Arcane Exfil

Nobody spoke for a good minute after that, everyone just staring around instead: at the floor, at the ceiling, into the distance. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Yeah, this wasn’t healthy at all.

“Sooo…” Cole started. “Plans for tomorrow. Thoughts? Can’t just let our leave go to waste.”

“Well, you ain’t wrong,” Miles said with a shrug. “See, I’m with ya, but uh… what? Head to the beach? That don’t seem like a good idea, considerin’ we just came back from the port.”

Ethan gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yeah. Perhaps somewhere around the city then?” he suggested. “Lady Elina?”

The question pulled her up from whatever depth she’d been at, Elina blinking like she’d forgotten other people existed. Her formal register came out like a reflex: “Ah, pardon. I confess… I scarce know. The city abounds in diversions, assuredly, yet after the day’s trials I feel myself strangely adrift; there is no pastime that might readily commend itself.”

Miles gave a dry chuckle. “Fancy way of sayin’ ‘fuck if I know.’”

“Well, no…” She sighed, mouth tugging into something halfway between a smile and surrender. “Yes, that, I suppose. Your vernacular does: begrudgingly, I say: capture the essence, if not the propriety.”

Cole laughed. God knew he needed that. “Alright, well, we’ve got some time to think it out. I’m not a fan of doing nothing, though: definitely no sitting on our asses.” He paused. “How about uh… training?”

Miles tilted his head. “Ehh… yeah, fuck it. Why not? Might as well, seein’ as we kinda left Lady Verna hangin’ last time ‘round.”

Ethan nodded. “Alternatively, we might explore something less intensive. Library, maybe? Don’t know if it’s too early to reintroduce cultists to Mack, but even if that isn’t a good idea, there’s lots more to check out. History, spellcasting, and so on.”

“If the choice is motion or rumination: motion,” Elina said.

All viable ideas. “Yeah,” Cole agreed. “We’ll check out the library one of these days, but I’m with Elina. Motion. Nothing too crazy; just some light training to practice what Lady Verna taught us and start getting into something new before our next deployment. New magic, supplementary skills, even building off the fundamentals now that we’ve got all the non-periodic elements down.”

Miles leaned forward. “What kinda magic we talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Well, there’s telekinesis, apparently,” Ethan offered, looking just about as confused as Miles despite having brought it up. “Yeah, crazy shit, right?”

Now that was something. Not a significant something: not yet, but definitely something. “I mean, yeah, but it depends on just how crazy it can get. Is it like… the Force? Or just lifting a cup: parlor tricks?”

Elina froze: not out of fear, fuck no. Rather, it was more like a cat that just spotted something worth pursuing. Her aristocratic composure cracked just enough for a slight raise of an eyebrow.

“Parlor tricks, hm?” She rolled the phrase around like wine she was about to spit out.

Cole’s ass left the chair with all the dignity of a marionette getting yanked. He just went from zero to astronaut in half a second, Newton’s laws be damned.

His core cinched tight, a subconscious, raw response to the impromptu rollercoaster he’d just been sent on. His hands shot back for the chair, but the damn thing wasn’t where he left it, so he just pinwheeled once, catching nothing but air. And considering how goofy he must’ve looked doing so, he might as well add ‘embarrassment’ to his haul.

At least he wasn’t alone. Miles’ “Motherfucker!” came out surprisingly high-pitched, while Ethan managed a simple but surprised “Whoa!”

“This ‘Force’ must be extraordinarily impressive,” she commented, strolling beneath them and examining their predicament like some curator considering acquisitions. Cole couldn’t quite prove it: not with Elina’s poker face: but he knew damn well she was enjoying every bit of this.

But something else caught his eye. No expression, which was actually even scarier; it meant no strain, no effort. If she had to really try to lift three grown-ass men, she didn’t show it.

Miles stabilized, opting not to tumble like a doofus, as Cole had. “I’ll be damned, Gracer. Since when could you do that?”

Cole couldn’t tell if Elina’s smile was genuine, or merely for their sake, but it was a welcome reprieve nonetheless.

