The archmage did not call us to a chamber or a circle.
He brought us to a place no one used.
Beyond the outer gardens, past a line of old stone markers half-swallowed by earth, there was a shallow basin where rainwater gathered and evaporated without ceremony. No wards were carved there. No symbols warned others away. It was a place forgotten not by accident, but by disinterest.
"That is why it will serve," the archmage said.
The young lady of the house looked around with visible disappointment. "There's nothing here."
He inclined his head. "Exactly."
We stood at the edge of the basin while the archmage remained several paces back, his hands folded behind him. He did not instruct us to sit or stand in any particular way. He did not even ask us to focus.
Instead, he spoke.
"Magic is not shaped by effort," he said. "It is shaped by permission."
The young lady frowned. "Permission from whom?"
"From yourself," he replied. "And from the world you intend to disturb."
I felt the pressure stir at that word.
Permission.
He gestured toward the basin.
"Do not attempt to change anything," he said. "Do not reach. Do not imagine. Simply notice what refuses to remain still."
The young lady closed her eyes immediately, eager, disciplined.
I did not.
I watched the surface of the water.
The wind moved it unevenly. Some ripples died instantly. Others traveled farther than they should have, colliding and reinforcing one another before fading.
My breath slowed without instruction.
"Tell me what you feel," the archmage said, addressing neither of us directly.
The young lady spoke first. "It feels… crowded. Like too many thoughts in one place."
The archmage nodded.
Then his gaze turned toward me.
I hesitated.
"It feels like something waiting to be blamed," I said finally.
The air shifted.
Not violently. Not visibly.
But the basin's surface stilled.
The young lady opened her eyes sharply.
She looked at the water. Then at me.
Then back at the water again.
"I didn't do that," she said.
The archmage said nothing.
He was smiling—not with satisfaction, but with confirmation.
"You see now," he said quietly. "Why this is not training."
The young lady swallowed. "What did he do?"
"Nothing," the archmage replied. "And that is precisely the problem."
He stepped closer to me, his voice lowering just enough to carry weight.
"You are not empty," he said. "And you are not uncontrolled."
His gaze sharpened.
"You are suppressing something that does not like being denied recognition."
The young lady shifted uncomfortably beside me.
"Is that dangerous?" she asked.
The archmage did not answer immediately.
"Yes," he said at last. "To everyone."
The lesson ended without dismissal.
No instruction was given for improvement. No warning was issued. We were simply left there, staring at water that refused to ripple the same way again.
As we walked back, the young lady glanced at me once, then looked away.
Not afraid.
Alert.
And for the first time since the archmage had chosen to stay, I understood what he meant when he said I would not be taught publicly.
Because this was not knowledge meant to be shared.
It was something the world had already noticed.
And it had begun to lean closer.