At first, Sirvan simply sat there in a meditative stance and emptied his mind of unnecessary thoughts. Silencing his mind with his eyes closed and focused on the task given to him. Though what he could gain about meditating to a mushroom is beyond him. Maybe something will click, or he could just be wasting his time. Sirvan did not mind the heat in the closed chamber and if things came to it. He would instead meditate and relax instead do menial labor or something for Nevrakis. Maybe her future lessons would be more enlightening.

Then he heard something like a whisper and opened his eyes. He looked around for a bit for the source. It did not sound like Berenice or Sarah, and no one else is in the room. Sirvan shrugged it off, thinking it was nothing and went back to meditating. Then soon enough another sound came to him, only this one was more clearer. He opened his eyes again to find the source, but, quickly, it has no source. Not a physical one, and noticed the walls of the room now changing. Random shapes forming, and even the floor was the same. What is happening, Sirvan thought as he grabbed his head in confusion. Trying to make sense of what is happening. Being overwhelmed with the sudden sensation of his body. Feeling every muscle, every heartbeat, his blood moving through his veins.

As the voice said, he did start to feel fear. Fear of what is happening and what is going to happen next. Looking directly at the mushroom and his eyes watered up. What mushroom is this? A question that had no answer and voice was more clear and loud than before. These feelings. It was something he could not describe, not to himself and not to anyone. Seeing and feeling everything at once like it was always there. Just waiting below the surface, waiting to be discovered, and it was overwhelming for him. Sirvan was not sure of what to make of it, really.

For him, the stress of it all was wearing him out fast as the mushroom said its last piece. Sirvan felt his vision blur and one last moment of clarity, he could see his path. Everything that he was could be and never be. Then he felt it getting torn from his mind as darkness started to overtake him. His only last thought before being enveloped in darkness was and falling on his back was. Unbelievable before his consciousness finally failed him.

The Dijat of Heka

The misty, grey-skied hours just before dawn were a solemn, almost sacred time in Photep. The chill of night hung in the air, and fog rolled off the ocean to fill the spaces around the tallest buildings like potting soil in a garden. A city of this size was never truly still, with many going about nightly business even at these small hours, but the streets were as empty as they ever were, and there were few windows still lit. The most common sights on the wide, long boulevards that fed into the Dijat at the city's heart were the red-uniformed officers of the Order Khenetai, patrolling in pairs with their bronze blades hung at their hips. Youths barely old enough to take up professions may have spurred them to stop and question where they had to be at such a time, but the sight of Sorcerer's cloaks over their shoulders prompted only short, polite greetings.

The Dijat itself was alive at this hour, although only marginally. Sorcerers milled about, talking quietly in small groups or setting out on various errands. At a distance they seemed like formless shadows in the morning fog, but up close they seemed as normal as anyone else. The majority weren't wearing their cloaks, which were primarily ceremonial in purpose, instead opting for unobtrusive sashes, lanyards, or other accessories in Acolyte yellow or Practicus green to denote their rank. Most still wore their Cult's signifying brooch at their shoulder or neck. Unlike at the reception following the commencement yesterday, these Sorcerers cavorted with their Tutelaries openly, which took on a variety of forms ranging from the mundane to the fantastic. Almost none of the Sorcerers paid any mind to the arriving Novitiates, who moved together in obvious packs of nervous, white-cloaked youths, but some offered short greetings or asked if they needed directions.

By the time most of the Novitiates had found their Cult's pyramid and milled outside of its entrance, the sun began to rise over Photep. Desert sunrises were always a glorious spectacle of amber skies and a sun that hung huge and hazy over the horizon like an overripe fruit, but in the Dijat it seemed almost surreal. The crystalline exteriors of the Cult pyramids caught the sunlight like huge prisms, refracting the light into millions of sunbeams that wove through the plaza like a tapestry of pure radiance. The pattern intertwined with that of the paving stones of the Dijat, creating an enormous mosaic of light and stone that was too intricate and precise to have possibly been accidental. The enormous glass reliefs molded on the inward faces of the pyramids, each denoting the Cult that resided within, seemed to come to life as though each one had its own sun shining directly behind it. Perhaps every Novitiate had heard Photep called "the city of light" at least once before, but after seeing this there could be none that did not understand from where that appellation came.

---

The Cult of the Crow

A loose throng of Novitiates congregated outside the entrance to their Cult's pyramid. The true entry to the monument was down a ways through the tunnel that led deeper into the pyramid's center, but none of them stepped any further than just within the shade of the tunnel's entrance. They each recognized each other at least nominally from yesterday's ceremony, but those that were appointed to the same Magus tended to stand more closely together. As dawn rose over the Dijat, some did not notice as other figures emerged from the pyramid to greet them. Some were the Magi that had accepted Novitiates, and were greeting their students personally. Others had sent their assistants to escort the Novitiates to their chambers, leading to a few awkward interactions between them and Novitiates that did not recognize fellow Sorcerers if they weren't wearing cloaks.

One such assistant greeted the Novitiates assigned to Magus Dagon. He was tall, somewhat handsome, a fair few years older than them, and his black hair was cut to hang just over his ears. He wore conservative dark-blue robes, which contrasted with the sea-green sash he wore over them, designating his rank of Practicus. His expression was serious, but not unkindly, merely businesslike and focused. His Tutelary perched on his shoulder, an iridescent hummingbird the size of a pigeon, its strange appearance making it seem almost insect-like.

"You are Esi, Thumotep, and Maryatum, yes? I am Sorcerer-Practicus Menes, retainer to Magus Dagon. If you'll follow me, I will take you to his chambers." His voice, similar to his appearance, was firm, to the point, but not unpleasant.

He led them along through the passageway to the pyramid entrance, and stopped before the door flanked by two Acolytes. They were still blinking the sleep from their eyes, and seemed annoyed by having to open and close the door so many times for the arriving Novitiates. Wordlessly, Menes selected a sequence of runes on the door's surface, each changing color as he touched them, until the final two were chosen by the Acolytes standing watch. The runes all shifted from green to black at once, and the doors slid open before them.

