At a secluded branch that was dimensionally separated from the rest of the school’s administrative building, a bespectacled lady clad in a slim-fitting office dress received an audio-visual report, mana-transmitted to a screen right before her eyes. She took note of the display for a short moment, before standing up, leaving her room, and making her way to the principal’s office just next door.


    The huge double oak doors swung open automatically, in tandem with her striding entry, and her clacking heels were silenced as they passed from marble to carpet. Clutching a clipboard in one arm and holding a wand-pen in the other, she spoke.


    "He''s on his way, I hear."


    The man behind the desk was seated on a revolving chair that was currently facing away - a tuft of messy brown hair was all his secretary could see from where she was standing. Without turning around, he replied, "That''s fantastic news, Maya. Make sure all the instructors and exhibit managers are ready for a bit of show and tell. I’m pulling out all the stops. Tell them that I’m tripling the mana budget, and that even restricted spells can be used.  For starters, we''re going to flood the school in some time suspension magic to give our promising new Candidate as much time as he wants to see how great and grand and absolutely irresistible Heartspell is!"


    "All that for just an S Tier talent?"


    It was a legitimate question. The School of Heartspell was elite enough to accept only S Tier talents. In fact, the entire student population comprised solely of S Tiers.


    So - why pull out all the stops now? Pursing her lips, she balked at the thought of all the tedious accounting tricks that she would have to pull to balance the mana budget after today’s event.


    The messy brown tuft wriggled a bit at the top of the leathery black chair. "Just an S Tier talent?"


    A creak.


    The chair revolved around, slowly.


    "Maya, Maya, Maya. Tsk tsk tsk. Oh my dear, dear, Maya. He''s not just an S Tier talent," said the man with a tone steeped strongly in disapproval, and whose ridiculous outfit was now in full view of his stiff-lipped secretary, "he is - how should I put this - a fish in a... no that''s not quite right. A tree with a - no that''s not quite right either. Hmm."


    And the room was covered with a sheet of silence again, before it was punctured with: "Ah yes! I got it! He is like a special seed among many, scattered by the cosmic sower. And among all the seeds in the cosmic sower''s fat cosmic basket, there is only one like this. Now, that seed has quite magically landed in this school – an extremely fortunate event I must say - so we will, as sure as mana courses through our veins, make sure to fish him up right from the lake, get him warmed up and sizzling on all of our special courses, and I say, before the time suspension magic''s up, we''ll be..."


    Maya cocked an eyebrow. Her ears began to tune out whatever vocal perambulation he was up to again. To be honest, she was quite unsure if what unsettled her was that horrendously liberal application of mixed metaphors, or that jarringly informal shirt that the school director was barely draped in - two buttons off, revealing fuzzy chest hair, with yellow and pink flower motifs printed on the fabric all the way down - it was clearly something he snagged off one of the holiday beaches in Pendulus last summer.


    She gave a sigh of capitulation.


    Despite his casual appearance and penchant for long-winded, barely coherent speech, the man was a skilful director who brought the school from the pits of academic-mediocrity to the heights of fame. Thanks to his efforts, The School of Heartspell was the top magic school in all of the Nostriva Federation, and during the recent rankings, it was reported to be comparable with even the top five from the Pendulus Alliance itself.


    Who knew that teaching emotion-based casting was the route to take? And his performance in the annual rankings speak for themself - no one can surpass him in skill and power when it comes to wielding such raw, dangerous power.


    Maya gave a half-smile, all the irritation turning into mild amusement.


    Strange characteristics in great people. Expected.


    "...which is why all the principals need to be wearing one of these HeartSpell bunny caps." He pointed casually to a pair of over-sized, hand-sewn grey flaps. "Capiche?"


    -wha... what? How did the rambling turn to this! No one will take the school seriously. He can''t possibly-


    "I''m just kidding. You were totally tuning me out again, weren''t you."


    She blushed a bit and straightened her spectacles - caught.


    "Hmf. Task-oriented women. No appreciation for the arts. Get the Administrator to prep the time suspension spell, and make sure the exhibition teams are ready for all the other S Tier intakes! Go, go, go! Be snappy!"


    A creak.


    The chair revolved back, slowly.


    Was that a tone of dejection in his voice? Eh, he''d recover in a second.


    She motioned the pen wand to create a few marks on the clipboard as she strode outwards, the double oak doors swinging open in magical recognition of her movements. Soon enough, muffled heels turned to clacking.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ~-------*-------~


    “I hear he’s on his way.” The voice booming from the Arch Lord of the Coalesce was firm and authoritative. In the Sacred Sanctum, the acoustics of its spherical architecture further amplified his words.


    “Yes, my lord,” came the chorus of replies from the High Lords who knelt in two concentric circles around his throne. All forty-eight of them were dressed in the same blue robe with stars adorning its length. So long as they were in the Arch Lord’s presence, they kept their heads hooded, and looked down in reverence as they knelt.


    The throne that he sat on was terrifying, carved of ivory and fashioned into sharp blades at every outward-pointing edge. It was made by an ivory smith who resided in Western Caschian, and he was one of the last who worked at that craft.


    No technomagicry was permitted in its construction, for the order came from the Arch Lord himself. “Either use pure magic, or hard tools,” was the aphorism that every underground craftsman knew when it came to handling assignments from the Coalesce. The smith chose the latter, and gained the Arch Lord’s favour for having taken the harder path.


    He had been, to be honest, tempted to enlist the help of a few technomagical tools during some of the toughest phases of its construction, but he knew that the stench of technomagicry would be picked up immediately by the Arch Lord’s personal Quality Control team. And the punishment was death. Technomagicry, after all, was looked on by the Coalesce as a sign of Pendulus’s corruption and oppression; it was everything they fought against.


