Seiren panted, her cheeks pink and her hair jutting out at odd angles. Her tenth experiment, One-Six-Seven, lay on the floor, his eyes rolling beneath closed lids, his lips smacking. His arms twitched at intervals. The large gash in his abdomen was pink but stitched together. His body was attempting to heal under the influence of the green-violet rune. She'd barely slept the past few days, straining her brain over and altering the new runes. The previous nine had ended in disaster one way or another. The regenerative abilities were of varying success, from re-growing amputated limbs to becoming immune to new injuries to tamponading major bleeds. All of them rendered the subjects at least non-verbal and at most the same rabid level as Six-Four-Five. This one had been the tamest so far: no lashing out, no snarls.

She might have just cracked it. The secret lay in the triangles. The more there were and the busier the rune, the more floridly the cells multiplied, but the gradients somehow balanced them out and reined in their side effects. And yet the fewer gradients there were outside the contact points, the tidier and more predictable the effects. One-Six-Seven convulsed, mouth frothing. When he flipped over, his wound could be seen, pink with coagulated blood and a fine red line in the middle where the knife had been. Her two guards stood behind, wary. Each consecutive failure had required them to jump in and euthanise Seiren's subjects, and this one was unlikely to be different – eventually.

Seiren stepped back. The rune faded to nothing. The paper she'd drawn it on fluttered to the ground, the singed remnants of magic still just about visible upon it; that, too, would fade away. She waved to the guards, who stepped in and ended One-Six-Seven.

In the back of Seiren's mind, Madeleine wept quietly as Seiren scribbled down the findings, frowning. Madeleine had been almost silent all week, but she hadn't been able to hold back the chokes of horror and tears when Seiren's experiments inevitably failed. She'd given up begging after the third inmate when it was apparent Seiren had learned the art of blocking out her voice, but Madeleine wasn't able to block out what Seiren sensed. She experienced the whole initial trial in all its glory.

There is evidence the subjects become immune to injuries inflicted after activation of the experimental runes to the extent where regeneration is possible, wrote Seiren, her heart thumping. Although the eventual outcome is functional brain death for the subjects and the effects yet difficult to predict, the author believes if there is enough focus on the regenerative aspect, it may compensate for the cognitive decline. Further research is warranted to ascertain the variables involved.

She sat back, feeling somewhat lightheaded. It must be because it had been ten hours since she'd last had anything to eat or drink – or even gone to the toilet. But this was excellent progress. The council should be happy with that when she applied for continuation of her trial. Her burst magic was progressing steadily and Rowan was satisfied. Loren had kept out of her hair for the most part, although had yet to teach her actual chaos magic due to pressures at the hospital. Things were going well.

Things were going well?! Madeleine said in horror. You've killed ten people through gory and inhumane methods and this is going well? You're becoming the very monster those Hannans are!

Seiren's back prickled. A flush crept up her face. Her eyes flashed.

You're comparing me to those murderers? How dare you – when I'm the one actively doing good here! Do you have any idea how many lives I can save, including yours, if these were to work? I can heal any injuries, regenerate any limbs – no children will have to lose their parents like us again. Nobody injured through warfare would have to suffer again.

If it's at the cost of so many lives, this is all worthless, Madeleine spat.

Seiren slammed her hands on the table, upending her inkpot. The two guards, having returned, jumped at the sound, alarmed. Madeleine withdrew into a throbbing, incensed ball in the side of Seiren's mind. She remained completely silent even during Seiren's journey back to Benover the next day when she was due to present her monthly report. It was two weeks early but she needed more resources, more humans.

If only she could retain their cognition and humanity with her runes. She was missing something.

****

"Well, isn't this quite the honour: Domic Butterworth himself coming for me of all people!" Crina cackled, grinning from ear to ear, although her heart was racing at a hundred miles per hour. She kept her eyes ahead; people passed by her on either side on their errands. She had expected the time to come, although hadn't banked on Butterworth himself coming. If he used flash magic here and now, it would be a messy affair.

But he wouldn't. She knew he wouldn't draw attention to them, not in the middle of one of the busiest streets of Benover. Butterworth walked by her side, matching her pace, a nondescript grey cloak sweeping around his ankles. He towered over her but it wasn't his build that made her uneasy.

"You know you can't escape for long, Crina Nighy," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "King Pollin is onto your tactics. You and those insurgents."

"We're onto you, Butterworth. You think you can hide behind the façade of being the king's private advisors for long? Pollin hadn't held a public talk in years and you honestly expect us to think he's speaking his own mind now through the likes of you?"

Butterworth grimaced ever so slightly, but Crina caught it. She was right. The recent diversion of funds from rebuilding cities up north ravaged by Hanna and technology development to magic research and defence was orchestrated by none other than the king's mages. They were preparing for war.

"You can't get away with it, even with your power and status. You can't silence everyone who opposes you even with magic."

"You speak as if we care about what the ants think. It's always the weak who struggles the most; it's almost pathetic."

"I'm curious: why go to war with Hanna without announcing it? Plenty of Karmans would happily stand behind you and fight for our country. Pollin only has to say and you'll have what you want."

Crina watched Butterworth out of the corner of her eye. He wouldn't fall for the bait, surely. His expressions were so subtle she almost missed the disdainful curl of his lips.

"That's quite amusing, Nighy. Whoever said we want to take on Hanna?" A smug smile spread across Butterworth's face, but his eyes remained icy.

"What do you...?"

"Why would we want a country as decrepit as Karma, with its useless, crying humans, to thrive?" His eyes widened, showing an expression she'd never seen before on the stoic mage: glee. "Wouldn't it be better if only the strong ruled the world, the way it's always meant to be?"

