Annette watched as the viscous fluid sloshed back and forth in the glass. A green so dark it was almost black. It seemed to have a mind of its own, almost, but not quite climbing up the sides of the flask. No one in their right mind would touch it, let alone drink it.

"The recipe said it would heal minor damage." Hector was a newer sect member, but one with ambition. She could appreciate that. But ambition had to be tempered with common sense. Something it seemed the man was learning too late. He fidgeted with his sect uniform, doing anything but making eye contact with the monster in front of him.

Laurel grabbed one of the well-sealed bottles and gave it a shake. It didn't move like any liquid Annette had ever seen, further convincing her that the single cork was an insufficient barrier between what Hector had produced and a living human.

"Can't you feed it to a mouse or something?" she finally broke and asked. That they were all gathered in the Crafting Hall, with not a reasonable test subject in sight.

"Alchemy never works right on mortal animals," Martin said. He was looking at his own flask, tipping it upside down and watching as the potion inside struggled against gravity.

"It won't be that bad," Laurel said. An understatement for a woman holding a war crime in her hand. An application of mana so small Annette couldn't sense it at all caused matching cuts to appear on both of the Masters' forearms. With a quick twist Laurel removed the cork.

No healing potion would smell like a tree died inside of it, of that Annette was sure.

In a parody of a real toast, the sectmaster tossed back the whole potion. Annette turned to the side and retched, just managing to keep her lunch down. The whole concoction moved as a single mass when it entered Laurel's throat, not a drop remained in the glass container.

"Huh," was all the sectmaster said.

"Yup," Martin agreed, having downed his own with a similar lack of reaction.

She turned to Adam, desperate for some sanity, and found him gaping back at her with a look of horror on his face. At least someone was still reasonable.

"So that's definitely poison," Laurel announced to the small crowd of guild members and military personnel present for their impromptu test.

Hector's face went through a riot of emotion, from disappointment, to fear to outright terror. "What about–"

"We're fine." Laurel waved away any concern. "And it did actually heal the cut." She raised her arm to demonstrate.

"I don't understand, I followed the instructions exactly." Hector's forlorn groan was something she could sympathize with. Cultivation was hard, and figuring out you were doing something wrong was never fun.

"Alchemy is a fiddle bitch," Martin announced. "I'm sure you'll get there eventually."

Seeing the show was over, most of the spectators moved on. A boon for her, given that Annette wanted as few witnesses as possible for her work today. She wouldn't have had anyone present, but her mouth hadn't caught up with her brain at breakfast that morning when she mentioned that she might have figured it out.

Which of course meant everyone else had to come by and 'cheer her on'. At least her mother hadn't gotten wind or else there would be a full neighborhood party inside of the Crafting Hall. Annette would tell her all about it….later. When she had something impressive to show off.

There wasn't any use in delaying. Being older left the other sect officers frustratingly hard to outlast in a battle of patience. Though not by as much as an outsider would guess. Friends in tow, she made her way to the workstation she thought of as her own.

It was just as she'd left it, and it took her only a few moments of barely paying attention to have a new satchel in place on the worktop, everything else cleared away. She took a deep breath. This had the potential to be astoundingly embarrassing.

This newest set of bags were slightly different from her original testers. Along the opening, she had hand-embroidered a series of anchoring enchantments. Picked out in gold thread, the runes were still mostly incomprehensible to her, though growing up at her mothers side meant she was confident in her accuracy with a needle. Following Devon's advice, she had created a bag that kept things warm. It had taken her weeks of rote copying the runes onto cloth but she had done it.

If she were truly following his suggestion, she would have first mastered that method, and then moved on to more complex designs, slowly working her way up. Annette simply couldn't do it. This had been her goal for years and pushing it off to improve theoretical understanding was simply unacceptable.

"I'm going to begin." It was awkward to narrate the process, but it would have been rude to ignore the audience entirely.

Before she could begin, two hands came down on her shoulders and squeezed. "You've got this," Laurel whispered before stepping back.

Annette sat up just a tad straighter. She did have it.

Bringing up her memories of the dream tablet, she began. Weaving the mana was almost second nature by now, the years of failure having taught plenty of lessons. The most delicate part, where she so often failed, came at the end. Most enchanters would purge any aspect of their own mana and use additional runes to get the necessary effect. Spatial storage was too complicated, and relied entirely on her own manipulation.

Instead of completing the process, as she had every time before, according to a past master's wisdom, she left a few strands of mana trailing off her main working. Her eyes were closed but she could feel the sweat dripping down her face. Holding so much mana in an unnatural, unstable configuration was almost beyond her. Almost.

Each of the strands needed to go to a specific rune. Holding the rest steady, Annette pushed the closest to its anchor, and commanded them to meld.

