The God Diversion

[Birdsie]

The Call to Tomorrow

Buddha stood alone, as uncomfortable as a fish seized out of the water, while Solomon saw a clear opportunity - a chance to learn more via careful interrogation. With a nod and magical word to the crowd, he urged them to resume their revelry. A wave of the hand reassured worried minds and restarted the music's upbeat tempo; a few eyes lingered on Buddha, although soon returned to casual, mindless roistering. Grasping Mona's arm, Solomon approached Buddha with a confident, enigmatic smile.

"Hey there, I'm Solomon. And this charming majesty is Mona, my wife," he said, a detoxification cantrip already clearing out Mona's circulation, dissolving alcohol into other harmless mixtures that didn't affect the nervous system or brain as much. "You said you're Buddha?"

"Yep. Johnny Buddha," the man answered, offering a hand. He grinned. "Nice ta' meet'cha."

He accepted the handshake. "Johnny Buddha? I don't believe I'm familiar."

"Well, you shouldn't be, ain't exactly a common name."

"It's a nice name," said Mona, a soft smile spread on coral-blue lips.

"Thanks."

"Are you..." Solomon spoke slowly, falteringly, as his divination returned unclear results, "not Enrolled?"

"Nah." The man chuckled, hands on the back of his head, fingers interlaced, as if finally starting to relax. Good. That was the aim. "That ain't me, bossman. I from that other place, a big buck away from here. Lotsa graffiti and people in cute suits and ties. You got those here as well?"

"Sure. More on Earth than Fortuna, but yes."

"Ah. Earth's the other world of this cluster, right?"

"Yeah." Solomon's eyes narrowed a little, as he contemplated the question. The man was not Enrolled and seemed to be an otherworlder on top of that. His master was likely a non-Thematic wizard as well: supernatural coming from the beyond, not unlike Abraham, if slightly friendlier and less quarrelsome. "So, who's the man you're with?"

"Oh, the wizard? He's the oldest, most boring farter I've ever met," Johnny said, bursting out into sudden laughter. He scratched one of his temples with a finger, thinking. "Well, I'm a sorta pupil of his, although 'hired helper' might be the more accurate term. I do odd jobs he can't be arsed to handle himself. Assassination, scouting, recovery, intercession, sabotage, theft... sometimes more wholesome stuff, sometimes I deliver packages or messages, that sorta stuff. Basically, you can think of me as a mercenary intern."

"You must be pretty talented to work directly for someone like him," Solomon answered, smoothly flowing around the topic of the wizard's name. It was clear that Buddha was more skilled at discourse - and more skilled overall - than he projected outwardly. "Can I offer you a drink?"

"Nah, I don't drink. Besides, we'll be here five, maybe ten minutes." Buddha chanced a look back at the distorted bubble of grayness, nothing within visible, clearly to avoid lip-reading and similar skills or powers of visual analysis.

"Hm. And what are you here for?"

As if to deny Solomon the answer, the privacy dome collapsed, a sound not unlike shattering glass accompanying the event. Solomon looked and saw the Educator had ruptured the magical divider with a tap of the cane, much to his conversation partner's frustration.

"-do believe this conversation is over," the Educator finished a statement, sounding characteristically upbeat. "Thank you."

"You don't even see the mistake you're making, do you, Simon?"

The Educator's face was no longer an indistinct smear to Solomon's eyes - or anyone's, if the shocked gasps were an indicator - as if the mere mention of the mortal name forced a recall of its features onto the man's countenance.

A metaphysical attack, as Solomon understood; if not withdrawn, it'd permanently harm the Educator's form of Enrollment.

The Architecture stuttered and glitched, as if a singularity were leaking excess heat into the machinery, clogging its motions with errors. The Educator stilled for a long second, and Solomon discerned a change of vast proportions, as an invisible shadow fell over everything that mortal eyes couldn't see. He almost staggered from its titanic scale. It was as if the Architecture itself were curled up and drawn into a warrior's fist, reforged into a spear that could, in one well-aimed throw, shatter the world.

The Educator's voice was strangely human - no affectation, no byplay, no fake cheer, no enigmatic tricks, no concealed secrets; only a raw and very human emotion: cold arctic wrath, like ice water from a glacier - as he asked, in short bursts, as if needing to reload between each sentence from the sheer lung-shaking grandeur of his wrath:

"What did you say? To me? Just now?"

Johnny started to retreat, slow and careful steps backward, and Solomon felt compelled to follow, as did everyone else in the chamber. The shadow's magnitude was thick about them within the immaterial layer of reality as if a shroud made of condensed Severity were whipping about their feet, stinging like heated charcoals.

The wizard's expression was unapologetic: a sardonic smile adorned his face, as if this were a simple game. "Oh, I meant no offense. Just calling an old friend of mine by his real name, since it seemed to me he'd started to forget himself. Am I not allowed to do that anymore?"

"You want to play that game? Here and now? You remember calling that name up with me, that's a two-edged sword for a reason?" The Educator's statement was a grave warning. It had a threatening tenor, the cadence of someone asking, 'you remember nukes can explode, don't you?'

"I am shaking in my boots," the wizard answered nonchalantly. "You chose your way. We chose ours."

"I'm afraid you don't get to choose for me." The Educator's fists clenched.

"Sir-" a now clear-headed Penelope started to step forward, seraphic wings tucked away with cautious worry.

"Back off."

"Sir, please, calm down-"

"I said back off, Penelope." The Educator moved a hand in a commanding gesture and Penelope immediately stepped backward until she was in line with Solomon, movements controlled by some unnatural impetus. The Educator faced the wizard. "Apologize. Now."

"I don't think so," answered the man, a cautious eyebrow raised. "On our last meeting, we parted on admittedly poor terms. I don't think you should make our parting here a murder, not over a literal nothing. You've become more a living Role than a man; how are we supposed to know you can be counted upon when it matters? Look at all the madness you've wrought, even in defending the Earth. Has my friend died and been replaced by an avatar of the concept of education? I am asking you to see sense."

There was anger, now, a tangible substance of sheer wrath, in the Educator's voice: civility's thin mask ripped off like a scab scratched off to reveal a naked, bleeding wound, voice full - thick - with barely-subjugated rage, "Last fucking chance, Cyrus. This is, all of it, necessary. I know better than you how necessary it really is. Take it back, now."

For almost a full five seconds - an eternity from the perspectives of people such as them - they stared each other down. The wizard, Cyrus, with a face showing equanimity and tactical contemplation, and the Educator with a flaring anger that surpassed any emotion Solomon had ever witnessed from the man.

"Alright," Cyrus eventually said, calm and diplomatic, and raised a hand, as if in surrender, "Calm down, no need to be so angry. I apologize, okay? I take it back. You're the Educator. You've taught many people over the decades. You've educated. Who am I, an old man, to question that?"

"Nobody," the Educator answered, almost spitting the word out, and then returning to a calm demeanor. He straightened out, as the blurred mask of many faces slipped once more over his own mundane profile. "You're nobody here."

