To Fly the Soaring Tides

"Goodness… You smell just like your father." Cira's newest instructor said as an unnerving grin played on her lips.

"You sure are an unpleasant person… and I'm sure my father said the same!" Cira flashed her the kind of smile you give people you don't like before turning to Emma, "Thanks for the invite, but I'm out of here—"

"Wait!" Roman caught her half-lightning hand as she began to phase away, "There must be something you wish to learn. Else, why did you come here in the first place?

With a snooty side-eye, Cira re-solidified, "Fine… you got me there. You remember when I killed you repeatedly and you didn't die? How did you do that?"

"Actually, I am the one who taught that method to Roman." The pale woman cut in with a bright smile.

"I wasn't asking you." Cira slid to the side so that Roman's corpulence blocked her view of the strange woman.

"Erm, well I suppose I could teach you as well." Roman shrugged, a little nonplussed with her treatment of his colleague. For comparison, the students were speechless, looking at the woman with fear as she expressed feelings Cira could not see. "You could consider it a rather complex application of blood manipulation but consider this is not something that can be taught overnight. How are you with blood sorcery?"

"To be honest, I abhor it. I know even less about it than necromancy." Roman began to look skeptical as she continued, "I hardly even know the basics beyond consuming my opponents' blood for aura replenishment, and I'm long out of practice."

"Hm… Well, perhaps a blood mage would consider that a basic essential, but it doesn't give me a good idea of your proficiency…" Roman stroked his stubble, "I'll have to perform a few tests first, so let's focus today on refreshing your control over blood. I believe Miss Lilith here should have no issue continuing the class's curriculum for the day—"

"Hang on!" A male student Cira vaguely recognized called out, "I know she's the child of some famous dead man, but come on! My family worked hard to put me in this class, yet you divide our resources so flippantly?"

Before Roman could get a word out, Cira was sparking with dark surges of faint lightning, "What are you trying to say?"

Perhaps his countenance was influenced by a peaceful upbringing, but his tone was disarming to the degree that Cira was confident he didn't feel the very real threat of her imminent palm. However, Cira was much wiser than she used to be. Not that she read the right book lately, although that helped in pieces, but the very fact that she wanted wisdom seemed to give her a different perspective on this situation.

Wisdom-mindedness instilled in her the notion that she should not care about this person's opinion nor tone, but perhaps the contents of his words instead.

"Was I unclear?" His tone was aggressively pretentious, but wisdom told her that it also factored into the exemplification of his feelings—his very own perspective. This was important when considering one's own wisdom. Like the bushes along her path, this man existed for a reason. Whether it be conveniently moist soil under a break in the canopy, or generations of diligent work to place one's child under instruction of the illustrious arbiters, this person had his very own intent and desires. And they existed long before Cira dragged her qualms and whims alike into this magical floating mass of mithril. "Nepotism will only get you so far under the Archive's gaze. We all had to pass a proficiency exam at orientation. Surely the Far Lord's daughter would not shy away from such a measly test, right?"

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"Oh, now you're talkin' my language—" Cira was cut off abruptly by her friend Emma.

"HOLD ON!" She shouted in Cira's ear, "You're THE Far Lord's daughter?! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because." Cira could not help but grumble, marginally thankful for the fact that Emma's excitement held no reverence, "I am not my father, nor shall I travel the same path. What you know of him is irrelevant and if you looked at me different because of my connection to my father… It would upset me."

Cira thought she was being clear, but it felt very awkward coming out.

"Nobody cares about your dad, okay?" The earlier student regained his foothold over the conversation, "We all know you're not as great as him, and we've already decided not to waste our time on it. Now take the test or get out."

"Jura!" Lilith strode forward in unwarranted defense, "You do not speak to the pureblood legacy like that—"

Cira trimmed her bangs with a needle of hardened light, "Do not dictate how others speak to me. I happen to appreciate this young man's candor despite his tone. Throw whatever test you wish at me, then Roman and I shall promptly recede to Breeze Haven's training hall. It is no matter. Now, begin."

Cira waited for a few moments while Lilith tried to manage her dismay. She gave a nod to Roman, who conjured a spatial distortion in the vague shape of a staff.

"This is a two-part exam." A small structure rose with a circle for each true element of the aether, glowing in its designated color. There was a plaque of sorts in the center with runes that implied it was ready to receive a mana-based projectile. "First you must strike the monument with your greatest attack. But please, use reason."

Roman grew nervous as he awaited Cira's attack.

She could do anything really. One option was to lay a curse so that the monument may evaporate, never to rise again, barring all future students from taking the proficiency exam. She didn't want to, but it popped up in her mind for some reason. Alternatively, she could collapse the room in on the monument to destroy it, or employ various large-scale sorceries to cause maximum damage.

This was why Roman said to use reason. If someone asked for her greatest attack outside of this place, she would likely make one up that was undoubtedly remarkable, but here, she had to play by the rules. Rather, she needed to give the monument what it wanted, and pass the test without bringing calamity to Icarus.

Clearly this was an artifact which gauged her aethereal affinities and mana efficacy. An earth mage may throw a spear at it, but Cira could throw a mountain at it and the results may be unclear. She needed a focused offensive sorcery to truly take advantage of this test at her level.

Now, this still left a lot of wiggle room. Cira could make it explode such that the shores of Icarus melted. Of course, so would she unless she departed ahead of time and let only those within this hall die. That was quite macabre and not up Cira's alley at all. It simply popped into her mind. Possibilities, and all that.

She needed concentrated mana, which, again, left a lot of options. This monument contained a great deal of mana and some rather dense protective arrays, but she was pretty sure she could destroy it. Naturally, it would be funny to see the students' reaction if she did, but that wasn't what Cira wanted. Destroying the monument told her nothing.

This was about gauging her ability.

It was time to go a different direction. Contrary to Roman's instruction, she would be better off picking her worst attack. Her weakest sorcery.

What have I been trying to work on? Rather, what have I been putting off? Blood will come later today, so I need to pick something else. Hmm…

Or… I'm looking at this all wrong.

Of course.

I rely on it from time to time, but when was the last time I truly tested it?

Cira ran toward the monument, covering about ten feet per step as she weaved in and out of space on blackened arcs of lightning.

Owing not to a single element, who am I without this technique? It is a gauge of not only my will, but my aptitude as a sorcerer. I'm going to put everything I've got into this. Forget it—I don't think I'll be satisfied unless I destroy the monument.

It took seconds to clear the distance and Cira fell on the artifact with her fist cocked back, writhing in a spiral of elemental streams as the pressure in the room grew tenfold, "Sorcerous punch!"