At first nothing happened. This was the point where a more well-rounded enchanter would know a trick or subtle nudge to activate the anchor. She pushed harder. It worked, there was a low click in the back of her mind when the anchor took hold. Just another nine to go.

On the seventh strand she almost gave up, feeling a blinding headache stabbing her right behind the eyes, and the tenth almost failed when she slipped in her concentration for a moment. Then it was over. All ten strands anchored around the bag.

Gently, she went through the last step, pushing the rest of the mana into the bag. Nothing happened, but she didn't get her hopes up. The lack of a violent explosion wasn't the true measure of success. Annette waited with tensed muscles, ready to react if it started to explode.

One minute went by, then five. Against all odds, the result was stable. With a sigh of relief, she slumped back in the chair, panting for breath. Her part was done.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Congratulations," Martin said behind her. "What should we put in it?"

"I looked up testing procedures. Due to the…explosive nature of the failures, most spatial storage is tested using air or water." She was touched that Adam had done research for her. He was still desperately holding onto his grumpy reputation but almost no one in the sect believed it anymore.

"Lucky for us we have an air cultivator and a water cultivator on hand then." Laurel grabbed the bag and tossed it to Martin.

For a wild moment, she wanted to snatch it back. So many of these things had exploded in her face, she didn't want to risk it with her first success. But Annette ruthlessly squashed such a stupid thought. No one achieved greatness by settling halfway through a hurdle.

Before anything else, Martin produced a small rock. There was nothing special about it that she could see, just a random rock that he was carrying around today. No one even blinked, it had long been established that the further one got in their cultivation, the more quirks could be excused.

He let it fall through the opening of the bag. Annette realized she was holding her breath and forced herself to calm down. It was just a bag. There were twenty more in her storage locker. If this one failed, she would make another one. A better one.

Martin turned the bag over and shook until the rock fell back out. "Good start," he added, cheerily. "Now let's do some volume testing."

He turned the bag back over and let his hand hover above the opening. Water streamed down from his palm. Anyone else would need a water stone to convert mana into liquid. It took a master with strong control and an appropriate aspect to create the same effect at any scale. Aspects that were more energy-based were easier, fire, lightning, light itself could be summoned. Or more esoteric ideas like dreams or shadows. But it was always easier to work with what was there.

Water poured into the bag, and Annette realized there were no bulges or sagging that would say anything was inside. It was working.

A smile did its best to push onto her face but she held it back with a force of will. Not yet.

Martin cut off the flow of water and tilted his head to the side. "Let's see, about a cubic meter. A bit less but not by enough to matter." He jogged over to a half-full cooling tank and dumped the water inside.

The bag was slightly soggy but still holding strong. He tossed it, Annette following its arc through the air and dreaming of the day she could beat Martin in a fight for doing something so cavalier with her project.

Then Laurel caught it with one arm, holding up a prize in the other, and Annette screamed. She got herself under control after only a moment, but everyone in the Crafting Hall had noticed.

"Why? Just why?"

"Need to make sure it won't shred someone who reaches inside," Laurel said. "Would rather not test that on my own arm."

Annette shuddered but nodded. She could have happily gone her entire life in ignorance of how large the local rats could get.

With the dirty animal not struggling at all, she dipped her hand so that the tail entered the bag, held it there for a moment, and pulled it back out. No change that Annette could see. Then she thrust her arm as if to shove the whole rat inside. Only about half of the body could enter, before something blocked it. Laurel nodded as if that was expected, then handed the bag off to Adam and went outside, hopefully to dump the rat as far away as possible.

"Living things can't be stored, even mortal ones," Martin said. "Something about being cut off from the mana flows in the world makes it impossible."

"I want to do the last test," Annette said. It wasn't something she realized was true until the words were already coming out of her mouth. She had worked on this for years, she would see it through to the end.

Adam wordlessly returned the bag. It was a little worse for the wear, having been soaked in water and rubbed with a rat, but there was no permanent damage. Annette had no tricks to make things appear out of nowhere, so she grabbed the pen from her workstation. One that had written out hundreds of ideas and test results for this very moment.

She dropped the pen in the bag. Then, before her courage could desert her, she shoved her arm in after it. The entire limb, up to the shoulder, fit inside. She groped around but couldn't feel anything.

"Think about grabbing the pen," Martin said. "It is ultimately a mana construct, they respond to will."

Following the instructions, Annette imagined her pen, and a moment later, her fingers closed around the cool metal. She pulled it back out.

For a moment she stared. Then her smile couldn't be held back any longer and she started to laugh. Hugs and cheers abounded, though not from Laurel, despite her insistence that she had washed off the rat germs.

There was no doubt that it was an amateur item. There was no way of keeping anything inside the bag from interacting, the storage volume wasn't that impressive, and retrieval was difficult. It was still the proudest moment of her life.

Annette clutched the new spatial storage bag to her chest as all of the crafters came by to congratulate her. From nothing but her own determination, she had created something the most powerful people in the world would fight over.

