The laboratory hummed with contained light. The wards along the walls glowed softly, diffusing the Well's radiance into a gentle, pulsing shimmer. It was the hour before dawn—when even magic seemed to breathe slower.
Magister Vandryl Darkrune stood at the edge of the containment circle, watching his apprentices make their preparations. Aydris activated the runes carved into the marble basin; Jace arranged the focus crystals. Both moved with the practiced rhythm of people who trusted each other's precision.
When all was ready, Vandryl placed a single candle at the circle's center and stepped back. "We'll begin simply," he said. "A baseline measurement. Jace, a conjured flame. Aydris, maintain contact throughout."
They nodded. Aydris reached out, her slender fingers finding Jace's. The instant their hands met, the runes flared gold, answering her pulse.
Jace drew a slow breath, shaped the incantation, and lifted his free hand. The wick caught, flared, and in the space of a heartbeat the candle dissolved into molten wax.
He stared at it, astonished. "That wasn't— I barely—"
Vandryl allowed himself a small, satisfied nod. "Record that sensation, both of you. Again. A different focus."
The next spell formed more easily. A summoning sphere, meant to float above the basin, swelled larger than intended—then burst in a harmless cascade of light. Aydris stumbled, but caught herself, smiling through her fatigue.
"Good," Vandryl murmured, making notes. "One more. Let's test endurance."
They repeated the process, each spell more complex. By the fourth, Jace's magic felt effortless, a river with no banks. His mind sharpened, his senses widened. The Well's hum filled his chest like a second heartbeat.
Then Aydris swayed. Her grip loosened. The glow around her hand flickered once and went out.
Jace caught her just as her knees gave way.
"Aydris!"
She was pale, her breathing shallow but steady.
Vandryl was already moving, scooping her up with the care of a father carrying a sleeping child. "That's enough," he said quietly. "We have our result."
He carried her to her quarters, Starlys rising from her chair as soon as she saw them.
"She's just exhausted," Vandryl said. "Stay with her, Starlys. Don't let her up until she's ready."
"I will," she promised.
Turning back to Jace, Vandryl's expression was thoughtful, not cold. "When you write the record, note the amplification as—no, write it precisely: hundredfold. But emphasize the cost. The power is hers, not ours."
Jace swallowed, still shaken. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Get some rest. We'll review the data tomorrow."
But the next morning, the laboratory remained dark.
He found himself outside her door instead. The corridor was quiet, only the faint hum of wards beyond the walls. Jace hesitated, then knocked.
"Come in," came the faint reply.
Aydris was propped up against the pillows, pale but smiling. Her eyes were shadowed, but alert.
"I came to apologize," he said softly. "I didn't realize—"
She waved a hand, the motion languid but warm. "Don't. It's part of the experiment. You'd never hurt me intentionally."
He sat beside her bed, guilt threading his voice. "You shouldn't have had to prove that."
"I wanted to," she said simply. "It's what we're here for."
He exhaled slowly, studying her face. "Today's experiments are cancelled. Vandryl's orders."
"Good." She smiled faintly, eyes fluttering closed. "Then I'll just sleep."
"Do you need anything?"
"Sleep," she murmured again, already drifting.
Jace rose quietly, pulling the blanket higher around her shoulders. The light from the wardstones painted her hair in silver.
He stood in the doorway a moment longer, then closed it softly behind him.