"This is the Hall of Prophecy," Menes explained as they stepped into the pyramid, sounding not unlike a guide in one of Photep's many historical museums or art galleries. "Its purpose is primarily ceremonial, and commemorates the prophecies and omens divined by our Cult that have contributed the most to Photep's prosperity."

The Hall was quite dark, almost foreboding, lit only by scores of candles that lined the walls, old wax cascading down their rows like frozen waterfalls. The hall was practically choking with incense smoke, which poured from hanging censers, filling the room with the cloying scents of cinquefoil and cinnamon. The majority of the room was dominated by hanging displays, mostly tapestries, ostensibly meant to signify important prophecies that the Cult of the Crow had some hand in divining. If it had not been for Menes' explanation, that fact may very well have been missed by the Novitiates, as the displays were quite esoteric. Tapestries woven to display strange runes and arcane symbols hung from thick silk ropes, lining the walls above the candles and filling the space of the high vaulted ceiling. Most were smoke-stained by the candles and incense, and many had strange fetishes accompanying them or woven into their structure. Crystal shards, stone fragments, and yellowed fortune cards hung as part of these displays, most likely the tools by which these prophecies came to be known. Some more barbaric displays featured old cracked bones, or the hides of animals. More strange than the symbolic representations themselves were those that were clearly missing; there were numerous gaps in the long rows of tapestries, the difference in the color of the stone wall revealed by these spaces clearly indicating that something had been removed relatively recently.

"There are many texts within the pyramid library explaining the significance of these effigies, if you care to inquire about them. I recommend doing so when you are not busy with your studies; the work of the old masters can be quite inspiring." Menes explained dutifully, making no mention of the removed displays.

Menes continued to usher the Novitiates through the Hall and into an adjoining passageway, which was thankfully better lit and less ominous. He didn't have as much to say about the rest of the pyramid as he led them through it, but there was frankly less to talk about. Just a few hallways and stairwells that led to other parts of the pyramid, such as Novitiates' chambers and various rooms for quiet study or meditation. He recommended finding an older Novitiate or Acolyte to give them a proper tour at some point, pointedly not offering to do so himself. After ascending some ways into the higher levels, they arrived at their destination: the personal chambers of Magus Dagon.

Pushing open a heavy but well-maintained wooden door, Menes invited the Novitiates through, stepping in behind them once the last of them had entered, and shut the door behind them. The space was clean, well-organized, and smelled pleasant, though the lanterns in the room were somewhat scarce, leaving some of it still cloaked in darkness. Many shelves lined the walls, stacked neatly with books and scrolls, and magical apparatuses of brass and crystal and other, less recognizable materials were distributed throughout the room. Dagon himself sat on the floor at a low table, scratching some notes into a book set before him with a tawny quill. He looked markedly different than he had the day prior, his skin seemed less sickly pale, and some of the lines on his face had vanished, making him seem younger and more approachable. He still wore thick, sand-colored robes, but his cloak was elsewhere and his hands were uncovered this time, although there was nothing unusual about them. He glanced up at the arriving Novitiates, and it was clear that the bright blue fire in his eyes had not changed, and was just as unsettling as it had been yesterday.

"Ah, welcome." He said, not rising from his seat. Like his complexion, his voice sounded more hale today, without the overtone of suffering he carried during the commencement. He looked to the Practicus and said simply, "Thank you Menes, I won't have any further need of you today." Menes nodded courteously and left as Dagon returned his attention to his Novitiates. "Come, sit, make yourselves comfortable. You may leave your sandals at the door, and hang your cloaks just beside them if you like. We have much to talk about. Would any of you like tea, or water?"

---

The Cult of the Phoenix

A similar scene unfolded at the entrance to the pyramid of the Cult of the Phoenix, as Novitiates awaited their first full day as Sorcerers with a mix of eagerness and nervous anticipation. The throng of white cloaks looked about as similar in diversity as that in front of any other pyramid; no more among them looked like pyromancers than those belonging to any other cult, though it was difficult to say what precisely a pyromancer looked like. The small crowd gradually thinned, and as Khotanabre wondered whether he would be greeted by his Magus or if Xavier would delegate the task, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder broke him from his thoughts.

"You're on time, Khotanabre." Said Xavier, his deep voice rumbling like a rockslide. "As good a start as any. Come, let's have a walk. The day is young and I have not yet eaten breakfast." He punctuated his statement by patting his prominent belly. He smiled at Kho, but the affection of the gesture was still undone by his unearthly gaze.

Xavier was not dressed as flamboyantly as he had the day prior, merely covering himself with an undyed pullover robe that hung from his generous middle, and he walked on modest sandals. If it had not been for the black cloak over his shoulder and his burning eyes, he might have looked like anyone's grandfather out for a morning stroll. He set off at a gentle pace, hands clasped behind his back, and set out eastward, down an avenue aimed almost directly toward the rising sun. Shopkeepers lining the sides of the street were just preparing for their day, setting out produce and erecting temporary stalls and banners.

"What is your pleasure, son? Fruit? Bread? A bit of fish? I think today I'll just have flatbread. Maybe with some bean paste." He chuckled to himself, before saying, "I made something of a fool of myself overeating yesterday. I can't digest spices like I did when I was a young man. My wife would give me quite the earful if I didn't eat more modestly today."

---

The Cult of the Serpent

An unfamiliar ceiling greeted the bleary eyes of the Novitiates of the Cult of the Serpent as they awoke. It was unpainted stone, but well-maintained and seemed to be lit by daylight. They quickly found that the three of them were all laying close enough to reach one another, and had been deposited onto an old woven rug that seemed to have been originally dyed green and blue. A scratchy woolen blanket had been thrown over the three of them, their heads felt dull and stuffy, and their stomachs churned uneasily, but beside all of that they were alive and healthy. They were still in the clothes they had been wearing when they entered the chamber with the mushroom, and some of the sandy clay from the room's floor still clung to their skin and hair.