She shrugged off the question like it was no biggie. “Oh, since tutors first grew weary of replacing shattered glassware. In truth, telekinesis is standard for Slayer Elites. There is much expected of us, and so we are pressed to master many disciplines, whether our talent inclines or not. I confess, mine inclines modestly: five hundred pounds with control, and a thousand with complaint.”

Huh. Cole made a mental note: so that’s why they wobbled a bit.

“The masters, though,” Elina continued, “they make a grand spectacle of it. I once bore witness to Graves toppling a Fell Giant, first by slicking the ground with ice, then by hurling the brute aside with sheer force of mind. Inelegant, perhaps, and nothing near so efficient as your enhanced fireballs: but undeniably satisfying in its result.”

“Fell giant, huh? Apt, I guess,” Ethan said with a light smirk.

Ethan’s commentary almost got to Cole; he’d missed the little dad jokes Ethan tossed out from time to time. He was damn near on the verge of cracking a smile when another thought struck him. He’d seen some shit, but apparently this world had a whole lot more in store. “Wait, hold on. Giant? How uhh… how big we talking?”

“Twenty, perhaps twenty-five feet.” She read the next question before he voiced it. “But do not flatter yourself with visions of such a feat; it will be long ere you approach it: conceivably not until you’ve attained mana corresponding to Level Sixteen. And for you, I suspect, that might require the draining of an entire vat of mana elixirs. But to return to the topic at hand, most mages scarce manage the weight of their own frame; a rare few reach Graves’ talent. As for the layman, twenty pounds is labor enough, and fifty near miraculous.”

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“Layman? The average person? The average person can cast telekinesis?” Miles asked.

“Well, most never bother, be they content with standard physical enhancement for their daily chores or simply disinterested. For those who do, it’s rather handy, particularly for maids. Ask Mrs. Guinnosa.”

Cole could imagine why: with this sort of utility, anyone could get an army of brooms and dusters to function like magical Roombas. But… was it really so easy? “So you don’t even need to be a trained mage to pick up telekinesis?”

“Not in the least. You’ve done it already, and more deftly than most apprentices. Those stones you hurled, the ice you shaped and projected: all of it telekinesis. It is much the same with fireballs. Ordinary mages content themselves with shoving their fireballs forward; that is the extent of their craft. Which is indeed why your design was so remarkable: you dispensed with the need entirely.”

Well, that and the massively increased firepower. For the briefest moment, Cole thought about correcting her, but let it go. He was grateful enough for the praise.

“Even the most trifling manipulation of water demands it,” Elina went on. “The blob of water that novices are oft trained to keep aloft? Nothing but telekinetic force. With most casters, the faculty abides beneath notice: for them it is instinctive, unconscious. Thus do we begin with the elements; for to bid a pupil to push water is far simpler than to instruct him in the abstract forces that undergird the act.”

“Uh-huh. Rivetin’ stuff. Damn intriguing,” Miles delivered with immaculate deadpan. “But uh… how long we gonna hang ‘round here like piñatas for?”

“Ah!” Elina had the grace to look sheepish, at least for a split second. “Forgive me: though I had begun to think you were enjoying the vantage. Perhaps I should have left you aloft a while longer.”

They descended gently, like an elevator easing to a stop. Cole’s ass found the cushion with all the dignity physics would allow: which wasn’t much, considering the yanking he’d endured. But… he’d take it.

“Good thing it wasn’t a demon that pulled that on us,” Ethan remarked, settling back into his seat. “We’d be thoroughly cooked otherwise.”

Miles gripped his chair as if he could go to orbit at any time. “Right. Don’t s’pose you’ve got a counter for that?”

“To counter telekinesis is, in principle, a simple matter: though in practice, another thing entirely. One must first perceive the forces themselves: the subtle push, the pull, the pressure upon the body. Until you can feel that current at work, you cannot hope to oppose it.”

“Different substances yield different responses,” Elina added. “Some mages exhibit a particular aptitude with metals. Director Fotham and the Office of Thaumaturgy maintain that it may be bound to magnetism, though their proofs remain incomplete.”

Magnetism. Cole’s mind jumped to electromagnetic fields, fundamental forces: wait. If magic interacted with magnetism, did that mean it operated through one, maybe all of the four fundamentals? Gravity, electromagnetic, strong nuclear, weak nuclear… He shelved the thought for later. Much later.