It was a heady feeling. Though not anywhere near as strong as the urge to find out what she could do next.

***********

The entire sect had celebrated Annette's accomplishments, the news a balm after such a dramatic winter and early spring. Adam was no exception. It was a literal fairy tale come to life in front of him. The fact that such a thing was commonplace in his life these days didn't detract from just how incredible an accomplishment it was.

It also spurred his own plans forward. Which was why he was making his way to a lower district school on a rest day, at the crack of dawn. And with Leander off adventuring, he was forced to carry his own stuff.

But he couldn't let himself fall behind, not with such an achievement from his colleague. It was like being back in the Scribe's Guild, just gentler and less dramatic, without all the backstabbing.

When he arrived, there was an older woman waiting by the door, who led him to a room full of teachers. He could recognize the type. People who chose to teach in the Flats all had a similar feeling, like they could gut you with a well placed stare. It was a difficult job and it attracted the type of person who both cared deeply, and who would suffer no nonsense in their presence. And Adam was there to make their job harder.

He was closing in on fifty, but when all the eyes in the room swiveled towards him, he was twelve years old again, about to be scolded for dozing in class. He gulped through a suddenly dry throat and pressed on.

There was a lectern on one side of the room, and he made his way towards it, setting up his own materials. Among them were copies of the introductory packets, designed by the Magician's Guild, produced by his own ink magic. Those he distributed to everyone in the audience.

It was an almost identical set up to his most recent lectures at the University, and yet the feeling was night and day. For the academics, everything was theoretical. A debate to be had about what policy made the most sense. Or a simple exercise in learning, the joy of some new knowledge a sufficient motivation. These people were too busy for such indulgences. Everything Adam said here would have a direct impact on their work and their students. None of them would be able to post an opinion piece in the local papers if they disagreed with him, but their respect was more important than those up the hill. If they were to teach cultivation to the masses, it was these people he needed to convince.

"Thank you for coming, I realize you are giving up one of your days off to be here," he began. "The local board has decided to try out a new addition to the curriculum, designed to teach students about magic from a young age. I am here to go over the materials, answer questions, and help facilitate this process."

He paused in his prepared speech and looked out at the crowd. They were already turning against him. Adam had given enough lectures in the last few years to recognize the signs. Glazed eyes, bodies angling slightly away. Making a decision, he abandoned the next section of his notes.

"I apologize. This has made more work for an already overworked group. If I saw another path forward, I would take it. I'm from Sason District, down by the docks. I grew up attending Sason Preparatory. And I would like the kids like me to not get left behind in the world as it is. Almost anyone can do magic if they practice. And even just the lowest levels will lead to a healthier life.

"But I can't do it alone, which is why I'm here with you. What do you need to know to add this to your lessons? What can I do to help?"

That got them listening, but Adam was aware it would take more than that to get them onside.

Given free reign, they asked the usual questions. What was magic actually, how did you do it, why was it important, and so on. Then came the harder topics.

"What do you expect us to cut from our lessons to fit this in? I'm happy if kids leave my class knowing how to read."

Adam winced at the question. It was a good one. He couldn't exactly tell them to cut reading lessons. Or history. Or math. Or really any of the other things. They were already struggling and he took another gamble.

"I don't know. I hope I can convince you of the importance, and that you can determine how best to incorporate the lessons."

That more than anything had people's expressions softening. He knew they wanted what was best, but the path to reach that goal was never far off.

"Let's begin." He launched into his standard introductory lecture. On the benefits of cultivation and the basics of mana and how it could interact with the modern world. The props were a bigger hit than usual, when he passed around the glow stones and the fans he reached a turning point. There was actual enthusiasm in the teacher's faces, rather than acceptance.

It got better from there when he described how different industries around the city were already making use of amateur cultivators, and the salaries those positions were bringing in.

By the time he explained the guild-sponsored after school program, he felt most of the crowd was on his side. It would be difficult, maybe even harder than what Laurel was doing, but this City would never be the same once he was done with it.

***********

Laurel set the pen aside and looked over the last letter to make sure none of the ink had bled. When she was satisfied, it joined the line of sheets spread across her desk, drying out before she could fold and package them in the specialty envelopes.

The tournament was still a few months out, but specialized invitations would take a little while to arrive. Not that everyone didn't already know, but some formalities were still necessary.

It was a risk. The Order of Decorra wasn't stupid, they would see the major players moving around. She was doing her best to mitigate that risk by hosting the gathering herself. The others had Cores that were less of a target. But the Order could still choose to strike while some of the others were away. Laurel had to believe it would be worth it. They needed to plan. In person, and not over letters that at least two spies were probably reading before they arrived. And if everything went well, they needed a distraction, and a reason some of their allies would be moving around.

It was time the Order took some losses of their own.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.