Sitting up and taking in the rest of the room, they seemed to be in some kind of peculiar study. The sun shone in from a generously proportioned window on the room's east-facing wall, and much of that side of the room was arrayed with potted plants and glass cases that seemed to hold more plants. A heavy curtain divided the room in half, drowning everything behind it in darkness that the Novitiates were too foggy-headed to quite see through. That aside, this seemed to be someone's living quarters. A table and some cooking implements took up the middle of the room, where they saw a pot of water boiling over a small brazier. The wall closest to them was taken up by a bookshelf crammed with reading materials, as well some latched wooden cases, their contents unknown. A few decorative pieces hung on the walls, mostly animal skins and other tribal fetishes.

Their observations of the room were broken by the emergence of Nevrakis from behind the shadow of the curtain. She was holding what looked like an embalmer's tool, which she set down atop a nearby terrarium when the noticed the Novitates awake and looking at her. Her hair was tied up in yet another messy bun, and she wore only a very simple woolen robe, looking much like she had just woken up, herself. Her gem-adorned bangles still hung from her wrists and ankles; the only thing marking her out as something other than a normal woman that had just rolled out of bed.

"Oh good, you're still alive." She said, not completely sounding like she was joking. "I imagine you've got quite a lot you need to unpack from that experience. Have some coffee, it helps."

She knelt down at the table in the room's center and set out three ugly ceramic cups in front of her Novitiates. She then took the water she had boiling and strained it through a sieve full of coffee grounds into an equally-ugly clay hes. The rich aroma of hot, fresh coffee filled the small chamber, and she poured out three cups for the Novitiates and one for herself, paying no mind to any objections. She set her implements down and seated herself at the table properly, took a long, luxurious sip of her coffee with her eyes closed, and opened them again to look at the Novitiates.

"Go on, drink. Then we'll talk." Seeing their hesitation, she rolled her eyes and added, "It's only coffee, I promise you."

---

Khotanebre took a place in the midst of the crowd, hoping to use the body heat of the other novitiates as a ward against the cold that still lingered before daybreak. The same pristine white cloak was pulled tight over his body to conceal a bright but otherwise unremarkable tunic, and he'd forgone the ostentatious jewelry of the previous day. Internally, Kho was grateful he did; the elder sorcerers seemed so casual as they went about their early morning duties, and he didn't want to seem out of place no matter what his parents lectured about the importance of being seen. Even his care to arrive early for his first day was matched by several other overeager or simply early-rising novitiates, and he was never without a group of people to simply blend into. Even Teken, normally lethargic at this hour, was attentively surveying the crowd from his perch atop Kho's shoulder, ever careful not to rip any clothing with his talons.

The boy tensed noticeably as a hand landed on his shoulder, though he quickly shrunk into a more relaxed posture once Xavier's presence registered in his mind. His lesson... started with breakfast? The Magus really enjoyed food, it seemed. Possibly by design; it made him personable where the glowing eyes certainly did not. Not that Kho was complaining, he was eager but not exactly in a rush to become sorcerer supreme of the whole Dijat to the point where he couldn't accomodate his mentor's friendly mealtime gestures.

Kho fell into step obediently beside Xavier as the man led him away from the Dijat. An odd choice, in Kho's opinion; he'd expected the Magus would take his meals inside the pyramid, though perhaps he had a favored food vendor that he wanted to purchase from personally. At the Magus' questioning, Kho tugged innocently at the collar of his cloak in thought. "Oh, anything's fine. I'm not all that hungry."

"We want fish!" Teken interjected.

"You want fish," Kho corrected with a sideways glare.

"Do you not want fish?"

"I just said I don't care."

"Then we'll take some fish, please," The bird chirped triumphantly at Xavier.

Kho sighed in concession, returning his attention to the Magus as well. "Fish, then, if that's okay. Something light." Apologizing for his tutelary's actions seemed like an exercise in futility in front of Xavier, no matter how embarrassing. The man would surely see Teken make many more blunders over the course of Kho's apprenticeship and wasting his breath every time would just make him look incompetent. Still, he'd have to chide the falcon later on principle.

---

@Dead Cruiser

The evening prior had been a success on all fronts, Khaemtir believed. The meeting between Radaam’s family and his own had been more than a little awkward and even though his own family had been polite and kind, he didn’t need to be a sorcerer of the Crows to see there was going to be a full interrogation about the situation later. Radaam’s stilted introduction sealed his fate on that matter. And sure enough, as soon as his mother got him alone, it was rapid fire questions and demands. “Why was he so uncomfortable?” and “You should help your friends more!” and “Khaemtir Lagus Mantheo Maryatum, you had better help him settle in or you’ll bring shame to the family!” Never mind that he had an entirely new world to settle into and he was her flesh and blood. Honestly, the whole name was a little much considering not even a candle length’s more, he was entertaining the guy in question in their home!

Which was surprisingly fun. Not that he’d thought it wouldn’t be; if he had, Khaemtir wouldn’t have invited them over. No, he was surprised that it was more entertaining than he thought. Radaam was an awkward little―well okay, not so little―thing and it was quite the source of amusement. Khaemtir’s stories were fresh for him and he had an interesting outlook when he offered input. Not that he offered a lot but a conversation has to go two ways sometimes. Of course, Ishara came along as well which gave him an opportunity to barrage her with conversation when Radaam was looking overwhelmed. Not to mention, she gave them an interesting look into how something worked. Apparently, she’d been approached by a Cabal, a sort of informal Fellowship with the Cults. Khaemtir almost let a barbed comment slip, an unnecessarily nasty jab at ehr lack of tutelary, when she mentioned it. That ugly irritation reared its head again but his oh so wonderful sixty pound familiar decided it was a fantastic time to demand to sit in his lap, using one leg balanced painfully on his toes to give her enough height to pull herself up. She’d berated him silently for a solid five minutes after that.