"Good talk," the wizard answered firmly, revealing a mote of sardonism. "Same time next decade as usual?"

"Leave or I'll show you the door myself," the Educator warned. "I am not built of infinite patience; your apology earned you back some consideration, but even so, you've exhausted most of it in a single word. Unless you want me to teach you what else singular words can accomplish, I recommend you take my advice."

"Some scripture student you've turned out to be," the wizard said, already striding for the middle of the chamber and making a circular gesture, which started to cut a hole in reality, opening the same portal as before.

"I'll have you know I never asked to be bothered," the Educator replied with some heat left. "I rendered what good I could with my granted power. Your so-called 'judgment calls' aided nobody except a very small cabal of people. If you ever need actual help with something substantial and benevolent, you know where to find me."

"Heh, 'a very small cabal of people.' You're one to talk." The wizard chuckled coldly and half-turned with a frown. "Buddha?"

"Welp, that was all sortsa fucked up. See ya guys," Buddha said and swiftly stepped through the crowd and up to the old wizard - no longer as flippant as before. They stepped through the portal and it disappeared. The Educator's shoulders loosened a fraction. After that conversation, no one was really in a partying mood anymore. Tension filled the chamber. No one wanted to speak, but eventually, Solomon knew that someone had to break the silence, and who better to do that than himself?

"Educator?" asked Solomon.

The man half-turned, arms folded behind his back.

"What?" His voice masked the emotions of the encounter behind a veneer of unflappable apathy, making it clear he wouldn't appreciate questions regarding what had transpired. At Solomon's silence subsequent this realization, the man waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, continue partying, go on. Forget about all that. Do I really need to tell you children what to do all the time?" He was already walking off as he said those words.

---

That whole incident aside, your spring has been productive in the usual fashion: you've figured out more of the Genesis Cube's functions, and are somewhat confident you could design and make a world of desired parameters within 80-90% accuracy with about 5-6 more actions sunk on Genesis, or slightly less of them (and with higher accuracy) if you sink some XP into Guide of Genesis, the new Technique you've acquired, described below.

You've acquired Technique: [Guide of Genesis], at Level 1. It costs 250 XP to raise to Level 2, and its cost doubles each Level.

The Magician is, inherently, a guide. They are also the connection between the Above and the Below. The Above crafts the Below, that it might reflect the light of the Above back upon it. Thus, should the Magician not have the power to create worlds? This Technique does precisely one thing: aids in the creation of worlds. Naturally, this also makes it easier to direct the formation of such worlds.

Credit: 5.2
XP: 3,860

Choose your actions for the summer.

As usual, nine (9) actions in total.

Here's a short list of potential options, but, as usual, feel free to write-in:

[ ] Classwork - Individualized by default. If you wish to spend XP, make sure to note what sort of abilities you're interested in.
[ ] Interaction - With someone you know or want to get to know.
[ ] Exploration - Of Fortuna and its myriad vistas.
[ ] Rule - Spend some time being a Sorcerer-King.
[ ] Genesis - Continue your experimentations, or decide on the shape of the world you want to create.

 

[Birdsie]

The Call of Tomorrow

It'd been a week since Harrison's birthday when Solomon finally decided to gather his courage and do what was needed. He'd lived for most of his life as a powerless wretch, only finally breaking through the shell of inadequacy with the Educator's advent in his life. The Educator, despite his Role, was also a human being at his core. The man had feelings and issues, as real as any other person's. Even if he didn't want to face that truth - to which, after all his work, he had every right - he still deserved someone to offer support, unconditionally and unquestionably. Who else, then, if not a student of his? Who else, then, if not Solomon, among the very few to have glimpsed behind the mask?

A hesitant hand knocked on a hardwood door. "Yo, teach?"

"Enter," said the Educator.

Inside, the office was as meticulous as ever. The Educator's workspace was spotlessly clean, each piece of furniture arranged in an exact schema, forming a harmonious room with lots of air and freedom to move around. Solomon could imagine the man pacing in the middle, animated and driven while contemplating some mystery of the universe. It was, as always whenever Solomon entered when not for remedial lessons, adorned with the Arcane Theme: violet curtains, mahogany wood, moon-and-star patterns.

The man himself was stoic, hands steepled, diverting the fullness of his attention to Solomon. "What can I do for you, Mr. Lancaster?"

"Well, actually, I thought I could offer you to..." He trailed off, at the Educator's raised eyebrow. This was awkward. How did one broach that with one's teacher? That sort of vulnerability - usually meant for close friends, or maybe a parent and child. The silence dragged on uncomfortably for almost an entire second, all cognitive enhancement, to dilate each thought into an immortal eternity forgotten under the all-too-mortal anxiety of facing the unfamiliar: not knowing how to continue, or what to say.

The Educator didn't offer a chance to spin further explanations, however; producing a weary sigh and rubbing a finger against his supernaturally obscured nose.

"I don't require your aid, Mr. Lancaster. The sentiment's appreciated, but I am alright. As I've already said, I am fully intent on a happy retirement," the Educator reminded and leaned back into his seat.

"That's not what I came here to do at all," Solomon answered, finally regaining some lost confidence.

"Oh? Then what?"

"I was nobody," he answered. "Two years ago, I was a nobody. An insect stuck in the cogs of some machine beyond my understanding, constantly being ground up into ever-finer pieces. Then you came along and changed that, gave me a chance to unstuck myself. You gave me a chance to change myself and the world, so, like... Thank you."

For the absence of a better idea on what to do, Solomon offered the man a deep bow of courtesy.

"You're more like a father to me than my actual dad," he added as an afterthought. "You taught me everything I know that actually matters. You were there to listen when I needed someone to spill my heart to, and knew no one else would. Thank you, really."

"Mr. Lancaster," the Educator started, and then immediately slowed down, hesitating. For all of his vaunted power, which people the world over envied like serpents, it took the man a full second to gather his bearings. He restarted with: "...Solomon. Thank you as well, for being my student. A reminder such as this - of the reason why I chose this particular path to transcendence - isn't an unwelcome thing. Indeed... it's not a bad thing, not at all." Having made the statement, the man grew quiet and contemplative.

There was silence once again in the Educator's office, although of a more positive beat; a silence with a veil of satisfaction, like the curve of a smile. Both of them distinctly comfortable with the exchange which transpired.

"The next year shall be your last," the Educator said, eventually, sharp-toned - a tone of vivacious animation returning to him, reminding Solomon that first time he'd appeared to Enroll them. "Let's save the final goodbyes for then, shall we? I expect you to maintain top grades."

"Yes, sir."

"Was there anything else?"

"No, sir, I'll see you on Monday."

"Until Monday, Mr. Lancaster."

---

By summer's end, the charting of Genesis was announced as complete; after weeks of painstaking application, each sigil's meaning was distilled down to a minute fraction of detail, all further research increasingly diminishing. There was a barnstorming celebration among scholars and wizards, champagne bottles firing out corks, cheers ringing across the streets. Tomorrow, a committee of the best and brightest would discuss the shape of the paradise to come, a promised land plucked out of a thousand myths. Tonight, people danced and saluted the world to come, and the efforts of those who strove to bring it about.

