He could not search for it any longer. The light was too intense. His depth perception had already collapsed, and what remained of his vision was utterly distorted. Even after he looked away, the crater persisted in horrible after-images; inverted scars of white and black that burned across the darkness behind his eyelids. They tore wider every time he blinked.

Yves did not look again.
But he knew.

There, buried deep within the silver-white violence, lay
   


   Emery Thurm had taught him nothing of this.

If the masters knew what happened here, they had chosen silence for their novices. Yves had left the academy before he had even reached the upper halls, long before anyone might have considered him entitled to questions that actually mattered. Knowledge of this kind did not belong in introductory lectures or examination chambers. For that, you needed an office high enough to look down upon the consequences.

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