They reached the third-floor room listed on the pamphlet and found the upperclassman from earlier alone with his nose in a book. He was hardly the only seminar member—safe to assume this was not a prime gathering time.
“Oh, here already?” he said, breaking into a grin. “Lovely! Do sit down.”
He got up and waved them to some chairs; they thanked him and took their seats. Meanwhile, he moved over the shelves on the wall and brought back a heap of binders.
“…These are…?” said Katie.
“Figured our research would be the best way to say hi. It’s all on tír creature biology and communication attempts. Not a genre you’d find in the library, right?”
Katie blinked at him for a second, and then she dove right into the pile of documents. In no time, she was hyperfocused.
“You’ve got lots of data, then,” Oliver noted—speaking not as a comrade, but as a fellow student. “I thought research like this was unofficially off-limits even at Kimberly.”
“They act like it is for appearances, but I feel like it’s actually the other way around. Otherwise, would they ever have given the go-ahead for Morgan’s attempt? Our headmistress would never publicly endorse Gnostic research, but under the table, she’s actively encouraging it. That’s my impression, at least.”
The upperclassman delivered this with an impish grin, filling Oliver’s head with questions. If his comrade felt certain enough to make this claim, it was likely Kimberly’s actual stance—but the Esmeralda, pro–tír research? That made no sense. Anyone as high up in the magical world as her would be pressured to match the Gnostic Hunters’ opposition to it.
“That said, there are very few active projects going. Just obtaining a gnosticized sample or a tír creature means going through a hellish process. Still…Kimberly is definitely at the forefront of tír research. I think this place will get you closest to what you want to do, Ms. Aalto.”
That gentle reminder made her pull away from the documents in front of her, and she snapped the file shut, straightening up.
“I’m sure you’re aware, but last year, I made contact with a Uranischegar migration,” she said. “I can’t say I made proper observations—it was only for a moment.”
“I know all about it. That experience led your decision to visit us?”
“…Basically. The connection we made—if that’s the word for it—gave me a sense of the mind behind the migration. Or maybe it was more emotional? Its heart? The distance between us was vast, but I sensed common ground. Like we aren’t fundamentally incompatible.”
Katie’s attempts to describe her experience made Oliver gulp. She’d said as much before, and he’d had no clue what to make of it.
“Fascinating,” the upperclassman said, chin in hand. “You heard the voice of their god? And whatever the truth may be, that was your emotional response to it.”
“…Yeah. Purely subjective, no real evidence I was right.”
“That’s fine. In the absence of other clues, mages proceed according to their instincts. So…what is it you want to do? In light of this unusual experience?”
Rather than debate the details of what she’d gone through, he prodded her intent. Katie’s head went down; she picked her words carefully.
“At this point, I basically know nothing about Gnostics, tírs, or their gods. Yet, despite that ignorance, I’m told I must unilaterally treat them as my enemies. This feels wrong to me. Like I’m wearing clothes where the buttons are misaligned,” she explained. “So my first step is to resolve that. No matter where it takes me, I have to begin by learning. I really haven’t thought about what lies past that.”
The upperclassman took all that in stride, arms folded. “So you’re at that phase. Kind of a relief! If you’ll forgive me for it, I was worried you were overeager and getting ahead of yourself. Common in students on the verge of being consumed by the spell,” he said. “However, from what you’ve said, you’re still in control. Demonstrating a desire to remain on this side of that line. This is a very risky field, so that desire can make all the difference. I’m not saying I’m without concerns—but looking out for those is what your senior fellows are for.”
He spoke with a pleasant smile, and Oliver wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was this simple benevolence? Lip service to a seminar candidate? Or a performance as a comrade? This man might serve Oliver, but that didn’t mean Oliver could read his mind. Perhaps sensing that, the sixth-year turned to him.
“She’s made herself clear. Mr. Horn, are your interests aligned?”
That made Oliver reset. He couldn’t have Katie do all the talking. He was supposed to be interested in this subject—and that was, at least, partially true.
“More or less,” he replied. “Most specifically, I’d like to research ways to reduce Gnostic incidents. Not by fighting and eliminating them but by tackling the root cause—preventing gnosticization in the first place.”
He’d prepared that answer ahead of time, and Katie gave him an astonished look. He had not been able to bring this up in front of Richard, so this was the first she’d heard of his position.
“Then much of your work should overlap with Ms. Aalto’s,” the upperclassman said, smiling. “Neither are exactly typical Kimberly ideals. If you’re that aligned, I see why you’re together… Yes, you’re a good match. I can tell you’re on the same page deep down, and that should lead to good synergy in the future. I’d love to have you both join us—talking to you has only made me sure of it.”
The upperclassman kept his tone pleasant but made his point clear. If they chose to join the seminar, they’d be welcomed—both took this as a promise. Now they merely needed to make up their own minds.
“I won’t pressure you to make a decision now. I’m sure you have other places to check out. Stop by all you like over the next month or two and weigh your options. No need to limit yourself when you’re not committed.”
Both Katie and Oliver appreciated this lack of pressure. For a while, they read up on tír creatures, then thanked the upperclassman and left the seminar room.