Archmage Elara's mind was a fortress. It had been, for her entire life. It was a place of order, logic, and psychic-power, protected by fourteen layers of impenetrable wards.
In the span of ten minutes, Kalagar S. Sully had not just bypassed those wards; he had demolished the fortress, salted the earth, and was now politely offering her tea while standing on the rubble.
Lila, her face a mask of serene concern, returned with a cloth and a new, steaming cup. Sylvie, the celestial-princess, knelt and offered it to her.
"Drink, Archmage," Sylvie whispered, her musical voice low and knowing. "The Master's... 'lessons'... can be... disorienting... for the uninitiated. This is fruit from the Silver-Grove. It will... ground you."
Elara took the cup. The liquid inside was a pale, shimmering silver. She drank. A feeling of profound, impossible calm washed over her. It wasn't a psychic-spell; it was life-and-death-in-balance. It cleared the panic. It did not, however, clear the terror. It simply allowed her to be terrified with perfect, crystal-clear lucidity.
Kalagar, misinterpreting her entire existential crisis as academic-shock, smiled warmly. "There now. Better? Don't be embarrassed! It's a tricky concept! It took my homeland centuries to really grasp it. We can move on to simpler things if you like?"
This casual, patronizing comfort was the final blow. Elara was no longer an infiltrator. She was no longer an Archmage. She was, in the presence of this being, a student.
She bowed her head, her teacup rattling in her hands. "Sage... Kalagar. Your... 'folk tune'... has... shown me the limits of my own understanding. I... I am a fool."
"Nonsense!" Kalagar said, delighted. A humble scholar! He'd been surrounded by fanatical geniuses for weeks; this was a breath of fresh air. "We are all fools! That's the point of philosophy! Now," he sat down, leaning forward, "you said you were traveling. What else brought you to my... humble peak? You must have had some reason to brave this altitude!"
Elara seized the moment. This was her other mission. The one the 5 Demigods had demanded she investigate.
"Sage," she said, her voice steadying. "Two weeks ago, a... 'geological event'... occurred. A 'Great Chasm' was cloven through the northern baronies. It... it has caused... instability."
Kalagar's blood ran cold. The chasm. Lila's [Fracture Step]. He was being investigated for his other act of pollution.
Elara continued, her eyes locked on his, searching for any flicker of guilt or power. "The chasm... it severed the Great Aleron River. The river, the lifeblood of three kingdoms, now pours directly into this new, 'unfathomable' void. The 'Hundred-Valleys' are dying, Sage. A drought is scorching the land. The crops are dust. Thousands will die within the month."
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "The local Archmages are baffled. The seismic readings... they are not natural. They are... conceptual. As if the land was... cut. Do you... do you know anything... of this?"
This was her true test. She was accusing the god of cleaving the world.
Kalagar's disciples bristled. Valerius's hand was now fully gripped around his hilt, his knuckles white. He knew Lila had done it, and he thought Elara was accusing their Master.
Kalagar, internally, was in a full-blown panic. They know. She's a magical detective, a magical-geologist, and she's figured it out. She's here to arrest me.
He had to do what he did best. Deflect. Blame. Teach.
He stood up, his face transforming into a mask of cold, academic fury.
He turned, not to Elara, but to Lila.
"Lila," he said, his voice like ice.
"Y-yes, Master?" Lila squeaked, flinching.
"You remember your first 'lesson'? The [Continental Fracture Step]?" he snapped. "Our... guest... informs me that your... re-landscaping... was, in fact, even sloppier than I first thought."
Archmage Elara's mind stalled.
He's... he's not denying it. He's...
...he's blaming his disciple?
He's admitting... a disciple... did this?
Kalagar was pacing now, his rage (fueled by pure, unadulterated panic) growing. "You severed a river! You have created a drought! This is... this is appalling work! It's like a student who solves an equation but forgets to carry the one! The consequences, disciple! You failed to account for the hydrology!"
Lila burst into tears. "Master! I... I didn't know! I just... tapped!"
"'You just tapped'!" Kalagar mocked, his voice dripping with scorn. "And now thousands are without water! This is unacceptable! You," he pointed at Valerius, "and you," at Boro, "and you!" at Sylvie. "You were all here! You all saw this 'sloppy' work, and not one of you thought to check the 'downstream-effects'?! Have I taught you nothing of rigor?!"