But over all, a success! Friendships were formed, information was shared, and Khaemtir retired to bed more excited than when he woke. Now, here he was, drinking in the morning sun as it rose above the Dijat of Heka. The light positively danced between the pyramids, the result more spectacular than Khaemtir could have ever imagined. He couldn’t keep his eyes in one place for too long though, oohing and awing over every tulutary even as he judged them and their Sorcerers mentally with Udjebten. An activity which he immediately drew Radaam and Ishara into as soon as he caught sight and pulled the group together. And if he was doing it to avoid thinking about the massive, intimidating pyramid that signalled the end of a life and the beginning of something completely and utterly forgeign, well… only Udjebten would know.

He’d deny it with his dying breath though.

Eventually, tall, dark, and stoic showed up to guide them to Magus Dagon, leaving little room to converse. Not that that ever stopped Khaemtir, who immediately fell in step with the Sorcerer-Practicus and opened his mouth. He was a nervous talker, what could he say?

‘You could try nothing, little Khaem.’ Udjebten shot back to the accidental though form where she trotted next to him. ‘The good Sorcerer-Practicus does not seem to be a morning person.’ Khaemtir only spared her a dignified sniff and he felt her laughter in the back of his mind.

“That was amazing. How does it work? Obviously magic but does a person have to be a Sorcerer to interact with it or are the runes inherently magical?” Khaemtir asked Menes, who clearly had a singular focus. Tough crowd. Khaemtir was still on the fence though. Avoid or break through? His stoicism was definitely different from Radaam’s awkwardness but there could still be a good friend underneath that. Or a useful connection but Khaemtir liked to think friend was… well, more friendly! But those thoughts ground to a halt in the Hall of Prophecy. Ceremonial or not, it was an impressive room with impressive displays once you learned to breathe again. He couldn't’ imagine spending any significant amount of time in here was good for extended study but he figured that was to be expected. He didn’t understand a single thing on these tapestries but he had a bit of familiarity with the objects associated with them. He attributed the empty spaces to wear and tear; this amount of smoke couldn’t be good for any sort of fabric, especially old ones. He nodded at Menes’ suggestion, fully intent on looking into these. While Divination wasn’t quite the subject for him, understanding significant events of the Cult that took him in seemed an important task.

Khametir was going to follow up with questions but Menes’ polite, preemptive deflection was enough to keep those from spilling out. At least he knew which side of the wall he’d come tumbling down on. Menes fell firmly in the breakthrough group now. Maybe not immediately but once he’d figured out how things work in here, Menes would be having lunch with him once a week at least. “So what do we think guys? Ready to learn about everything?” Khaemtir beamed at Ishara and Radaam, gesturing back to the Hall of Prophecy. “I’d at least like to know enough to understand what I was looking at!” Of course, he turned his attention away just as they stopped at Magus Dagon’s door and he nearly found himself colliding into Menes if not for a last minute twist that had him stumbling for half a second.

Khaemtir, once Magus Dagon gave permission, slipped off his sandals and hung his cloak, bouncing over to a seat as he took in the room. Water, if I may sir.” Khaemtir replied politely, even as he itched to nose around. The lack of light was anything but annoying, the pleasant aroma mingling with the low lighting to ease tension out of the eyes and face. It was somewhere Khaemtir could fall asleep in no problem if he wasn’t as keyed up as he was. “The Hall of Prophecy was amazing. Are we permitted there freely or do we require permission? Sorcerer-Practicus Menes suggested we study them outside of our usual studies in the library but I imagine the Hall is an excellent source of motivation for doing so. Though, I guess that begs the question of why don’t we study them in our normal course of study. If they’re important to the history of the Cult, shouldn’t we?” Udjebten gave him a look from where she was still settling next to him and he promptly shut his mouth.

Radaam had never experienced such an exhausting evening in his life.

He’d done just about every odd job on the Chenziri Strip thrice over, everything from hauling bricks and bags of plaster to whitewashing houses, tiling rooves, and all manner of heavy lifting, and while those jobs would leave him falling into bed like a dead man at the end of the day, he’d never been quite so eager for something to just end. But that was the prevailing theme of his night of entertainment courtesy of Khaemtir: a pervasive exhaustion so potent it even had Toruk nosing at him in concern.

He couldn’t blame Khaemtir, though. By all accounts, he’d been more welcoming than Radaam would have ever expected from an aristocrat hosting a peasant, and his mother had been similarly eager to make him and his family feel at ease, both in the Dijat and at the Maryatum estate. But—and Radaam could possibly entertain the idea that this was just him being overly cautious—between their families’ meeting at the Dijat and Khaemtir’s strangely fascinated digging into the life and times of commoners, every single moment had felt like he’d been treading a razor’s edge of uncharted social expectations. Not to mention that Zahra waving around her flaming gift when he got home hadn’t helped much to ease his mind.

More and more it seemed like he really should consider taking the unspoken advice Khaemtir seemed to be constantly hinting at and try to relax. But how could he? He was probably the first peasant—and the first Chenzira at that—that these people had ever meaningfully spoken to, and for all he knew, one misstep would colour their opinion of his entire community. It wasn’t that he and his neighbours had any issues with the greater Photep population or anything, but he certainly didn’t want to be the one to get any started!

But, he’d begrudgingly admit it wasn’t all bad. Khaemtir’s interest in his life and family had initially been strange, but he couldn’t deny that there was something kind of nice about capturing someone’s interest. Ishara also had some intriguing news to share, a story about some Pesedjet prodigy of a Novitiate (mentored by the White Seer, no less) and his ‘Cabal’, a study group of sorts by the sound of it. She seemed strangely nervous about it, despite describing the encounter with great enthusiasm, leaving Radaam a little uncertain of exactly where she stood on the matter—or why she accepted the offer in the first place. Then again, she did come across a little eccentric in general. Maybe it was a quirk of a ‘prodigy’.