Accession of the Tower's systems was likewise concluded. The secrets of its libraries were spilled, and the powers of its artifacts were laid bare; all miracles were dissected under the Magician's microscope before emerging priorities turned the vast morasses of his attention elsewhere.

Atop the Tower, on a garden made there for leisure and entertaining guests, a young woman stood alone on the precipice, watching as the nebulae rolled across the dark firmament, constellations glimmering like coruscant diadems. Waist-length tresses of raven-dark hair swayed in the breeze as if casually tugged on. Her eyes were an incandescent glowing violet-pink, admiring features of reality once concealed to her senses, opened by the magic she'd been practicing for almost a year now.

Out of the Twilight, he stepped out; the Magician, adorned in a navy robe embroidered with ornate trimmings and delicate shimmering lace, starmetal crossings on the chest casting a font of constant prosperity on its wearer's surroundings. A humble coronet of burnished adamant rested on an aloof brow, enhancing cogitation by scrubbing away extraneous mentation before it occurred, and reducing the accumulation of mental weariness to a mere trickle. Even after a day of work and studies, still, he felt completely fresh and ready for what, a year and a half ago, might've been a conversation so tiresome as to feel tempted not to even leave the bed in the morning.

"So," he began.

"Mm?"

"Happy anniversary," he said and proffered a bracelet he'd crafted from concentrated Twilight, and adorned sixteen varieties of magical stone made into a syncretic magical working, capable of elevating its wearer's natural charm and vocal control.

"I didn't need an expensive gift from you," she lamented, accepting the bracelet without a thread of vigor, with something of a weary sigh. "Just a kiss on the cheek would've sufficed, Solomon."

"I'm sorry." He realized the error's magnitude instantly. "Let me make it up to you." He immediately did as Mona had requested, but the kiss came off stiff as a result; not unwanted, but almost awkward as a result of its apologetic nature.

She continued, "No, I'm sorry, I know you worked hard on it."

"Yes, but I should've known you wouldn't care for a magical trinket."

She chuckled. "For a Magician, you're a bit of a Fool."

An adoring smile appeared on her face. Without a word, she leaned in, closing her eyes. He followed suit, matching the movement. It was a brief event, a fleeting encounter of lips, stirring an ache as they parted and opened their eyes to gaze into each other. There was a hint of coy smugness to her expression now.

"But that's how I like you."

Conversation, in truth, was an unnecessary adornment. A holdover of mortality, cherished for the sake of its simplicity. Their Connection was so deep that a mere exercise of the Connection, a momentary broadening, could express ideas and feelings comminuted to the level of nanofathoms. Talking was an indulgence of old habits, more than communication. If one of ever them wished, in a sudden snap, they'd become faultlessly attuned to one another: becoming star-crossed lovers out of a myth, so superlatively harmonized the mere sight of them would lead others to despair and heartbreak over how shallow their own relationship seemed in comparison.

But, as Mona said on the night immediately after their wedding, where was the fun in that? According to her, it was a form of surrender to natural circumstance. Theirs was a political marriage at its core, driven by the immensity of benefits to either side, but a supernatural ability couldn't give you true love. To forge a mutual bond with a ritual was empty and meaningless, and if ever broken, potentially apocalyptic. A potion can't give you love. Only time and effort can do that.

Instead of taking the road that destiny offered, they stumbled and erred constantly through an unnavigable wilderness, making fools of themselves and playing with unsubtle conversational diversions. Getting to know each other, and appreciating one another, as human beings: day by day approaching that golden zenith.

A master has failed more times than the beginner has ever tried - so, too, for learning to love.

"Fortuna's moon is closer than ours," he commented.

"I know," she snorted. "I'm not some insipid old lady, oh dear husband of mine."

"You and I cleave to different patterns," Solomon eventually said, after staring out into the night for several minutes, holding Mona's hand. "I don't think the world meant for us to be. There was nothing Architectural about it. A chance encounter. It all happened because I was curious about your land of origin." He didn't need to say anything more for her to conclude he meant that as a compliment for their mutual effort. That, despite the difficulty, they'd managed to stick together and do right by each other.

"Yes, I think Earth and Fortuna are different enough, and there are other rifts beyond that one," she agreed with a nod. "I've lived my entire life in my mother's shadow, and then, when she died, as a titan, an icon the other witches needed for guidance and support. The Eldest Sister, the Chosen of the High Priestess. I knew better than any of them how precarious our situation was. We faced a future of uncertainty and promised diminishment, an end to our window of prosperity; already brief and unimpressive. Even Lunne prayed for salvation, out into the endless Abyss, as if hoping some deity might answer. No such luck, as I knew."

Solomon didn't interrupt, listening intently.

"You saved us," she said. "You didn't even need to, you didn't have to - after the reception you received, you certainly would've had every right to simply leave. But you went the extra mile in every way. And now I'm not alone anymore." She shied away to the side, as if embarrassed to say that.

"I was saved too," he said, hand squeezing her own. "I couldn't, in good conscience, leave your people to their fate."

"Marriage, though?" He felt compelled to chuckle; her tone was disbelieving, as if reviewing their own audacity with perfect hindsight. Even if the action made total sense on an intellectual level, it certainly would've seemed mad to a layman. "What were we? What are we? Insane?"

"Maybe a lunatic is simply a minority of one."

"You, perhaps, are a lunatic," she pouted. "Giving a gift to your wife and not even kissing her."

His cheeks flared red. "I already kissed you in apology, didn't I? Several times, too. What, do you want more?"

Her moue didn't abate, eyes downcast, voice muted and mumbly, "Well, I don't think I would mind that..."

"Spoiled..." He huffed. "Fine, c'mere."

---

Completion of the Magician's Tower has yielded dividends: from learning via the arcane lore troves, you've gained Arcanum 8. You've also increased Sanctum and Silver Throne a single Level each, with your leftover XP.

Credit: 6.0
XP: 520

What'll be the world to come? (Name.)

[ ] Arcana
[ ] Arcanoria
[ ] The Magician's Realm
[ ] Elysium
[ ] Twilight
[ ] Write-in

And what is the world's nature? During the committee's arguments, groups emerged in favor of two distinctly-flavored paradigms:

[ ] The Arcane Foundation

*A distilled, idealized version of Fortuna.

*It's physically much larger than Earth, about the size of Neptune, and has many untamed and wild lands, ripe for conquest and full of natural resources. Its solar system's planets are also more liveable and easier to terraform, and are significantly closer together, making efforts to colonize much simpler.

*The natural bounty of each planet includes a perplexing variety of magical beasts, supernatural ores, and mystical flora that can fuel your burgeoning magocratic economy. The planets each have their own 'theme' and environment, making them rich in particular forms of resource: versatile environments without compromising on comfort.

*Has attached demiplanes, including elemental realms, and dimensions bending to certain forms and abstract concepts. Each is inherently chaotic and will require some time and significant effort to settle or be exploited to any degree, but are full of their own natural outsiders.