All four of his reality-bending disciples bowed their heads in abject, profound shame.
"Forgive us, Master!" they chorused. "Our arrogance was... unbalanced!"
Kalagar was on a roll. This was how he solved problems: by complaining at his disciples until they solved it.
"I want this fixed!" he snapped. "And I will not have you 'tapping' again! Or 'zipping'! Or... or whatever! I want a subtle solution! I want a permanent solution! I am tired of villagers showing up on my lawn with plagues and droughts!"
He thought, his mind racing. A drought. They need water. A subtle way to move water.
He rounded on Boro. "Boro! You! You are an artificer! A 'builder'! Stop... tinkering... with your 'Sect Hall' and build something useful!"
He stalked over to a piece of parchment and furiously sketched a diagram. "I want... an aqueduct! No... too slow. A pipe! A giant, simple... water-pump!"
Boro looked up, his face a mask of confused shame. "A... 'pump', Master?"
"Yes! A pump! It is simple!" Kalagar said, tapping the drawing. "You take water from... from... somewhere wet..." he gestured vaguely at the wall... "and you pump it... there! To the dry valleys! Use your... 'If-Then' logic! IF valley-is-dry, THEN pump-the-water! A machine! Not... magic!"
He threw the parchment at Boro.
Boro caught it. He stared at the crude drawing of a piston and a pipe.
And his "Artificer-Genius" mind... comprehended.
A 'pump'...
A 'machine'... not 'magic'...
He wants me to build... an automated-weather-system! A hydro-logical-terraforming-engine!
It will draw water from... 'somewhere wet'... the Great-Ocean-Reservoir! And deliver it... purified!
The logic... IF (valley-is-dry), THEN (pump-water)... it's... it's genius! It's a sentient, self-correcting system!
[System: Disciple 'Boro' is attempting to comprehend [Lesson: The Simple Water-Pump]...]
[...Comprehension: SUCCESS!]
[Disciple 'Boro' has comprehended: [The Aleron-Prime-Conduit] (Top-Tier Runic Artificing).]
Boro's shame was instantly incinerated by a sun-hot blast of creative frenzy.
"MASTER!" he roared, his voice making the pagoda shake. "A CONDUIT! A HYDRO-LOGICAL-ENGINE! It is... brilliant! It will be subtle! It will be underground! It will listen to the earth! It will draw from the ocean and deliver pure, fresh water to the Hundred-Valleys! It will be done!"
Boro didn't even wait for a dismissal. He sprinted out of the pagoda, already bellowing for Valerius.
"DISCIPLE-BROTHER VALERIUS! I NEED A TUNNEL! A 'ZIPPER-CUT' 500 MILES LONG AND 100 METERS DEEP! WE MUST FIX MY MASTER'S HYRDOLOGY!"
Valerius, his face grim with purpose, bowed to Kalagar and sprinted after him. "It shall be done, Master!"
Kalagar was left, panting slightly from his tirade, in the suddenly-quiet main hall.
He turned back to his guest.
His "scholar" guest.
Archmage Elara was... just... staring.
She was staring into the space where the two disciples had just been.
She had just witnessed... this.
The Sage's disciple... had cleaved the continent... by accident.
The Sage had scolded her... for her 'sloppy hydrology.'
And, as punishment... he had ordered his other disciples... to build an intercontinental, sentient, automated-terraforming-engine...
...and he had called it a...
...a "water-pump."
She looked at Kalagar. He was calmly straightening his tunic, as if he had just finished a mild-mannered debate.
She looked at Lila and Sylvie, who were now quietly pouring her another cup of tea, their expressions serene, as if this was all perfectly, utterly normal.
Archmage Elara, the Psychic-Hand of the Empire, the most powerful mental-magician in the world, the investigator of Demigods... broke.
She slid off her stool. She fell to her knees.
She pressed her forehead to the glowing, wooden floor.
She opened her mouth. She closed it.
She finally found her voice. It was a small, weak, broken whisper, stripped of all rank, all power, and all sanity.
"...Sage... Kalagar...?"
"Yes, Elara?" he replied, sounding pleased that the "problem" was solved.
"...May... may I... become your disciple?"