In any case, Radaam had no intention of clouding his mind with the previous evening’s worries and confusions. Instead, he took a deep breath of cool morning air, watching a new sun rise over the Dijat, himself and his fellow novitiates gleaming like limestone in their white cloaks as they awaited further instruction. Khaemtir did sniff him out, of course, but Radaam didn’t mind; it didn’t take long to recognize that the boy was harmless, and without a bunch of other nobles prowling around the Dijat like yesterday, he was feeling a little more at ease. The gossip and tittering could be satisfied with just a word or two of response before Khaemtir would fly off with the conversation once again, and that worked for Radaam just fine.

The gossip was mostly silenced when their group was collected and guided into the pyramid by Practicus Menes, and just like the others, Radaam couldn’t help but stare around in abject wonder at the grand displays of history and artifacts adorning the walls. He couldn’t even pretend to understand it—Divination had never been a particular focus of his in school—but to see them there, physical manifestations of some vastly important contribution to Photep, he was quite sure anyone would be helpless to curiosity. Maybe he’d take Menes’ advice and look into the events further in the library; in light of recent days, a nice quiet place to read certainly had its appeal.

Poor Khaemtir was floundering in the silence, but it was a welcome change for Radaam. He was happy to let Menes lead as curtly as he’d like, offering little more than a half-sympathetic glance to Khaemtir and a nod when he was addressed. Arriving at Magus Dagon’s chambers shot that familiar jolt of awkward nervousness back into his chest, he’d not deny, but the dim lighting and fragrant air did help to take the edge off. With the air still, the tables low, and the pyramid generally quiet—a marked difference from the loud, colourful extravagance of commencement—it was becoming easier to picture himself as a student rather than an intruder.

Dagon’s welcoming reception did more of the same, and Radaam respectfully obliged, less self-conscious about his rough, rust-coloured tunic in the relative dark. He had no sandals to leave at the door, though, so his cloak hung alone; easier to keep distinguished from the others, he supposed, as if the considerable difference in length didn’t accomplish that already. Much less skittish than the day before, he sat where indicated, legs tucked beneath him, but politely shook his head at the offer. “I’ll go without, Magus, if that’s alright. Thank you.”

It took some time before Sirvan woke up unfortunately to a headache. Grabbing his head as he opened his eyes. Covering his eyes from the daylight that lit up the room at first before his eyes slowly adjusted. He slowly sat up and quickly found that he was no longer in the chamber. Finding that his other novitiates were lying down on the ground near him. Still knocked out like he was and it was clear that they were moved to where ever they are. Noting the daylight, how long were they out? All night and is it morning or mid-day? Sirvan wondered as continued to look around. Trying to figure where he was and noticed that he was someone personal study. Who's study is this, is this Nevrakis's room or someone else's? In which case where is she?

As his head started to clear as he looked around did Sirvan see Nevrakis seemly coming from the shadows. Well, that answers one question, he thought as he watched the Magus seemly appear from the shadows. Sirvan was slightly surprised to see her that way and she looked like she just got out of bed. How long has she been in here and how long was she waiting for them to wake up? And with is with that embalmer's tool and was one of several questions he had in his mind. Staying silent and checked his body for cuts and found no such wounds and felt relieved. What no, no way she would do that right? No, she would not, he thought. But, after what happened last night... who knows what will happen down the road if her lessons are like that.

Sirvan watched as Nevrakis prepared the coffee for them at the table in the middle of the room. She was sure that coffee would help get through whatever they went last night. Understandably hesitant to accept the coffee as it is. Even when Nevrakis said it was just coffee and took a sip from her cup. He put his hands on his right temple from the lingering headache. "Coffee, Nevrakis....uh, sure". Sounding unsure and went to grab a cup. Bring it close to him and stared at it for a few seconds. Instead of drinking it, Sirvan chooses to look back at the unconscious bodies of his fellow Novitiates. Waiting for them to wake up before he even tries to drink the coffee.

---

To say the previous night had been eventful was something of an understatement. She had run into everything from the White Seer, to her predecessor and former top student of Pesedjet, to frankly speaking getting to talk to the other members of this Fellowship that had planned to invite her for apparently some time. Listening in on Sorcerer Dagon's conversation had been less a thing to answer questions than frankly speaking create even more of them, and beyond that it had been a long night of conversation as her mother and her mother had apparently gone about speaking to other and at times later on pulled her in. It had been enough to try to let all sink in, but even so she still felt it wasn't quite all sunk in as of yet. Even now she felt her mind drawing at the strings of last night's conversations at the event and even after it with Radaam and Khaemtr at Khaem's place, especially oddly in regards to this Fellowship she'd been accepted an invitation to so quickly! She'd done her best to talk of that, but between the excitement and nerves she'd worried about seeeming like a mess.

Yet going to Khaem's place she had obviously said hello to the elderly groundskeeper as always, though barely remembered to send her mother's regards as she'd been told to do before leaving last night, though it was when the three of them as Noviates sat around to talk that things had gotten...interesting. Khaem's tales of his family were rather unsurprising to her, though she knew how much it seemed to weigh on the boy in general. The family this, the family that, and yet frankly in her eyes all she saw was Khaem himself. Sure his work ethic and hers, ah, 'differed' somewhat...but even so he had gotten himself here. She respected that! Even so, she had also done her best to attempt to soothe the more than obvious nerves and overwhelmed feelings of Radaam. Not that it wasn't new to him and...ah...goodness it made her feel a bit awkward to make someone else so awkward. Did that even make sense? Maybe. Frankly speaking to someone from a differing social circle entirely was not something she'd assume was easy. Like, for example, when she and her birth mother had gone to an event held by the 'workers' of another temple in order to foster good relations. Talk about stepping into what felt like another world!