    Thanks to his restraint, he was rewarded handsomely, and now was working on custom-made ivory mediums – be it staves, wands, or trinkets – that the higher ranking Coalesce members would occasionally commission him to craft.


    The Arch Lord smiled as he recalled the reliable work from that humble ivory smith. But gone were the days where craftsmen either impressed their patrons with works of pure magic or pure mechanics.


    Dirty Pendulus technomagicry is everywhere now, ruining the beauty of Nostriva!


    He gritted his teeth, and gripped hard at the side of his throne until his knuckles hurt.


    I will channel this rage to free Nostriva of our shackles.


    Pointing to one of the kneeling men, he said, “High Lord Arturius, your espionage team ranks at the top of the Coalesce. Send two of your best-trained SpyMages to watch that boy’s growth. We will pick at the fruit when it is ripe.”


    “Yes, my lord,” came the reply from a man whose head was still respectfully bowed.


    “High Lord Xavier,” said the Arch Lord, nodding at another man. “How is your infiltration work at Astriva going?”


    “All is as planned, my lord,” replied High Lord Xavier. “We have sleeper agents ready to strike at a moment’s notice. They are adapting to the Capital Country well, and none of them have been caught so far.”


    “Excellent,” commended the Arch Lord.


    “High Lord Chandra.” The Arch Lord’s voice turned acrimonious. “How about you? I have not heard a single positive report from you over the past few months. You had better have something to show today, or you can look forward to your early retirement.”


    The High Lord’s face twitched nervously.


    “My lord …” he began, apprehensively. “As you already know, the Incitement Team faces the greatest risks. We are attacking all the key technomagical industrial sites in Nostriva that are important to Pendulus’s foothold in the region. There’s no way we can escape unscathed. The Peacekeepers are too strong and coordinated – “


    “You and your foolish excuses!”


    The Arch Lord stood up for the first time all day, raised his hand toward the shivering man, and channelled mana into a powerful spell. A vine protruded from the ceiling, growing in size and speed as it rushed toward the kneeling form of High Lord Chandra, then slapped him with a blow strong enough to send his entire body careening into the walls of the Sacred Sanctum. Like a python, it wound itself around his body, and carried him all the way to the Arch Lord’s throne.


    “My lord! I have yet to finish the report!” shouted the High Lord, who was suspended in midair by the vine, dangling before the ivory throne. “Yes, we have lost three entire teams to the Peacekeepers, but our operations have been on the whole, successful. More and more disgruntled Nostrivans are seeing that it is possible to strike back at Pendulus, and we are recruiting more than we have lost.”


    With a dismissive wave, the Arch Lord sat back down on his throne, and commanded his ArchVine to deliver the quaking Chandra back to his allotted position in the circle of kneeling High Lords. The summoned vine obediently placed him down, then curled back up into the ceiling, disappearing from view entirely.


    While he was not one to rush to violence when there were other options on the table, the Arch Lord knew that he could not be soft with High Lord Chandra. There were Coalesce lives at stake.


    Assaulting key industrial sites was the most obvious method to hurt Pendulus’s economic ambitions in Nostriva, so it was a given that these sites would always be heavily fortified. One careless order to the Incitement Team would send dozens of recruits to their death. If a vine whip would make Chandra take things more seriously, the Arch Lord would gladly lay it on him thick.


    And granted, it was difficult to manage operations across all seven countries in great Nostriva, but last month alone, eight whole teams were lost this way. It was almost a hundred coalesce recruits, all in all.


    “The month is almost over, and you have lost only three teams. Is that something you should be so proud to report?” sneered the Arch Lord.


    The High Lord gulped and shook his head.


    “What have I always told you!” roared the Arch Lord, his voice bouncing off the rounded walls of the sanctum.


    “A life is a still a life,” croaked Chandra.


    “Indeed,” said the Arch Lord, his voice now terrifyingly calm. “I will pardon you, High Lord Chandra, not because of the growing recruitments, but because we are finally seeing a reduction in the number of lives that have squandered. Do you understand?”


    “…yes, my lord,” came the intimidated man’s squeal. He knew that he was let off easy this time.


    “I can’t hear you.”


    “Yes! My lord!”


    “Be sure to improve on your tactical decision making,” commanded the Arch Lord. “High Lord Janus and High Lord Genevieve, continue to assist him in these matters. It appears that both your contributions have seen results.”


    “Yes, my lord!” came their combined reply.


    With that, the meeting ended. The forty-eight men and women from the inner circle of the Coalesce cast the ShadowDissolution spell simultaneously. Their physical forms shimmered, turning into a dark substance. Seconds later, the shadows themselves disappeared, as if they were never there.


    High Lord Arturius re-appeared in his office, his ceremonial robe already dematerialized, revealing his regular corporate attire underneath. He picked up the phone and made a call to his Coalesce lieutenants.


    When he wasn’t acting as the ‘Spy Lord’ of the Coalesce, he worked as upper management in one of the most established banks of Nostriva. With his authority, it wasn’t difficult to install private lines of communication in his office, from which he commanded the Coalesce’s sprawling espionage activities.


    As instructed by the Arch Lord himself in the earlier meeting, he picked out two trustworthy SpyMages, and commanded them to head to Astriva. “Report immediately if there are any signs of unanticipated growth. The Arch Lord wants to have the boy serve our cause when his powers have matured.”


    “Yes, my liege,” was their response, crackling through the scrambled line that prevented the Peacekeepers from spying on them.


    If all goes well, thought Arturius to himself, as he swirled a glass of aged whisky in a small, crystal glass, letting its scent fill his nostrils, the boy will be the one to throw off the shackles that Pendulus has placed on Nostriva.


    He took a sip of the liquor.


    For the Arch Lord, and for our freedom!