and ponder over as well. Not that she wouldn't have more time to think on it, perhaps divine to see what may come in due time even. Yet it was the appearance of the golden prince's very teacher that caught her most by surprise in the end, flinging her out of her train of thought as she was left staring for a moment. The intimidating older magus was definitely something to behold for Ishara, though to see the very White Seer himself (Magus Ashur Kai) standing here was something more notable to her than his appearance!

He hadn't earned that designation of his for nothing, and to work so hard and gain such respect for his skill and work was something she respected greatly herself. It made butterflies flit about in her stomach, and the weight of his gaze was something fierce. Yet doing her best to keep a calm appearance and hold herself well, as the fear of embarrassing herself here or dooming her future was greater than it already was, the green-haired girl gave a respectful and deep nod to the older magus. She also met eyes with Sekhandur for a moment, letting a glimmer of understanding cross her face before calmly steeling herself to speak to the boy's master.

"I wouldn't seek to pull down a peer in their studies, nor distract them from them," she said, answering the Magus' rather pressing question as she tried to do her best under the pressure of his sudden presence.

...Though the bit about Magus Dagon and himself not being suited for 'this climate' was something that made sense. All had a 'climate' they were best suited to, even if they had to work to find which it was. For example, she'd be more than woefully under-prepared to being a fisherman or taking on a job like her mothers each did! Such a climate would be totally ill for her. Such was seemingly true for Sorcerers as well, who might be best suited to being around their work and peers than a big social gathering (if her theory was correct enough).