Though...for her the night had somewhat ended when Khaem cut in sharply about her lack of a tutelary. It had been enough to make her leave the room, though later she heard that Udjebten had promptly moved into Khaem's lap and berated him. It was somewhat of a sensitive subject for her, as...well...for someone dubbed a 'prodigy' she lacked the one thing all those other prodigies and even other students otherwise already could do! Such a dumb little detail, and yet people seemed to hold it over her! Or at least it felt like such. The pressure to succeed in that area was intense, she'd even had nightmares sometimes about it with people laughing down on her! Frankly she was at the point of "giving it one last try" before giving up on the matter, such was her feelings about it, and luckily she knew that one last try would be coming.

Even so, as they were guided on a mini-tour on their way to see their master Ishara did her best to soak in the sights and events. Especially the rune-operated magic door! There would be much to explore and read about on her own later for sure! Yet perhaps the best part was when Khaem pulled her and Radaam back into a group to examine the other Tutelaries along the way. Not because it was an activity that fascinated her as much per say, but frankly because it felt like a movement back to 'normal' rather than a continuation of the prior night. She still felt slightly awkward about it, notwithstanding her usual move to not mention last night's 'incident' to avoid confronting it all over again, but more and more she felt some sense of ease. Besides, after a few minutes she'd come back and they'd kept talking! Ah, that was good. Yes.

Though as the older magus spoke to them, offering to let them get comfortable and even have something to drink, the green-haired girl's smile seemed to perk up slightly more. Yes, they'd be getting started in all of this! So much to do, learn, and see! Yet it would be rude to not accept such hospitality given by their master.

"I'd happily accept your offer for some tea!"

She spoke politely in response as she took off her sandals and cloak and placed them in the appropriate spot. Even so, she did intently listen in to Khaem's questions as he rambled them off to Magus Dagon. Some of those things she was curious about as well! Besides, what better way to start the learning but with a cup of soothing tea?

Magus Xavier

Xavier smiled at the exchange between Kho and Teken, but said to them as it resolved, "We'll find you some fish if that's what you want, Khotanebre. Keep in mind which among the two of you is the master." A thought appeared to cross his mind, and he snapped his fingers, as though just remembering something. "Ah, of course." He said, seemingly to himself.

The temperature in their immediate area seemed to drop suddenly, even colder than the cool desert morning, and Kho could see his breath in front of his face for just an instant. Just as quickly, the chill was replaced by a blast of hot air as something seemed to spontaneously combust on Xavier's shoulder. A whiff of sulfur accompanied the conflagration, but the flames and smoke then began to twist and coalesce into a distinct form. After a moment of watching the fire weave itself although it were reeds being made into a basket, it became clear that what had manifested was a reptilian creature made of living smoke and flame. Its eyes burned like magma, and its claws and spines glimmered like iridescent coal. It crawled about so its head rested on one side of Xavier's broad shoulders, and its tail wrapped about the other.

"Breakfast?" Xavier asked the fire lizard.

"Dates." The creature croaked without a moment's hesitation. It licked its eye in a gesture reminiscent of a mundane lizard, but its tongue was smooth black anthracite, and sent cinders flying as it struck its own burning eye.

Looking back to Kho, Xavier said, "Drygnir and I have worked together for many years. It took time and effort, but we have an understanding of when to live as equals, and when to live as master and Tutelary." He tilted his head to show that he did not mean to lecture Kho. "Food for thought."

They walked further along the boulevard, passing by several market stands that seemed perfectly decent to Kho, but Xavier didn't spare them a passing glance. Evidently, he had somewhere specific in mind for them to eat. Kho was no stranger to Photep's wealthiest and most opulent districts, but the area immediately surrounding the Heka seemed a world apart for reasons he could not quite place his finger on. It was if everything and everyone moved in flawless synchronicity. Each person they passed by had a place to be, or something to do, and knew exactly when they had to be there or do it. Even the birds and the falling leaves from trees seemed in step with some kind of invisible rhythm. It reminded him of the work of a master painter, the mathematical perfection of his composition worked into every brushstroke. As he watched the people of the Dijat go about their daily business, he felt his eyes drawn to a singular edifice, its size and grandeur eclipsed only by the sun itself: the Silver Tower. This, too, felt is if it were by design; that one could marvel in the beauty of Photep's heart, and then behold the signature of the artist who breathed this wonder into the world.

Xavier spoke up again, breaking Kho from his thoughts, "It is time that I explain our relationship as well, Khotanebre. A Magus and Novitiate have as important a relationship as formally exists in the written structure of the Heka. You were not chosen by committee, or by the Magister of the Cult, and then assigned to me. I chose you. You are a Sorcerer today because I appraised you, reviewed your work and your skills, and determined that you have the makings of one. I have taken on the responsibility of guiding you into becoming the Sorcerer the gods have decided that you shall be. Whatever this entails, I will commit all of myself to this endeavor." He looked down at Kho, his size and his fiery gaze once again making him seem as much a creature of the Aether as the Tutelary on his shoulder. "You must decide who you shall become. I cannot choose this for you. Whatever your choice, I will abide it and help you as best I can, but this is your journey, Khotanebre. Only you know where it leads."

---

Magus Dagon

The Magus shut his book, setting his quill just beside it, and stood to prepare the drinks that his Novitates requested. While in this chamber he did not seem as old as he did standing in the Dijat, the grunt of effort that escaped him as he rose to his feet was a brief reminder of the man's age. He stepped over to a counter against the same wall as the door, and listened thoughtfully to Khaemtir's deluge of excited questions as he puttered about with cups and hot water.

Dagon answered these questions as he prepared the drinks, evidently making a cup of tea for himself as well. "You are Sorcerers of the Cult of the Crow; this pyramid is as much your home as it is mine, and you are free to go wherever you like. Within reason, of course." He added, chuckling. "I don't think Magister Amon would appreciate Novitates wandering into his chambers unannounced. If there is a public area that is prohibited- some sensitive project or another- I'm sure such restrictions would be made obvious to you."