*Natural connectivity renders interworld and interuniversal travel easier. The world can act as a natural hub and homeworld for a potential multiverse empire, if you wish to expand away from home in some nebulous future.

*Its Thematic suffusion is maximized. The world itself naturally produces and propagates the Arcane Theme. Its suffusion has reached a level of coalescence at which it creates totally novel Arcana from nothingness, warped aberrations of the normal fabric. This is the world's natural magic system. Greatly enhances your progression.

*The world has a native population and civilizations, most of them primitive. As a minor concession to the Genesis Cube's mechanism, the civilizations won't immediately fall in line with the Magocracy. Diplomatic consolidation and unification into one, global government should occupy at least three decades of your time post-graduation.

[ ] The Ideal Foundation

*A world with unusual, non-contiguous topology: rather than a strict 3D universe, each individual lives within their own 'microverse,' each of which can connect to others with tunnels, which don't necessarily need to be spatially consistent if overlaid on a 3D map. It can essentially hold any forms desirable.

*An individual's microverse generates its own matter, energy, and phenomena ex nihilo. This effect is guided by a universal consciousness, a semi-benevolent pseudo-entity with a qualitative intellect roughly comparable to your own, post-enhancement spells. Its main directive is to manifest whatever phenomena are desirable for fulfilling the utility of the entities contained within, although with a discerning eye: it won't attempt to addict its denizens to narcotics and will offer sources of therapy instead, and it won't give them weapons to kill each other instead aiming to resolve conflicts peacefully, etc. It also won't aid obvious trespassers in causing mayhem.

*The universe itself has some measure of power it can exert, and if it assesses this to be a safe action, it'll create extrusions and 'agents' to send out into other, nearby worlds to scout for assimilation viability. It'll aim to induct cultures into a socially acceptable ethos if they aren't already, and offer migration into itself. It'll absorb the power of assimilated universes to expand its own capabilities, becoming a fuller and independent entity in due time.

*Essentially a utopian realm: everyone gets a slice of their own heaven, which is intelligently programmed for them, but strays away from downright wireheading. No one needs to do work anymore. From some perspectives, this might be depressing. From others, the ultimate reward.

*No natural magic aside from the universal consciousness and native capabilities, meaning that while relatively paradisical, the realm offers no progression boost to you or your classmates. Excellent place to live on a daily basis, shit if you're concerned about nasty neighbors. Your synthesized heaven may well be conquered by a dark lord before it gets a chance to truly get its wheels off the ground.

[ ] Write-in

 

[Birdsie]

The Arcane World

Once, Hannah was a nobody, a simple teacher, a face among the crowds. Her serene life was unimportant and modest, her existence a procedural cog in a societal machine, eating from a bowl of noodles and grading papers with a red marker on the weekends.

Then came the Educator, whose Enrollment ended any semblance of normalcy.

Overnight, she developed strange insights, an instinctive predictive ken, even improbable events almost frustratingly childish to decipher. Focusing, she was capable of viewing strings that connected everything: exerting, she could tug on them, and form cascades of events, to destructive or productive ends. And with the strings came incorporeal cards: decked in metallic colors; bronze, silver, and gold as if someone were making trophies. Each card, if touched and collected, offered power: first, rudimentary developments mimicking the least of her students' abilities, and then abilities fully of her own origin, altering and broadening the effects of the strings.

Unlike with Hannah's students, the Educator provided only minimal and cursory guidance and advice here, citing the import of prioritizing the needs of his students, and offering nothing more than a simple apology.

Then, one day, everyone suddenly forgot she existed at all. This was not a metaphor.

The Educator blithely disregarded her waving hand in front of his face, as if she were translucent. No one, even Harrison or Penelope, could hear even a full-throated shout from her. She'd done what she could to communicate: spelling out messages with a deck of cards, writing them on the blackboard, carving them into floors and walls.

However, it went far beyond simple forgetfulness. Reality seemed to amend her actions as if they were snarls in a celestial loom. She'd struck the Educator and he didn't even notice or budge. She'd opened doors, only to find them untouched and closed seconds later. As if she were nothing more than a specter, disappearing into the gullet of some immaterial leviathan. As if she'd faded into some parallel reality, where the impact of her actions was ignored and expunged. There were other symptoms as well. For instance, she didn't ever become even slightly tired and didn't ever feel hunger or thirst. She contemplated if she'd died, and was now a ghost, stuck in some gray limbo.

The only variable unchanged was the Fortune-Teller's Role, as reliable as it'd been in the beginning. Hannah deducted that it must've been the Role's side effect, this curse of total irrelevance, as she didn't know what else could've done it. Given it must've caused her misery, she considered there must've been a way to undo it with the Role's power as well. She collected the offered cards and played with the strings, and sometimes, they'd still have a fairly blatant impact on reality. Her maneuvering accidentally summoned an otherworld warrior named Abraham into Fortuna and then steered Penelope to recognize Solomon's ability and aid in Abraham's defeat.

For over a year and a half, Hannah was nothing more than reality's silent spectator, and when fortune permitted, an occasional intercessor, drilling deep into her Role's Theme, laboring to attain a power that'd finally achieve liberation from its chains.

Then one evening, a man appeared, coalescing out of a thick shadow and into a dark knight's form. Hannah initially didn't pay much attention to him, dismissing him as some unimportant Enrolled, occupied as she was staring into the parasol of strings stretching out of her hand. Each led to its own distinct possibility, an outcome she could beguile microscopically in a preferred direction: it'd birthed an appreciation for minor events in her, the awareness of how even a minor shift of spacing or timing could drastically alter a situation. This overwhelming attention to detail might've been the reason she'd failed to notice the full image set before her, the absence of strings leading to the man.

"You are Hannah?"

A couple of seconds, silent and pregnant with immateriality. To start with, Hannah wasn't certain if she should even answer, unaccustomed to speech aimed to include her in the conversation, until the dark knight approached and stood directly and expectantly in front of her, leaning down, helmet on level with her own face. His head cocked to the side, as if the silence was making him curious about something. A chord of uncertainty finally gave way to cold realization, and finally to nerve-wracking, almost fearful shock. The collection of threads in Hannah's hand faded away, finally meaningless. Hannah felt unmoored, as if simultaneously free and afraid of what that meant.

Could it be she'd finally lost it? Gone insane, started hallucinating strange men in armor?

The answer came out quiet, breathless, and afraid, "You can see me?"

He nodded, a stiff and slow movement, and straightened out. "I am Xer-Lai Lithigaran, Son of Avalon. I felt your suffering and loneliness, and as one who's likewise once suffered the depravity of the Dreamless Door, I've come to free you of your chains. Rise; rise and rejoice, for if you choose to come with me, you come into the caring embrace of a fellowship. A fellowship of those who are exactly like you, whom the World's Soul has rejected. You'll never be alone with us. Take my hand."

He offered an arm to be clasped.

"I don't understand," she muttered. "If I come with you, I'll be able to talk to people again? Be a part of the world?"

