…“Begin!”

Violet spun to the right and her left hand unleashed a telekinetic pulse that barreled towards Vetra like a charging bull. As she unleashed the blast Violet’s body seemed to split in two, and in the blink of an eye, two identical Violet’s stood on the stage. As she completed her spin, a white-hot energy bolt spell sprung from a pointed finer, darting towards Vetra, catching up to and nearly passing her first attack. 

Danson blinked - the spin had been clever. That added movement made it hard for him to tell which of the Violet’s was the illusory clone. And those twin attacks - one wide ranging, the other pin-point accurate - would be hard to dodge.

Vetra held up a hand that crackled with white lightning, intercepting the telekinetic blast and shattering the spell to pieces - though the residual air pressure still knocked her back a step. Her head quirked awkwardly to the side as the energy bolt sizzled past, narrowly missing. She stumbled, falling to one knee and slapping a hand down on the ground to steady herself…

Do you see, tokay?

What? Kysis’ eyes popped open as the Hykon’s voice echoed in his mind.

Blinding light flooded his vision and the sound of birdsong and falling water poured into his ears. Kysis narrowed his eyes as they adjusted to the brightness, and the world came into view.

He was standing now, not sitting or floating. And the Hykon’s grotto was gone. An open and well-tended jungle surrounded him. He knew it instantly - he was very close to Sunken Bask. Had the Hykon moved him outside magically? He took a step forward, relieved to feel the soft dirt and leaves beneath his feet, and moved towards the sound of falling water. As he walked, the Hykon’s voice rumbled through his mind once again, as clear and present as if he walked beside him. The voice was calm, washing against Kysis like a cool wave on a sandy beach.

From feeling, and embracing tsay comes memory. True memory, not only recollection of days, and numbers, and tasks.

A sense of urgency enveloped Kysis and his pace quickened.

Memory is a siska’s greatest tsayina.

Kysis sprinted through the jungle, parting ferns and brushing aside vines as the sound of cascading water grew louder.

Memory is woven into who we are, and weaves who we will be.

A final fern parted and Kysis skidded to a stop on the edge of precipice.

Before him, a circular depression several hundred meters wide stretched out in the midst of the jungle, dozens of small streams cascading over its edge. The water tumbled down many times Kysis’ height into the crater-lake below.

…Farah tumbled to her knees with yelp, catching herself before she fell flat and heaving herself back to her feet as fast as she could manage. But she knew it was already too late. What happened next would depend on so many factors it made her head spin - the skill of the bandit archer, if they had a clear shot, where they aimed, the draw weight of their bow, the kind of arrowhead they were using, and of course, how lucky she was at this particular moment in time.

The sharp impact near the center of her back, just under the shoulder-blade, told the flailing ranger one thing at least. That archer was damn good.

But so was she.

Farah spun on her heel and dropped to one knee, nocking an arrow in a flash and sending it back in the direction of the bandit’s shot. Her guess was right and she spotted the archer just to the right of the log bridge, jumping to the side to avoid her wild snapshot. But Farah hadn’t intended to hit with that one anyways. Her second arrow, following a second after the first, pierced the archer in their side…

…Damon’s eyes flickered back to the bowls and he swallowed hard. If his family’s knightly lineage were to continue, he needed to choose.

The young knight was an only child. His mother had passed years ago, and his father had never remarried. His aunt had died in battle, and his uncle had chosen the life of a merchant. Most of his cousins had followed after his uncle. Tora, the one cousin who had untaken the training, had died last year in this very cabin.

Killed by the potent brew of herbs and poisons contained within the carved wooden bowls…

…“You should take care who you insult, eyra,” the noble grated. Cinder turned back to him with a tired sigh.

“I could make it so that you’re never allowed in this district again,” he went on.

“Oh?” said Cinder, her eyes going wide in feigned dismay. “And who have I had the misfortune of insulting?”

“I’m Juslin, of the Auldcrake family!”

“Oh really?” said Cinder, tapping her chin. She thought she’d recognized him. What luck.

“Yes!” said the noble, drawing himself up haughtily. “My aunt is a countess!”

“I see,” said Cinder, eyeing him like a cat about to pounce on a baby bird. “Tell me then, are you the same Juslin Auldcrake whose father has been smuggling dragon hide through Lacamere?”

Cinder bared her pointed teeth in a wide smile when Juslin’s mouth dropped open and his posture deflated.

“Wha- I… how do you know about that?” he said quietly.

“It would be unfortunate if your aunt found out,” said Cinder, wishing she still had a drink to sip on in this moment. “She might be forced to disown your father. And what would that make you?” …