Moonlight gathered in Lyn's study area, lighting scattered scrolls and vials of distilled water. Three weeks had elapsed since the Temple's disclosures, and the waves of reform rippled through the Arcanum like stones dropped into calm water. The Circle's guarded embracing of hydromantic studies was accompanied by hushed murmurs and brusque looks. Anticipation burdened Lyn's shoulders like a mountain.
Tonight, the quiet was ominous. No letter was on the table before him with a new mission—only the persistent drip of condensation from the walls. Lyn felt something moving outside these walls: tension in the air, unease in the shadows. He strapped his dagger into its scabbard and secured a coil of rope at his waist. Across his back he threw the protective token Magister Havel had bestowed upon him—an object said to dispel dark influences.
A gentle knock commanded his attention. Sera was in the doorway, face pinched under moonlight. "The Eastern Gate," she breathed. "I heard things—voices—just before midnight."
Lyn nodded. "Wait here. If I don't come back…" He caught her eyes. "Be prepared."
She laid a hand on his arm. "I will."
Quietly, Lyn glided into the hallway, water beads accumulating on his fingertips like a living lantern. Every step brought him nearer to whatever danger lay beyond the walls.
## 2. The Eastern Gate
The Eastern Gate stood at the end of the old quarter, the massive oak doors splintered and ajar. Beyond them, the courtyard opened into pale moonlight. Lyn lay concealed behind a low stone wall, her ears straining. Soft voices floated—harsh, guttural, slithering like vipers.
Six figures in black robes moved between barrels and crates, their arms glinting with lantern light: curved daggers, bone wands, flasks of whirling shadows. Their leader—a woman with a scar running down her face—spoke with curt authority. "Check every corner. The artifact has to be here."
Lyn's breath caught. No common burglars. They referred to an "artifact" and used forbidden implements. If they found out the secrets of the Temple or took Sera captive, the Arcanum would lose incalculable amounts.
He pushed his hands to the ground. Below the flagstones, water pulsed with a heartbeat. He held his breath, summoning tendrils of mist to rise, thick and soundless. The courtyard disappeared behind a screen of fog. Figures hesitated, blades raised, but the mist concealed them well.
## 3. The Art of Silent War
Lyn never enjoyed violence, but there was need. He moved through the fog, a specter. At the edge of the fountain, he created a thin jet of water and directed it at the ankle of the first intruder. A quiet hiss, a muffled thud—he severed tendon, not bone. The man collapsed, grunting, and folded into the mist.
A second jet hit the lip of a wooden crate, splinters flying and a concealed vine trap snapping into place across the second infiltrator's legs. The vine wrapped softly around him, holding him without breaking skin.
Before the leader could shout orders, half their contingent was unconscious or caught. Three others stood off in a defensive triangle, weapons at the ready. Frustration and terror burned in their eyes.
Lyn stood at the fountain, hands raised in a posture of peace. "Leave now, and no more blood will be spilled."
The scarred woman sneered. "You've bought time, water mage—but not salvation. Capture her, and everything changes."
At her gesture, a hooded figure lunged for Sera, who stood frozen by the wall. Lyn's heart thundered. He couldn't let harm come to her.
## 4. The Leader's Gambit
As the intruder approached, Lyn released a measured spurt of water that hit the man in the arm, knocking him down. With a twist of his wrist, he cooled water from the air to create chain mail of ice that clamped around the stranger's wrists.
"Impressive," the leader growled, advancing. "Few could learn such tricks so young. Where did you study?
Lyn stood tall. "I was not taught. I learned in the waters of the Temple."
She laughed, a dry, mocking sound. "Legends speak of Temple as having power beyond measure. We intend to reclaim it for our master. Move aside, mage, and your friend dies."
Sera's breathing was light but resolute. Lyn noticed the ropes tied around her wrists—thin strands of darkness that quivered at the borders. He knew them to be another's hydromantic trick: water distorted to appear like shadow, coerced into constraint and asphyxiation.
## 5. Selection of Water's Memory
He remembered the lessons of the Temple: water recalls all contact. It had taken on the impressions of old magics—he could summon those recollections to protect life instead of destroy it.
Lyn knelt, laying his hand upon the fractured stone below. He breathed a whispered incantation, learned from ancient scrolls in the Temple records. The earth shook, and water burst forth from the crevices, forming a body of liquid under the feet of the intruders. It glowed with pent-up power, and then welled up into ribbons of liquid steel to wrap each of the surviving cultists in impenetrable restraints—strong enough to bind, soft enough to keep alive.