He nodded. "Yes. We have a sage who can reintroduce you into the World's Soul," he said. "However, the road is long, and spans many worlds. By my most accurate estimations, it took me over a year to arrive here. It'll be a while for you, if you ever intend to return. The sooner we depart, the better."

Fear was something she'd unlearned over time. Even death, she'd conquered, when countless attempts to embrace it bore no fruit. Hannah didn't require more encouragement from the man. If he offered freedom, she'd risk anything to acquire it. An arm was clasped by another, and into the shadows they disappeared.

Inside of his Tower, Solomon's hand momentarily ceased writing notes in an arcane codex. It felt almost as if some fleeting shadow, no larger than an insect, yet faster than an arrow, had flung itself through the Architecture and then disappeared into nothingness. Shrugging, he continued on.

---

The Genesis Cube spun and rotated as the Rite of Creation finished its work, sigils incandescent with numinous radiance as if they were scars into a world of endless light, the miracle of nucleogenesis starting anew as Fortuna divided itself, not unlike a cell, and the foundational schematics within the Architecture shaped the gestation.

And then Elysium was a reality.

On the next Monday, the Arcanists and ministers of the Magocracy stood on a cliffside backlit by dawn's rays, observing as a whole new world unfolded in front of them: vistas of savage jungles and shining crystal lakes, oceans with frothing waves, and mountain chains with ridges that rivaled Everest's pinnacle. This a was a world unafraid of miracles, and free of any Thematics not their own. A frontier on which to forge their destiny. Naturally, Maximilian's first action was to step boldly forward off a cliff.

"I'll save him," Penelope stated, before casually stepping over the edge and allowing herself to drop down.

The Architecture on Elysium was buoyant, almost gaseous: simultaneously easy to manipulate and read, and without much consequence on anything. Its fairly recent birth meant it hadn't solidified entirely, not unlike a ceramic pot still retaining the malleability of clay. It'd settle down within a fortnight. However, it was Solomon's full intention to abuse this unequaled opportunity ruthlessly and conduct as many rites as he could. Chiefly to install truths of the Magocracy's domination and prosperity into reality's code, and ease the road leading to a golden tomorrow. He already perceived a distant silhouette of that glory.

First, however, came Education.

As usual, September's first day was marked with an enthusiastic speech by the Educator.

"Hello, students!" the Educator declared, striding confidently and brashly into the classroom, once more displaying the exaggerated swagger of an old man slowly yet surely approaching retirement. "As I'm sure you've already learned through either the grapevine or your own abilities, I did not Enroll a new first-year class this morning. Next year, I'll be permanently retiring from being the Educator, not that you must worry about this, as next year most of you hopefully shall be graduated. This year, we'll review the central aspects of your Theme and individual Roles, we'll solidify your abilities, and we'll finalize your Enrollment! Come next Sunday, I'll no longer accept or even consider new subdivisions, interpretations, or applications of your Aspects; or so-called 'Techniques.' It's recommended you make any propositions before then. Let's start."

Humming, the Educator spun around and, with a piece of chalk, began to elegantly and fastidiously sketch diagrams

Over Solomon's mental link, chatter erupted.

'He's retiring?'

'He's mad, right? Gone insane?'

'Is this because of what happened on Harrison's birthday?'

'Solomon, did you know about this?'

That final accusatory question was from Penelope, who'd glanced back with shock on her face. Now that it was declared, everyone stared down his way.

'Yeah,' he answered. 'He'd told me, and I didn't want to dissuade him. Man's got his reasons. What business is it of ours?'

'Fucking hell, Lancaster, are you deaf or dense or something? It means we're among the last goddamned people to be Enrolled,' Josh pointed out, sounding frustrated and uncharacteristically worried. 'Obviously it's our business! It means the game's gonna set with Gothic. No more add-ons. Just what's there vying for control. If this leaks out...'

'It'd be catastrophic. Every Theme in a good position would gain the confidence to attack others and start taking over. It'd start what might well be a genuine Third World War,' Zoe, the Hierophant, surmised. 'We're all in agreement to keep this secret?'

There was a murmur of assents and agreements, everyone transmitting universal approval of the idea. Even Solomon thought it'd be a better outcome if this wasn't leaked for a while more, although he did feel compelled to state, 'I feel your worries are excessive. There won't be a World War, probably. There'll be regional conflicts, yes, and skirmishes, if this leaks. Without the potential of a new Theme appearing, those in power and those powerless alike will feel more confident to act as they will. But Archetype will maintain order. The Olympian is more or less the strongest Enrolled, and he's a good man. Everyone who might step out of line will be too afraid of him.'

'And you figure that's enough?' Damien asked, not skeptical, but curious to hear the reasoning. Solomon shrugged.

'Archetype will tolerate minor conflicts and not sic him on them specifically to maintain control. If you completely restrict all people - the greedy and ambitious especially - from warring against each other for territory or resources, they'll obviously feel cornered in and potentially rebel against the restriction, maybe even close ranks. It's an idea doomed to failure. If you give them free reign without a threat to maintain order, they'll do the war, which is hardly ideal. But allow them to fight on the low-key, and have a big gun that's ready to fire if they step out of line? Then they'll keep it low-key. They'll have something to gain, and something to lose: the ideal pairing for maintaining order.'

He didn't say it out loud, but that's more or less what Archetype was already doing. The only difference in a world without the constant arrival of new Themes was that it'd become slightly more heated: more strife, and more of these regional conflicts and power-jockeying. But hardly an apocalypse or a World War.

'Carrot and stick,' muttered Damien mentally. 'I can see that, yeah. But Olympian's not the only big shot in the world.'

'The Once and Future King is one of the strongest after him, and he's no idiot either. He acts wisely. All the other Themes, especially the older ones, have smart and wise leaders who are experienced at this sort of politicking,' Solomon said.

'It won't do much good unless the Gothics also keep this secret, keep in mind,' added Carolina, or Strength. 'Even if they do, we'll only have a year of time on Earth or so, before everyone realizes what's up. Maybe two, if we're lucky.'

'Nah. Just one, probably,' Solomon replied. 'But that's more than plenty, if we make use of our time right now to prepare.'

He smiled. 'After all, prep time is half the battle.'

---

It's the start of your third - and final - year of Enrollment. It'll conclude with a graduation exam, a challenge of your collective skills as a Class, now finally standing united under a banner of common cause, after years of conflicts and bickering.

Credit: 6.6
XP: 520

Choose your actions for autumn.

Nine (9) actions in total.

Here's a short list of potential options, but, as usual, feel free to write-in:

[ ] Classwork - Individualized by default. If you wish to spend XP, make sure to note what sort of abilities you're interested in.
[ ] Interaction - With someone you know or want to get to know.
[ ] Exploration - Of Fortuna and its myriad vistas.
[ ] Exploration: Elysium - Your new world isn't custom-built for Enrollment, but it is custom-built for rapid Thematic advancement, so it's almost better that way. Explore!
[ ] Rule - Ready the Magocracy for its exodus across worlds.

 

[Birdsie]

The Lesser Key of Solomon

Earth. Green and verdant, blue and crystalline.