Her heart skipped a beat. Butterworth's blink was her only warning. Crina leapt back, slamming her heel on the ground. A deep rumble sounded and the floor beneath shook. A chunk of rock shot up at breakneck speed. Butterworth's summoned burst of steam hit the surface and sprayed the air with boiling water, making Crina flinch from the heat.

She emptied her mind and stamped on the ground again. The wall she'd conjured up at the last minute slid down under the surface again. The place shook and a pillar of rock shot out beneath Butterworth's feet. He jerked his head; the pillar shattered into pebbles. Butterworth's flash magic that manifested as steam was exceedingly powerful even on a normal day. He didn't let the single-element-manifestation of flash limit his attack potential; if anything, it made him even deadlier.

Crina's mouth was dry. He had known she was trying to siphon information from him and had purposefully kept her distracted from their direction of travel by revealing information he otherwise would have kept mum about. Her eyes jumped around, taking in the abandoned buildings. The old flour factory had stood for decades, abandoned only this year because of on-going cuts to and disputes about the workers' wages until they dispersed to other factories. Nobody would hear them talking here. She'd fallen straight for Butterworth's trap.

"I know you killed Gyan Carla, Nighy."

She grinned without mirth. "Gyan didn't want to hear the truth."

"Oh? And what's the truth?"

"That King Pollin is nothing more than a pawn of his mages. You five controlled him back then and even when Harred's dead, you're continuing to manipulate the whole country by whispering in his ear right now. We're going to catch you before you manage any of that. Who will fight for you when you can't use the army and no mages will stand by you?"

"That's an interesting theory." His eyes flickered. He was impossible to read.

"You're trying to incite Hanna into attacking us, aren't you?" Crina tried to goad him into talking more so she could report back. "Hoping they'll wipe out the whole of Karma and you can then establish yourself as gods?"

To her surprise, Butterworth burst out laughing. She'd never heard his voice above a bare whisper. He wiped tears from behind his spectacles.

"Not far off, Crina Nighy. I applaud your imagination, though. So what's your excuse? If the state mages won't join your treasonous cause, you kill them? Is that what happened to Carla and Raynott?"

"If they don't stand with us, they will only one day stand against us. If killing them means depriving you of one more mage to manipulate, then it swings in our favour," she snarled.

She stamped her feet, throwing energy from her mind. The ground rumbled, throwing Butterworth off his balance. Occupied with not falling over meant he couldn't focus on his flash magic. Crina emptied her mind and stamped her feet again, gesturing to focus that magic. A gust picked up, whirling leftover flour into the air, turning the area foggy. Her eyes watered and her throat burned. Butterworth coughed, his face turned away and his mouth buried in the crook of his arm.

She threw out another bout of magic. The burst wore out quickly, but not as quick as flash would. It would take only one moment of clarity for Butterworth to utilise his flash magic and she wasn't going to give him that opportunity. Another storm of flour picked up, turning her throat raw and prickling the inside of her nose and airway.

Agony exploded in her shoulder, followed by two further blows through her abdomen.

She screamed out loud. Her burst dissipated.

"Oh, my, what do we have here?" said a voice in a nasal accent, one that Crina had heard only once before. She whimpered against her will; the spears in her body twisted as the speaker turned her around to get a good look. "Oho, Crina Nighy! Haven't seen you in a long time."

"You fight low!" Crina hissed, and bit back a cry when the spears gouged into her further.

"You assassinate state mages when they don't want to play your game. You're pretty rich to call me low!" Karis Bonneville laughed, tossing her platinum blonde hair. Crina remembered her well. She was two years below her at King's Academy and was spectacularly gifted in flash magic that she acquired earlier than all her peers, easily defeating all her opponents during magic sparring and landing every single one in the hospital with critical injuries. It seemed time had not mellowed her out. Ascending the ladder so rapidly into the king's rank at just twenty-six years of age was a feat unto itself.

Crina's wound grew cold. One glance down told her enough: Bonneville had created icicles from flash magic and sustained it with runes. The solidified spears of ice turned crimson with Crina's blood. Bonneville licked her teeth, grinning broadly.

"She caught you out, eh, Domic?" Bonneville called. Butterworth straightened up behind Crina. She shivered as he cast his shadow over her, his face devoid of emotions but his eyes gleaming with bloodlust. "What shall we do with her? Shall we have a game? I know!"

"Just kill her, Karis."

"Gladly."

Bonneville twitched her fingers. Crina's blood trickled down the ice spears and made contact with Bonneville's fingers. With her other hand, she knelt and traced a rune on the ground with Crina's blood.

"You know what becomes of rune magic when powered by flash?" Her eyes gleamed with anticipation; the shape she sketched was unlike anything Crina had seen before. "Organic magic. And you know what? If not done carefully, it can tear the soul straight from the body, leaving the soul in perpetual agony and the body a pristine, living shell. Beautiful, isn't it? Shall we try it?"

Bonneville completed the rune and waved a hand over it. The blood flowed in a constant direction, glistening with an unnatural white light.

Crina forced her brain to empty despite the pain throbbing all over. She flexed her fingers. White dust filled the air, whipping their hair. Karis flinched, still crouched, the flour dust landing in her eyes and distracting her from continuing the magic. She twitched her fingers, further jarring the ice in Crina's wounds. Crina screamed.

Domic reached forward and clamped a hand around her neck. He might be slim, but he held her in a steely grip. Crina's mind flowed in a flurry, losing the grip on the flour. The wind died; flour fluttered down. Bonneville said something with a cackle. Crina's world darkened.

Just before her mind shut down, she pushed the panic away and thrust out one last desperate attempt at a spark.

The faint scent of smoke reached her nostrils before the entire flour mill exploded.

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