Her friends lay motionless. Fury danced in her eyes. "This isn't over, mage."
Lyn stood, placing herself between Sera and the vanishing form. "The Arcanum's waters guard their own."
She hurled curses in an unknown tongue before disappearing with her two captured friends, blending into the darkness and fog.
## 6. Aftermath and Quiet Reflection
Dawn came back to find Lyn walking into his quarters, footsteps tired but heart determined. Sera welcomed him at the doorway, arms open and battered but eyes shining with respect. "What you did… that was something greater than power. It was mercy."
He shook his head. "I couldn't let them hurt you. But it's obvious they'll return."
Sera placed an arm around him. "Then we prepare. Together."
Within, Lyn hid his dagger and rope before Magister Havel's arrival. She addressed him in a gentle tone, worry etched in the every feature of her face. "I felt the disturbance. What happened?"
Lyn told of only the intruders, their quest for a Temple relic, and their flight. He kept silent about his vapors and illusions, his whispered incantations, and the Temple's whispered lessons. The System's lessons were his secret ally.
Havel's brow furrowed. "A new threat appears. The Circle needs to bolster its wards and prepare for war. But you need to remain vigilant—and in hiding."
## 7. Hidden Growth
In the following days, the Arcanum upped security, strengthening wards upon the Temple and the Eastern Gate. Apprentices drilled in martial combat and defense magics, not knowing the threat they faced. Lyn and Sera alone ventured into secret training under the cover of night: stealth upon water, silent currents, salves of healing taken from ancient hydromantic doctrines.
Lyn documented their advances in a personal notebook, taking pains to mask methods as advanced variants of typical hydromancy. Each note deepened his knowledge of water's unlimited flexibility—how to sew mist veils for shields, forge ice blades with needles' thickness, and draw out healing pools to encase wounds immediately.
He was becoming stronger, but more wary. The secrets of the Temple revealed avenues he dared not speak in the open; knowledge so dangerous it could shift the balance of magic across the globe.
## 8. The Price of Secrecy
That night, Sera met him in the corridor lit by torches. "Do you ever worry about what they do if they discover the full scope of your powers?"
Lyn paused, water droplets swirling at his feet. "Then everyone will come seeking me—friends and foes alike. The Arcanum can only handle so much truth. For now, the illusion of normalcy keeps us safe."
She studied him for a long moment. "I trust you. But secrets have a way of surfacing."
He smiled wanly. "Then I'll be ready."
## 9. A New Threat
A week later, news came of an episode in the merchant district: a fountain had burst, inundating a block of artisan shops. The unexpected flood had destroyed stalls and pinned victims under fallen stalls. Rumor had instantly circulated that the "Fountain Flood" was a vengeful action by the same cultists.
Magister Havel called Lyn at dawn. "Your skills… they accuse your handiwork. We must establish your innocence."
Pulling into the scene, Lyn assessed the wreckage: water-soaked trash, terrified civilians, shaky rubble. He knelt beside the fountain's stone basin, which carried new wounds—runes of dark magic scored deep along its lip.
He reached out a hand, senses probing into the runic channels. They thrummed with evil purpose.
Closing his eyes, Lyn allowed streams of cleansing water to flow, directing currents beneath the fountain to cancel out the tainted runes. Gradually, the water disappeared, taking filth and pollution away into secret cisterns where Sera was poised to release it harmlessly.
The fountain fell silent, its waters pure and still. Fans and detractors stood in wonder.
Magister Havel laid a hand on his shoulder. "You saved lives today—and demonstrated your integrity."
Lyn stood, his voice low. "It's what any water mage would do."
## 10. Ripples of Resolve
That evening, Lyn stood again on the Arcanum's western tower, looking out over the city lights below. The wind danced, carrying distant laughter and the ring of tavern glasses. Somewhere in the night, the Shadow Cult schemed their return; somewhere else, apprentices dreamed of controlling the elements.
Lyn closed his eyes, letting the beat of water flow through stone and air, through life. He bore a secret energy deep within—a secret reservoir that would determine the future of the Arcanum and possibly the world.
But for now, he would hold that power in reserve. He would train, guard, and learn—not for fame, but to make certain that when the time arrived, the tides he ruled would sweep the darkness away and leave only light and clarity in its path.
Moonlight played upon undulating glass, and Lyn spoke into the night, "Let them come."
***