Ahead and to the side, stood New York and its many towering skyscrapers, like metal and glass pillars upholding the heavens. The island with the Statue of Liberty, verdigris covering each inch, a torch upraised. An almost perpetual traffic jam making a ruckus of honks and shouts. It all unfolded to Solomon's eyes, not as a divinatory effigy but as a real location. The portal's edges shimmered as he casually stepped on through, smiling. He whirled a keyring around his fingers with a grin slowly developing.

An artifact yielded from exploration - a magical key that could open a portal to any known ontologically close world, almost costlessly.

The Lesser Key, he'd decided to name it.

Why meet the Olympian through Penelope, when I can do it myself?

"Solomon Lancaster," said the Olympian's voice from a couple feet behind him. In shock, Solomon whirled around and nearly stumbled on his feet.

His sensory field - the Architecture, a constant passive divination of matter, the danger sense - nothing had detected or predicted the man's abrupt appearance. He must've come out of nowhere in a mind-boggling hypersonic dash, and Solomon hadn't felt so much as a stiff breeze on his back.

The man smiled as if sensing the inner thoughts. "I'm that good. You're my daughter's friend?" He extended a hand, to shake.

"Yeah." Solomon accepted the older man's grip. It wasn't as firm as he'd imagined. His mind had thought: strongest man in the world, must have a grip like a snake. His hand was almost soft through the padded gauntlet, instead. "Pleasure to meet you, sir. I came by to talk about some things, probably best done in private and out of sight."

"Naturally. Come with me." The Olympian casually rose. Solomon made a connective strand between them, anticipating high speed, and followed. They made a casual sweep over New York and eventually arrived on the helicopter landing port on top of the Archetype HQ. It didn't seem all that different from the surrounding skyscrapers, almost the same, if not for the massive antennae and radio dishes sticking out of the top: meant to facilitate teleportation between here and the space base. They stepped through several doors and hallways, past occupied and heedless workers, and into something almost like a meeting chamber.

"So, what can I do for you?"

There were protective wards on the room - of this, Solomon was as sure as of the fact the sun was still in the sky. They were definitely of a cutting-edge level, as high-grade as a mage could lay: even Solomon would've struggled to catch so much as a whiff of who is inside the room, from without, let alone catch the topic of the conversation. He decided to ask, for redundancy, "You're sure this room is secure?"

"Yes. Nightcowl designed the security protocols himself," answered Olympian. "We're in one of the safest locations to talk about secrets in the world. If you're not confident, we can move to our station's security chamber, but I should warn you, it'll be a lot of time and checks for a very minimal improvement."

Solomon nodded. "I preferred not to talk to you about this with Penelope's artifact. Too much risk. It has a traceable signature that an Enrolled sorcerer with any modicum of talent could piggyback on."

"It's serious, then, since we've spoken about a potential end of the world through that thing, before." The Olympian steeled himself. "Lay it on me."

"The Educator is planning to retire."

The Olympian's face was unreadable. He looked down for a moment, face glum. There was a second or two of silence, and Solomon could tell the Olympian was taking a minute - perhaps literally, with his accelerated mind - to think.

"I see. He told you so?"

"Yes."

"Hm."

"There's one more thing. We've also apprehended several students from the Ohio area, from Columbus. They were operating on the enemy's behalf as parasite agents, meant to infiltrate the Academy and assassinate the Educator to open the way for the rest of the forces to come through," Solomon reported. "Furthermore, given our capture of them, we believe that as of the start of this school year, the Metaphysician has started a more thorough invasion of the enemy's ontological territories. He's winning. It's rather difficult to predict when he'll be done, even for me, but I suspect he'll be finished within, at the latest, a year."

"That's worrying," the Olympian stated. "And to think we'd only just about finished dismantling his base. Thank you for bringing this to me, Solomon."

Solomon nodded. "I should make my way back."

"Wait," said the Olympian, raising a hand.

"Yes?"

"The portal you used." The Olympian's face was curious now, and tinged with something resembling wry amusement. "Does it carry passengers?"

On that day, the Olympian visited Fortuna and Elysium. Like a true hero, he then saved the entire Arcanist Class from boredom by embarrassing Penelope in front of everyone, inescapably hugging her, and constantly saying how proud he was that his little girl became Justice, exactly like her mother. All, naturally, was recorded for posterity.

And Solomon, in the meantime, managed to make other visits to Earth's Thematic hotspots while the iron was hot. He accumulated as many resources from as many different compatible Themes as he could. In Romania and Britain, he purchased a selection of arcane and druidic books, as well as ritual ingredients. He went to Greece and bottled some of the Styx and Lethe. He acquired a selection of cursed artifacts from Los Angeles, intending to uncurse them sometime in the nebulous future. His ruthless shopping spree even carried him into outer space, negotiating with the Alienist to gain access to exotic alien metals.

He also made a brief stop to watch from afar as the Drone Villain valiantly led an army of drones in an attempt to steal all of Detroit.

"Again!?" asked the disbelieving Olympian, an armored fist coring out a combat drone and pulling out its crushed motherboard. "It's the third time!"

The man standing on top of a herculean drone was armored as well, a sleek dark-gray suit with a voice modulator installed in a helmet with a crown of rotors. On his back, there was another drone, which he used much as one might use a jetpack.

"MUAHAHAHAHAHA! I WILL HAVE DETROIT, OLYMPIAN, AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME!"

---

Credit: 7.0
XP: 40,650

Developments:
*Increased Arcanum to Level 9.
*You've increased Arcane Focus (Cup - Devoted) to Level 8.
*You've increased each of your Eldritch Techniques to Level 4.
*You've increased Hermes the Destroyer to Level 5.
*Above is leftover XP.

Information:
*The Educator didn't have answers to Solomon's question about the absence of an adult.

Author's Note (The Ending)

We're approaching the final leg of the quest. In fact, we've been doing so for a while.

You've acted with good competence as players, making the right choices in almost every situation, and preparing yourselves solidly for the circumstances to come. One of your foremost successes was early investment of time and effort into Architectural studies, as well as investing in your Classmates. As the former's consequence, you've had a strong advantage in almost every encounter during the quest: foreseeing Abraham's coming (if you hadn't, it would've been the equivalent of an Endbringer attack; your entire Class united against an overwhelming threat. Likely with some deaths.) Instead, you averted disaster and profited from it. Your Pangothica visit helped massively as well, rocketing you ahead of the entire Class by miles and bounds.

And because you invested in your friends, you've come out as the guiding influence of a massive society of magi that'll, in years to come, rival most of Earth's Themes. Given that Olympian's been alerted of the situation, there are almost no remaining risks in facing the Metaphysician: even if the latter's hostile and doesn't wish to negotiate, you and Archetype in tandem can almost certainly defeat him. He's stronger than the Olympian, but not by a lot, and your Connections and own Architectural attainment can do more than close the gap. There were some other potential plot developments planned, but this quest was, to start with, rather unlikely to last outside of graduation, and you've easily exceeded most of the other conflicts.