He gave another dry laugh before answering the question about studying the Hall of Prophecy. "The answer to your question goes somewhat beyond your concerns at this stage of your studies, but I will try to explain. The Crimson King, our eternal and glorious master, pays special consideration to the Heka. He is the father of Sorcery, and we Sorcerers are like his children. Like any noble family, the Sorcerers of the Heka vie for their father's favor and attention. The Cult of the Crow has enjoyed the Crimson King's particular favor for most of the history of Photep, and after spending many years basking in his adoration, we have become somewhat arrogant. Vain, even." Dagon set the cups down on a tray, and stepped over to peruse a nearby bookshelf as he continued to explain. "Make no mistake, the works commemorated in the Hall of Prophecy are exceptional in their foresight and clarity, and studying them is a fascinating exercise. Even so, the Hall is a monument to vanity. The Cult of the Crow does not wish anyone within our Cult or without to forget how greatly the Crimson King favors us and our work, and so we hoist banners and trophies to congratulate ourselves on our own achievements." He stepped back toward the table, tray loaded with cups and books in hand. "That is why I do not consider ruminating over the Hall of Prophecy to be vital to your studies."

Settling down at the table, Dagon distributed the drinks that were requested, and set one of the books in front of each of the Novitates. They looked quite similar to the one he had just been writing in: small enough to hold easily on one hand, dark vellum covers, and about two-hundred pages thick. These however looked brand new, the cover and pages pristine, and the beeswax bindings still fresh and fragrant. Dagon pushed his own book aside and took a sip of his tea, before setting that aside as well to set his hands on on the table, crossing his fingers and looking at the Novitates seriously with his gaze of azure fire.

"Now, let's not waste any more time. You sit here today, in one of Photep's holy pyramids, because the Aether has gifted you the ability to drink from its power. An insignificant amount in sight of the Aether itself, but significant enough to we mortals. Whether this was a quirk of fate, or the will of some God or another, or purely random chance is no concern to me. I have taken up the duty of ensuring that this power does not go to waste, or- worse yet- turn against the interests of Photep and her people. Your rank of Novitiate is an acknowledgement of the power you command, the potential that you hold, but it carries another meaning as well. It means that we of the Heka do not yet trust you to wield this power under your own auspices. Do not take this as an insult, as it the Heka intends it as a rational precaution. Magic is a power unlike any other in this world, and we cannot bestow its deepest secrets upon you until we can trust that you will not misuse them. This trust can be earned, but the process of earning it is not easy. If at any time you feel that you cannot bear the responsibility, or you are not up to the task, you are free to hang up your white cloak and carry on your life in some other profession. There is no shame in this; Photep does not prosper by the efforts of Sorcerers alone. However, once you have passed the trials and spoken the oaths, there can be no turning back."

---

Kho shrunk a bit at Xavier's initial comment, then sent an accusatory look toward the bird on his shoulder. His mouth opened briefly to start chiding Teken when the sudden chill prompted him to snap it shut as both parties returned their focus to the Magus. At first, Kho briefly considered Xavier was casting some unpleasant spell as a punishment, though he quickly pushed that thought aside once he noticed the sensation wasn't mere thermal manipulation; Xavier was summoning... something.

The flame caught both master and tutelary's eye, easily impressed as they were, and both their heads synchronously canted to the side in mesmerized interest. When the small inferno finally took form, Teken's feathers ruffled up defensively until the bird came to the conclusion he couldn't eat the creature that had emerged. Kho had no such reservations, and instead began inching to the side for a better look at Drygnir. That was a pyromancer's tutelary; all flames and stone and images of destruction. It made the eyes of the man it rested on seem mundane by comparison.

Kho's body jerked rigidly upright when he was addressed again, flashes of embarrassment faintly visible on his face after he assumed he'd been 'caught' taking too much of an interest in Xavier's tutelary.

"Uh, right. It won't be a problem." He couldn't say he considered Teken his equal, and he certainly didn't rank the bird higher than himself in status, but there was still a sense of novelty that lingered. Teken wasn't some animal on the level of the bees his family's servants tended to behind the manor, or even comparable to the servants themselves; he was a creature of the Aether. Surely that warranted some level of respect, even for an entity as juvenile and undignified as Tekenkhasut. Probably useless sentimentality he had yet to rid himself of.

The boy followed along, using the scenery to distract his mind from what he considered subpar performance on his part so far. Familiarizing himself with the area was probably prudent, in case he was sent on errands in the future. But with everything around them moving in such perfect harmony, Kho began to grow self-conscious that his mere presence would disrupt this careful rhythm. For the first time in quite a while, he felt out of place in his own city, but even so the splendor of it all dwarfed his misgivings.

His attention dutifully returned to Xavier as the man spoke again. The magus' words carried a great deal of weight to them; once again Kho had been thrust from jovial morning stroll into his role in Photep for the rest of his life. Not unexpected, but pressuring all the same. He wasn't worried; Xavier seemed to think he was up to the task, and Kho had no reason to doubt his own abilities, nor would he be lacking in opportunities should he somehow fall short of the cult's standards. Still, the Magus intended to invest time, hopes, and who knows what else in him, and he needed to reciprocate, even when faced with heavy questions he wasn't sure how to answer yet.

"Thank you for this opportunity, Magus. I'll try my best to not disappoint," Kho sputtered as he formally bowed before Xavier in a show of gratitude, "But, um, do I have to choose now? That's a bit of a big question. I mean, I want to be useful. I love Photep, and I want to give back to her for everything she's given me. But, I'm not sure if that's what you asked..."

---

@Dead Cruiser

---

A stern warning indeed, warning of the commitments they had made back at the ceremony last night. They wielded power that many did not, and likewise had the responsibilities that came with it. It brought back recollections of her stepmother's constant reminders over the matter, pushing the importance of becoming a Sorcerer but also that it came 'at a price' at times. It was a responsibility, she'd said, and with this great power came great responsibility of an equivalent level. Likewise there were ramifications for not living up to those...or worse.