“In any case,” Elina continued, “once you sense the forces against you, all you must do is oppose: push where it pulls, pull where it pushes. The great advantage, however, is: as with all magic: that power wanes with distance. Should some foe attempt to hold you at a hundred feet, you might unbind yourself with but a fraction of his exertion.”

“So it’s shit for offense,” Miles summarized.

“Unless they stand so near you might count the buttons on their coat, yes.”

A wave of bad memories flooded Cole. The death grip that Mimic had hit him with on the first night was bad enough; it had taken damn near everything in his power at the time just to weasel out of it.

“Which means counters aren’t optional.”

“Just so.” The little bit of levity she had drained away as she glanced toward the windows. “But that is a demonstration better undertaken in daylight, under Lady Verna’s supervision, and not in these weary hours.”

She was right. Cole hadn’t noticed the creeping exhaustion until she mentioned it, but now it hit him all at full force: the warehouse, the debriefing, Mack’s breakdown. His body felt ready to collapse, like he’d finally arrived at a hotel after enduring a grueling flight.

“Yeah.” Miles rubbed his face. “Been a long fuckin’ day.”

Understatement of the year. They’d started the morning thinking they’d practice multicasting, maybe work on new elemental combinations. Instead they’d discovered a figurative nuclear plot, wiped out an entire group of cultists, and watched their friend catalog every dead kid he’d ever failed to save.

Once the telekinesis sideshow passed, silence came rushing back: heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

Cole pushed himself up. Someone had to move first or they’d sit here all night, drowning in their own thoughts. “Breakfast at seven?” He looked around the room. “Head to OTAC after, see if Lady Verna’s available?”

Everyone nodded.

Ethan stood first. “I’ll see you all at seven.” He paused at the stairs, glancing toward Mack’s room, then continued without another word.

Miles stretched. “Guess Imma crash too. Night, y’all.” He headed up, leaving Cole and Elina in the growing quiet.

Elina hadn’t moved, still clutching that journal of hers. She looked completely wrung out: defeated, but definitely not in the way that called for a pep talk. If it were Cole sitting there, he’d want somebody to keep it short, keep it clean, and then leave him the space to breathe.

So that’s what he gave her. “You did good, Elina. Get some rest.”

Elina sat with it, then finally nodded like she was willing to let the verdict stand. She gave a warm smile. “Good night, Cole.”

She said his name, plain as anything: Cole – and honestly, it tripped him up for a good second. Since when were they on a first-name basis? Then it hit: he’d called her Elina without thinking, stripped the titles off, and she was just reciprocating. Quid pro quo.

Probably didn’t mean more than that… But still, hearing it was good: warm, close, like she’d stopped holding herself at arm’s length. Fuck if he knew what else she might’ve meant, but the important thing was that she finally stopped seeing herself as an outsider. That was enough.

Cole waited until her footsteps faded before pocketing Mack’s revolver and heading up himself.

He paused halfway to his room, glancing down at the light leaking from under Mack’s door. No sound came from inside, but what sound could be made from staring at the ceiling? What could Mack be thinking at this moment?

Nothing too crazy, hopefully. Like, it was fucking insane to think Mack would come for the gun, for example. Still, insane didn’t mean implausible or impossible. Trust had limits: and those limits started somewhere before leaving a loaded option within reach.

Even if Mack remained stable through the next few days, it wouldn’t be proof of anything; Cole had seen men white-knuckle it longer than that, all the way up to the moment they didn’t.

Granted, things weren’t so bleak with Mack. The night had given him other reads: focus when the talk turned to business and games, an appetite that wasn’t performative, a mood range that wasn’t painted on. None were suicidal signs.

Cole could let himself relax a bit. He knew well enough that ideation wasn’t intent: God knew how many times his own mind had been struck with intrusive thoughts. And besides, the guy handed over the revolver, didn’t he? That’s as good as saying he got it. Or at the very least, that he didn’t have any plans on saying goodbye anytime soon. He just didn’t want the rest of them chewing themselves up over him.

Cole moved on. Whatever demons Mack was wrestling in there, he’d face them or he wouldn’t. But as long as that light stayed on, as long as he kept existing through the night, there was tomorrow. And tomorrow meant possibility, even if tonight held none.