I foresee that I could've added two more turns of actions between the ending and the previous vote: a winter and spring turn, and more actions on top of that. Actually, I was writing the update with that in mind, before I had a sparkling realization. You're already strong enough that any rolls to 'win' or 'prevail' in the situations you'll potentially take part in are mostly a formality. You're a preparation time-oriented Role with the Architecture, which warns you that you'll need to prepare ahead of time. Then you have boosters, such as your wife and entire society of magi and apprentices that you vastly overshadow. The Metaphysician has allies of his own, but you've got ways to rally the entire world behind you. Even the mightiest Theme with the mightiest Enrolled can't stand against the second and third, with support from the rest.

And frankly, over those two turns, you would've likely continued to expand and derive as much worth as you can.

Instead, let's do something a tad more elegant. No more crunching numbers and advantages, maximizing your odds. No more stacking superpowers upon superpowers. Let's instead return to that most primordial ways of choosing what happens in a quest.

Choose what'll happen in the years to come. Feel free to use a write-in, anywhere you like; as well as appending any other scenes you'd like to include. Given the eclectic nature, I cannot promise full scenes, but I'll do what I can to make it a satisfying look at things. This is a community wish list, more than a vote.

Graduation
[ ] ...Individual - Each Arcanist shall face their own demons and trials. Solomon will partially attain the Diamond Eyes, much to the Educator's delight.
[ ] ...Collaborative - You'll make a collaborative working, all your powers combined, to transport Fortuna's nations to Elysium before the end.

The Metaphysician
[ ] ...Defeated - Couldn't be reasoned with, so the world's assembled Enrolled shall kick his ass in a massive fight. For dramatic irony, you can steal some of his power.
[ ] ...Redeemed - Remaking his own humanity from scratch made him reflect on his actions. He announces that he'd like to apologize and make amends with the world.

Your Empire
[ ] ...Ascendant - You'll become your own empire. A working shall fold all other Themes into your own: a massive hyperstructure.
[ ] ...Protected - You'll cloister yourselves away from the bothers and nuisances of the wider multiverse. No more Apocalypse, in either direction.

Your Family
[ ] ...Just Wife and Husband - Solomon and Mona are sufficiently happy with each other as they are.
[ ] ...Have Some Kids - Penelope is so excited that she gets to be an aunt.

The Distant Future
[ ] ...Unremarkable - Nothing of note occurs. You continue to live and learn.
[ ] ...Strange Aeons - A fellow multiversal Empire extends a tendril of friendship.

 

[Birdsie]

A Single Day After Six

After a season of work and heavy planning, a collaboration between each of the Arcanists, a work demanding attention from every Role simultaneously, its scale and complexity unprecedented even by Enrollment's standards, it was done.

It was the Phantasian miracle, magnified tenfold and made true.

As the Magician, Solomon's eyes gazed out onto a grateful paradise; its citizens drew on the fonts of mystical Twilight above, sending out prayers and chants to individual stars and constellations, and were rewarded as it reformed the land to shape castles out of ideations, gave rise to lakes from puddles, or empowered them according to their needs. Each of Fortuna's citizens was now Elysium's, each a participant of a better world, a burgeoning utopia that promised to develop ever higher and better. He'd made sure this was its destiny early on when its development was embryonic.

Across the world, multitudes of mages made pilgrimages to shrines and wellsprings that conducted each of the Arcana through them, attaining fragments of enlightenment. It was a world ascendant, spires of gleaming mithril with coruscant lights, defiant against the night's absolute darkness.

Solomon relished the feeling of a hard-won victory, a release from sloth's chains after so long. He stood on an overlook, an orichalcum balcony atop the Magician's Tower, and observed the calm tidings of the Architecture from its peak. There was one remarkable event set to happen tonight, in about five seconds.

"Solomon."

"David," answered Solomon, turning around with a soft smile. "Your arrival was predicted."

For True Architects, a direct encounter was different than for simple human beings.

Within an instant, each of their stances was mostly clear to the other. They perceived each other's pasts on a level that didn't allow a margin of error; a form of postcognition that drove over concealment or redaction, to extract pure truth from the ontological marrow of their being. Within a second of meeting, they were already so familiar with each other's overall demeanor and personalities it was more like a meeting between old friends or rivals, than strangers who'd distantly heard of each other. There were still many unknowns; mostly what the other would do within the short-term future, as well as the short-term past which wasn't as solidly set in stone, but those were more or less irrelevant on the scale of discovery they made about each other, floating bubbles of uncertainty in a sea of natural familiarity.

"It's considered rude to send one's rivals after each other," the Metaphysicist answered calmly, voice distorted through the faceless eggshell-white helmet. His armor was perfection incarnate, each ceramic plate capable of casually ablating off spellcraft that'd destroy a continent in an instant. Not even Solomon's exertions could harm the man significantly, although he could, if the situation called for it, magically banish him from the Magocracy's territories and prevent a return anytime soon: an Edict and Mandate of such magnitude not even the Metaphysicist would be able to contest it. If negotiations turned sour, that was the most logical path to undertake.

"I know your feelings on the matter of civilization," he answered frankly. "And I disagree with them on ethical grounds. You came here to debate me?"

"You're not speaking to the Metaphysicist of yesterday," he answered, sagging moderately as if exhausted to hear the same line repeatedly. "After fatal damage, I've had to reconstruct my identity. I do not hold the same positions as before, and I am here to inform you of this. Given the ruin I've wreaked on my reputation in my prior incarnation, I've decided that a life of remote intercession on behalf of civilization is preferable. I shall reveal this intercession as mine once I've earned the people's gratitude."

"And rule over them?" Solomon raised an eyebrow, skeptical if that was much better. More effective, in all likelihood, but ethically dubious. It struck him as inherently manipulative to draw on earnest gratitude to secure power, when the naivete of mortal humans was your old self's main argument for seizing total power.

But David shook his head. "And earn their pardon, so I can join Archetype."

There was a moment of deafening silence. The Architecture shifted once, like a tick of a clock, as if noting down the shockingly unlikely variable and modifying its stance in accordance with it. Casually, Solomon reloaded his mind.

"...you want to become a member of Archetype?"

That, he didn't predict at all; it didn't even enter the calculator, let alone show as the conclusion of any equation. It'd seemed inconceivable that David would ever submit to an authority other than his own. But the Architecture seemed insistent on confirming this as not intentionally misleading.

"You consider that so strange, do you? But I see that no matter how much you aid mankind, it doesn't matter if it doesn't wish for your aid," he answered, speaking from the heart; with a resolve like a core of plasma inside a star. "Instead of forcing everyone to acknowledge me as the ideal commander, I'll submit myself to their own system, to show I am willing to respect mortal authority. From there, I will offer them the tools to elect better officials. And while that process will inevitably culminate in me, it is no longer merely a means to an end; the process itself is the end for me. I'll walk the path everyone else walks, and I'll simply master it... and I would like your support in this."