More so, however, Ishara seemed to listen to Magus Dagon with a look of serious and rather rapt attention as he spoke even before that final part of his words thus far. If Sekhandur and some others were any indication of a noble's or Sorcerer's potential pride, then it wasn't surprising to hear such things be said. She had not wanted to make assumptions yet, as she was new after all, and yet Magus Dagon seemed to speak about things as they were to them in plainness. The man had already left her with a good impression the prior night to some extent, but this seemed to hammer in a sense of respect for the one who was to teach them. Of course this would not amount to simple idolization and blind following, clinging along like a lost puppy who saw a cool person walking down the road, as his seeming looking inwards at one's own faults and the faults of where they worked was a valuable thing to be able to do. After all, an institution nor an individual could improve unless it was from being to effectively admit to and address those thing that were 'going wrong' and such.

Even the Crimson King probably had-...

...Mmm, she was thinking too hard on this. Far too hard.

"Hmm...if Studying the Hall of Prophecy is a good exercise, then where would be best to study in regards to our own...ah...personal education? Er. Studying and the like outside of formal lessons I mean."

For a second she tried to find the right word, ultimately stumbling into it with a silent relief washing over her mind in the process. So many things to ponder, so little time! Of course she didn't want to seem like she was rushing, but at the same time having a good place to read up and study would be beneficial to her learning in her mind. So it was only natural she ask about such things!

A pang of defensive irritation shot through his chest at the Magus’ resolute dismissal of the Hall. His own family etched their achievements and successes in the walls of their home, mosaics and murals depicting their family history in loving detail. They were guides and reminders of why they worked so hard to make this city like it was, a testament to the blood, sweat, and tears they’d poured into this world, and he found that the Hall reflected that quite clearly. The Maryatum family mosaics served as guides when they found themselves wavering in their dedication, faltering in their resolve, or even just weary in a way sleep could never ease. He didn't quite understand what that meant but the first two were understandable. Their stories were a flame that burned so long as the images stood and would always find a way to light the way for a Maryatum who found themselves without a beacon. Khaemtir could admit vanity played into it but that wasn’t all there was. It was so much more.

And the Hall resonated with the idea that the past could illuminate and inspire the future. Khaemtir had no doubt some of it was vanity. If the leader of the greatest city in history chose to favor one Cult over the other, they deserved to preen. Khaemtir could certainly understand vying for a parents attention; that was the same Sorcerer or not. But there was more and Khaemtir felt a sourness in the back of his throat at the Magus’ certainty that there was nothing more. It felt… personal, as absurd as that was, and Khaemtir wasn’t sure if a rebuttal was appropriate. Scathing words, hot and heavy on his tongue, died at a concerned and soothing presence in the back of his mind and he felt himself relax as Udjebten whispered calming words to him.

The timing couldn’t have been any better because he’d almost missed the beginning of Dagon’s discussion. There were books in front of each of them now and Khaemtir was itching to pick it up and open it, new as it was. But he paid attention to Dagon instead and nodded at the seriousness of his words. It made sense. Magic was a terrible force, awesome in it’s breadth but equally terrifying for the same reason. Khaemtir only stared at the Magus with confidence and his head held high, his irritation at the earlier conversation all but gone, and smirked. “The Heka, and you, chose me. Through moon, sun, and storm, you’re stuck for better or for worse.” He laughed, nudging the two next to him as he did.

The Hall of Prophecy, nothing but vanity? Radaam had to wonder if Magus Dagon was alone in that opinion. He could appreciate the ideal of humility - he too was of the opinion that achievement was best enjoyed quietly, in private - but surely such monumental contributions to Photep deserved some recognition. Even if just to serve as encouragement for the lower rungs of Sorcerers, great feats of the past were important beacons for the future. Radaam assumed they served the same purpose as the legends and stories passed around the Chenzira; tales of men scaling cliffs to confer with eagles or soldiers as swift as horses alerting camps of invading threats drove his people to lay just a few more bricks or walk just a few more miles before allowing themselves to rest. Maybe the scale of self-congratulation in the Hall of Prophecy was excessive, but surely it wouldn't do for those milestones to be relegated to dusty tomes and forgotten.

But maybe he shouldn't be so quick to judge. Magus Dagon had the wisdom of experience behind him; Radaam didn't believe that he'd make his judgements without good reason. That wisdom was on full display as the Magus launched into a speech, words of encouragement mingling with words of warning for the nervous and arrogant alike. But there was one line that stuck in Radaam’s head:

“If at any time you feel that you cannot bear the responsibility, or you are not up to the task, you are free to hang up your white cloak and carry on your life in some other profession.”

Radaam was ashamed to admit that the prospect of hanging up his cloak and walking back out into the sunlight was sorely tempting. Despite the Magus’ efforts to be welcoming, with every passing moment in the pyramid, he could feel its weight pressing down on him, a burden of history and significance he didn't feel quite worthy to bear. But how could he just get up and walk away? He couldn't imagine the Khenetai would look twice at a man who was given one of Photep’s greatest opportunities and squandered it; how could he commit to uphold the Crimson King’s peace if he rejected his favoured order? Once more he reminded himself what an honour it was to even lay eyes on the inside of this pyramid, looking down at the book the Magus had given him. Radaam had no idea what such a thing must have cost; he'd spent his days at Udebtekhat writing his notes in charcoal on whatever scraps of papyrus he could get his hands on, haphazardly sewn together with twine. This book, on the other hand, looked almost too pristine to deface, and Radaam wasn't sure what he could come up with that would be worthy of taking up its pages.

Khaemtir’s nudge brought him out of his reverie, and while his new friend’s levity seemed a little out of place in the face of such a monumental commitment, Radaam could appreciate the sentiment behind it. He echoed as much, placing his hands resolutely on his knees and nodding through the jitter in his stomach.

“I won't waste this opportunity, Magus,” he stated, deep voice firm but otherwise unreadable. “I'm sure I speak for all three of us when I say we’re eager to begin.”