The Dean turned to Ingrid and the rest of the candidates and excused herself, swiftly stepping out the door. As the door closed with a heavy thud that echoed throughout the room, the four stood awkwardly, the sound of shuffling feet and clothes the only sound.

  Leland was fidgeting with a pencil, twirling it at his side next to the small pouch of slate and beads of lead. Every so often the pencil would hit the pouch and the hollow jingle of the lead beads rattling against the stone would incite a small flinch from him.

  The stocky man kept his eye on Leland, particularly the hand that was fidgeting with the pencil. Every time the pencil hit the pouch, his hand would clench into a fist and then relax. His leg kept tensing and then relaxing, his calves flexing against the folds of his pants, drawing them taut then slack.

  Ingrid’s savior simply stood still, maintaining the perfect posture and indifferent gaze that she had held for the entire meeting. It was striking how much she looked like a statue: as though an effigy of Kulene herself had descended from the heavens, exuding power and control. The girl noticed Ingrid’s stare, her eyes quickly scanning her up and down. Ingrid flinched, her gaze piercing her skin. It was unmistakable. Her posture, gaze, and conduct all were so similar to Dean Kedam’s. There had to be some kind of connection, whether that be by blood or by mentorship.

  Ingrid herself was very un-subtly inspecting everyone, trying to glean something from the way they were all standing. Leland was used to this. The stocky man was too busy watching Leland with the same intentness. The Kedam proxy had already noticed this habit and was inspecting in return.

  After one too many fumbles with the pencil, the stocky man finally spoke up, saying in a gruff voice, “Hey, Leland was it? Can you stop?” Leland jolted as his name was called, dropping the pencil at his feet. He quickly picked up the pencil and put it in his pouch, looking sheepish.

  “Yeah I should stop doing that…” Leland murmured to himself. The room came to silence again.

  The silence was so thick you could strike a match on it and it would go out a second later due to a lack of oxygen. It was so bad that even the ringing in Ingrid’s ear was abating, leaving just the quiet sounds of breathing. She couldn’t stand it anymore. Ingrid took a deep breath and finally spoke up, asking the two strangers, “Hey I don’t think I’ve properly met the two of you, what are your names again?” Everyone’s spines decompressed, the responsibility of initiative being lifted from their shoulders.

  The stocky man spoke first, introducing himself. “Yeah, uh… My name’s Donovan. Donovan Helbert. People usually just call me Don.” He thrust his hand forward in a handshake. Ingrid hesitated to take it, the black stains on his hands giving her pause. Don noticed this. It was a common reaction. Academics tended to be particular about mess and hygiene. He started to withdraw his hand but Ingrid quickly grabbed it, shaking his hand with a firm grip. He didn’t even notice that he had dropped his gaze instinctively but Ingrid’s handshake came accompanied with unwavering eye contact that forced him to match her gaze.

  “My name’s Ingrid. Nice to meet you Don.” She said, struggling to wrap her hand around his. Ingrid always thought that her hands were fairly weathered, what with her working with plants and rooting around in soil all the time, but his hands felt almost like they belonged to an animal. The pads of his hands were thick, like the hide of a sandbeest, with an obvious ridge on the bottom of his palm where something must have pushed up against it repeatedly. Ingrid took note of it, noticing how it felt like the corner of a table that had been worn down over the years.

  Don in turn took note of Ingrid’s hand. It was unlike most sorcerer’s hands that he had shaken before, more rugged than most and with a stronger grip. He smirked, laughing to himself. Ingrid shot a puzzled look at Don, to which he responded, “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but you’ve got rough hands for an academic. That’s a compliment, by the way.” Ingrid mouthed a silent oh and smiled back.

  Ingrid then promptly turned around and offered a handshake to the pale girl, to which she stared at Ingrid’s hand, taken aback by the abruptness of the gesture. She slowly grasped Ingrid’s hand like a timid doe. “I’m Idiya. You can call me Idiya.” She said firmly. Her initially timid response was quickly replaced by a stalwart disposition that, in the same way as before, imitated the Dean. Her grip was another facsimile of the Kedam matriarch, presenting the front of soft skin and dainty fingers but backed with a firm grip and eyes so sharp they threatened to behead you.

  Ingrid was initially daunted by the intensity of Idiya. She felt the same instinct to look away that she had felt during her meeting with the Dean, though a few things allowed her to just barely hold on. The gaze was less refined, less practiced, less intentional. It held all the ferocity of Dean Kedam’s stare but lacked the learned flexibility of tempered steel. These impurities gave Ingrid enough of a foothold to scarcely stay her ground. She returned the greeting, swallowing her fear and saying in a shaky voice, “Nice to meet you Idiya. I’m Ingrid, as you heard.”

  “Yes I did.” Idiya said matter-of-factly. She analyzed Ingrid, taking careful note of her demeanor. She was faking it, it was clear. She wasn’t the sociable type judging from her clothes and the general awkwardness of her conduct. Her voice had so much shake in it, you could be convinced this was the first time she had ever spoken in front of more than one person. Her speech to the council was similarly shaky, and despite that the council seemed taken by her. ‘Paradoxically an interesting yet mundane person, and yet riveting just the same’ Idiya thought, a grin spreading across her face. “I think we’ll get along well.”