On diplomatic habit, Solomon loaned out Penelope's ability to see the truth. There was not a seedling of deception anywhere in the Metaphysicist's words, not even that most insidious and well-concealed poison of self-deception. And the man was certainly smart enough to know what he could achieve and couldn't. He was serious about all of it.

"Well, if you can eventually conceive a scenario where mankind wishes you to lead by its own will, I don't have an issue with that," Solomon answered, after a moment of cogitation. "And if you truly require my aid, you're free to contact me about the specifics. I'll need to convene with fellow Arcanists about this."

The Metaphysicist nodded, finding that sufficient. There was no more need for words, not between True Architect; its inherent connection of all elements would handle the details of the affair, now that their aligned wills were in a mutual orbit, rather than cautious opposition and defiance.

Then he paused for a moment and looked back. "You won't apologize for warning the Olympian about me?"

"It was a reasonable precaution," answered Solomon. "And for you, mostly, a difficulty tweak."

"You underestimate your best friend's father. That man can do more than throw a punch."

"It's unlike you to take offense over a trifle."

"It's unlike me to do anything nowadays," David answered.

"True enough," Solomon temporized. "But you acknowledge it was a logical decision. I'll apologize for causing an inconvenience to the David of today, not for defending the world from yesterday's Metaphysicist."

"...That's nice."

And so the conversation was over. No need for goodbyes; the Metaphysicist disappeared in a distortion of blue light.

Then came years of toiling, slowly dragging the Earth from entropy's caress. The Magocracy's successes were not an immediate and assured truth but founded on a core of alliances, diplomacy, and in a few rare cases, conquests of belligerent nations. Within a decade, it ruled over half of Elysium as its sole superpower, and from there matters were much easier. The complete Class of Arcanists met at least once each year to discuss the most pressing issues and draft new legislation and plot for the future. After five years, Solomon started a family with Mona, and they now had a trio of children; two sons and a daughter, whom he cherished above all else.

On Earth, matters were tumultuous during that time: the Kingdom of Oregon declared wars of conquests on all its neighbors, and Archetype mobilized. For the first time in history, the Metaphysicist interceded alongside Archetype. The Arcanists helped, and half the world seemed to pitch in, the Once and Future King included. A number of villains were rehabilitated with a new and improved social convalescence program and released. There was an alien invasion as a result of rising tensions from Thematic ventures into outer space, as Martian starships flooded the atmosphere and launched kinetic kill vehicles at military targets, forcing the creation of an orbital defense network. A peace agreement was struck after the Terraformist bargained for mankind's sake, concluding in a marriage ceremony between him and the Martian Queen.

There were other events, vast shifts in geopolitics and global Thematics, as decades passed on. The Metaphysicist invented a methodology by which Themes could interact with each other safely without mutual diminishment; with Solomon's cooperation, they made it a universal and self-reinforcing pronouncement, as eternal as Enrollment itself. The puzzle of making new Enrolled was within reach as well, but their successes were modest within the first century; not capable of fulfilling the puzzle, but always nearing it, slowing down the closer they approached that crystalline truth. The Metaphysicist fixed the dimensional imbrication issue within a year of his return.

Most of Archetype's stalwarts stayed around and continued to serve the public, finding effective cures to aging; many others chose to diminish and age, entering an afterlife of their choice administered by others, and passing their Enrollment onto a successor. Whenever needed truly, their services and wisdom were called upon; death was the first malady to fall, as no more souls were abandoned to the uncaring cosmic winds. The remnant of Archetype's members became so mighty as to overshadow their past selves, capable of remaking continents. To facilitate mankind's growth, new planets were colonized, and portal networks for mass transit were established.

The Magocracy's political bodies interwove with Earth's within the fifth decade since the Arcanists' graduation, advising and delivering aid wherever needed; Elysium itself stood freshly united, funneling a modest fraction of its industry to uplifting the homeworld of its founders.

As the seventh decade neared, Themes became increasingly prevalent over nations, as the cultures of yesterday were gradually forgotten; some nations abolished themselves entirely, becoming Thematic states, and as the new century neared, war had already been eradicated with methods of probability alteration and supernal diplomacy that could always find satisfactory compromises; the entire Earth, including its former third-world nations, became a post-scarcity civilization.

In 2135, over a full century since Solomon became the Magician, the United Nations - a mostly obsolete and redundant organization, by that time - convened for one final time and drafted the existence of a new and more effective organization to conduct oversight of the world, melding itself with Archetype, and becoming known as the United Earth Administration. As soon as it was open, the Metaphysicist ran in a campaign for the election for Earth Administrator; having curried immense support and cultivating acknowledgment and appreciation among the public, he won in a landslide.

In 2140, the solar system's border was breached by a massive starship flanked on each side by metallic constructs - mechas.

The Earth Administrator and a coterie of fellow Administrators came out of orbit to meet with them, establishing a signal.

"Annabeth, transfer their capabilities, please."

On it, answered a mental voice. They're concealed, I'll need a minute.

The Metaphysicist cast his voice out across the cosmic void, simultaneously forcing the concept of communication upon it. "Hello! My name is Earth Administrator Metaphysicist. We can't read a Theme from you. Are you from another world?"

"Greetings, Earth Administrator Metaphysicist!" answered a brilliant male voice speaking from everywhere at once. It was an undeniably beautiful voice, superhumanly enhanced; melliferous and acutely pleasant to the ear. "Apologies, I needed a second to construct a translation medium. It's a great pleasure to meet another civilization as developed as ours. I am the Auditor of Echoes, and I am here on behalf of the Auditorium. Assuming you have the mental faculties to parse approximately sixteen petabytes of data, I'll send over data relevant to our civilization, further diplomatic contact, and our own language?"

"Do so." Sixteen petabytes was relatively minor at this point; barely a book on the mental page.

"Inbound." A transmission reached them from the ship.

He reviewed the information within a relative second. A page was merely a page, but on that relative scale, his reading wasn't superhuman yet. He naturally checked it over with every measure to detect deception or ill intent and found it clean. "Received and scanned. Your military capabilities are impressive; on par with ours. We'll prepare a landing and tour for you, then we can discuss further cooperative activity."

"Glorious. I'll see you there, Earth Administrator."

As this occurred, an old man watched it on a television screen.

After a second, he shut it off with a smile.

There's a certain sense of satisfaction that comes only once you're reassured - beyond any shadow of a doubt - that your work is complete. A moment during which you've attained that final peak, and can finally say, 'it is time to rest, there is no more work.'

Even God, in all his omnipotence, rested for a single day after exerting himself for all six.

"It's about time I stopped watching over them," murmured Simon with a smile. "They've learned all the lessons I set out to teach. There are more students out there to be taught, and lessons for me to learn as well. I've rested on the laurels of their education long enough. It's time to rise again. There are lives to live."

He waved a hand, and space cracked and collapsed, carrying him to his next school.

"This lesson is over. Move on, to the next," he whispered and closed his eyes as the Light of the Architecture carried him to where he'd be most useful.

---

It's complete. My new quest will begin sometime next week after I am done with preliminary planning; its discussion will open early on my Discord, in the appropriate channel.