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  Ingrid cocked her head slightly, the statement seeming odd to her. Though it seemed genuine, there was a shard of eeriness. Perhaps it was the striking similarities between her smile and the Dean’s. The presentation of someone so seasoned like the Dean in a form a similar age to Ingrid twisted her stomach. Even for someone who so often tinkered with the laws of reality, this seemed different. Nevertheless, she accepted it and gave two great thumbs up. Sauntering over to Leland’s side finally, she tried to nudge him in the elbow, hinting at it being his turn. Leland, ever the dense one, did not seem to get the hint, gawking at Ingrid saying, “What? Did I do something?”

  Ingrid scoffed, elbowing him again, this time in the stomach. Leland clutched at his stomach, coughing loudly. Clearly he had done something. Ingrid smiled at Don and Idiya, muttering to Leland under her breath, “Introduce yourself. Name, Age, and Field of study, now.”

  Leland groaned. It was like he was an undergrad again, meekly explaining the entirety of his existence in 3 objective facts. “Hi. My name is Leland Strivor. I am 22. I study law.” He said weakly, nudging Ingrid back, wheezing, “Is that good enough?”

  Idiya was visibly confused. Not at the dynamic, she already had something similar with her brother, but with Leland’s ‘field of study’. He said law. Just law? That’s simply too broad. Most law students when asked about what they study would say something like, “I practice criminal law” or “I study architectural code” or even “I’m on the ethics board” but never just “I study law.”

  Idiya asked Leland, “What kind of law do you study?” Leland groaned, trying to straighten himself out.

  “Uhhh. International law primarily, I suppose, but I know a bit of everything. I guess that’s supposed to be my role? Since we’re going to be crossing at least one border to get to our destination.” Leland speculated. It was possible that his affinity for magic was another reason, but probably not. A two for one deal was always a possibility.

  “I suppose so,” Idiya muttered, arms crossed as she paced, piecing together the people before her. What parts could each of them possibly be playing? “What does everyone else do?” She asked. You couldn’t solve a puzzle without knowing what the whole picture looks like, nevermind the pieces.

  Ingrid volunteered first, saying, “I’m a botanist. My research specializes in the absorption and retention of mana in plants, artificial and natural. So I guess my job is to locate and identify the deposit. Only so many places it could logically be.” Idiya nodded, taking note.

  Don was next. “I guess the best term for me would be an ‘oryktomancer,’” He said bluntly, putting air quotes around oryktomancer. It made sense. Oryktomancers tended to be on the stronger side, having to lug around rocks and crystals for their casting and research, though Don still didn’t exactly feel like a scholar. He continued his report, “I can manipulate metal to a degree, so I work in the shipyards scrapping and building.”

  That was impossible. How? The three others stood gawking, even Idiya, her guise of control slipping and then completely falling. Metal was nearly impossible to manipulate with magic because of how refined it was. Crude metals, maybe, but if he was making and scrapping ships, then they would have to be fairly refined. Few mages in history have even had middling success. The most successful oryktomancer in history, Ryan Ripley, said this about trying to bend metal: “It’s like trying to climb a sheer cliff with oil on your hands. The holds are far and few between, there’s not much actual material to grab onto, and you can barely get a grip as is. Even if you could climb that cliff, you could always just go around and climb the other side of the mountain.”

  Don noticed the dumbfounded stares and sighed. He was unfortunately accustomed to them. “I’m guessing that my role is as engineer-slash-mineral deposit finder, like how Miss Ingrid is for plants, but I’m guessing there’s more to it…” The three simply stood there in awe. There was more to it. The laws of magic dictated it so. Nevertheless, for cursory introductions, that explanation sufficed.

  Idiya decided to break the uncomfortable silence. “I guess I should go next,” she said, picking up her jaw from the floor. Don’s posture relaxed immediately, the uncomfortable looks having been redirected towards Idiya. “I study political science, governance, and abjurant magic. I presume my role is to act as a political intermediary since we are traveling quite the distance.” She sighed. It was only half an explanation and she could clearly see the intrigue on their faces. Was her connection with the Dean really that palpable? Other than Ingrid, all of them had only really given a portion of their story. The others would likely not pry so as to not put pressure on themselves as well.

  The pieces all seemed to fit. A lean team with qualified members. The Dean must have really done her research. Though, all of them felt as though pieces were missing.

  There was a quiet resignation hanging in the air. This time tomorrow, they would be off, traveling towards Twinmount. They each looked at each other, looking around at the hall, looking at their hands and feet. They wouldn’t be back for a while. They might not even come back. Ingrid wondered aloud, “I wonder if my ancestors felt like this. Before going off to battle, I mean. No guarantee of safe return, but hopeful of a brighter future.”

  Idiya liked that. She put forward a thought. “Maybe they did.” She looked up at the walls, rays of rich sunlight beaming through them once again. She remembered the sallow looking light that came through yesterday. “Maybe they went because they knew that someone else might have to feel the same thing. I guess that’s why we’re going.”

  “I guess it is.” Ingrid said. Perhaps they would get along.

  They stood there, just letting their eyes wander. Imagining the journey at hand. In the quiet contemplation, a common thought came across all their minds: They all hoped that the sun would always look this golden.