“Though ...” He hesitated before continuing, “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to take some leave. To get away from here for a while.”
Did he mean long term? Isla’s stomach tightened. She couldn’t afford to lose her position—not after how hard she’d worked to earn it. Jobs like hers didn’t come easily, and she wasn’t about to step aside so someone else could take her place.
“Thank you for the offer, but I wish to stay,” she said, her tone a little clipped.
Harold nodded as though he had expected her answer and understood her reasons without needing them explained. A small reassuring smile softened his face. “I want you here, Professor. Never doubt that. Even if you left for a time, there would always be a place for you at Osbaldwick University.”
She gave him a small nod, appreciating his reassurance but not willing to risk it. Though the kindness in his tone nearlyundid her; she felt tears burn at the corners of her eyes but refused to let them fall. Strength, always strength.
“In the meantime,” Harold continued, “I’ve arranged a few activities to help you better understand the world in which you now find yourself.”
He leaned forward and lifted a thick, solid-looking textbook from his desk. Its dark green cloth had golden lettering on the spine. The pages were slightly yellowed.
He set it before her with a faint smile. “A bit of light bedtime reading for you. It’s the latest edition. Some of our students find it ... enlightening.”
She gave a quiet laugh, the sound brief but genuine. “Light reading, you say? Somehow I doubt that.” She felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders. “At this point, I’ll take any enlightenment I can get.”
Harold’s smile deepened. “You’re a bright woman, Isla. You’ll catch on soon enough.”
“Let’s hope so,” she replied with a wry tilt of her mouth. Looking at the book, she studied the title.
Embossed in tidy serif letters it read:
An Elementary Guide to the Aetheric Arts and Their Practical Applications
A Concise Manual for Beginners and the Incurably Curious
She opened the cover. Inside it was stampedOsbaldwick Universityand the date read1902 Edition.
Turning a page, she ran her fingers gently over the title of the chapter and scanned the text.
Who are the Aetheric Art users?
Long ago, humanity was touched by the Aether, and fragments of its essence remained dormant in certain lineages. Over generations, only some have inherited these Aetheric traces strongly enough to awaken under the right emotional or intellectual conditions. These people are the Aetherians.
She looked up. Harold clearly had this book memorized, as this extract matched that of the explanation he had given her in the library.
“You’re welcome to attend any of the classes we offer at the university,” Harold said. “You can sit in with the students when you’re not teaching. But to ease you in gently, I thought it best to begin with something in a more private setting.” He paused, eyes twinkling. “I’ve arranged for you to take a pottery class this evening.”
“A pottery class?” she echoed, uncertain whether to laugh.
“Yes,” he said, amused by her tone. “One of our students has agreed to open the studio for you ... and yourbodyguards.”
He smirked slightly at the word, clearly sharing her private amusement at the idea of Juliette and Andrew in such a role, though there was no doubt he trusted them to do it well. After they’d pulled her from the pool, Isla could hardly disagree. And having Edmund close by was, she admitted to herself, only adding to her feeling of safety.
“His name is George, and he is a medical student here at the university,” Harold continued. “He works in the gardens to pay his way and studies the Aetheric Arts—a Terra Summoner, like yourself. He finds that working with clay steadies his focus. The earth responds best to calm intention, not force. Pottery helps him listen to that rhythm.”
He leaned back, folding his hands. “It’s patient work. You’ll learn to feel when the clay resists you and when it yields—much like the Aether itself. A fitting lesson for any Terra.”
“Okay,” Isla said slowly, eyeing him with mild suspicion. “And what will the others do while I’m learning my craft?”
Harold’s eyes twinkled. “They’ll be doing pottery the good old-fashioned way—with their hands, not their elements. No wielding for them.” He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Though I imagine Juliette might prove rather useful when it comes to the glazing. Saves on coal, at least.”
Isla laughed. “Pottery it is, then,” she said, a faint smile ghosting across her lips.
“Let’s hope the clay behaves.” Harold chuckled softly.
The grandfather clock chimed in the corner, its sound steady. Isla gathered her belongings, pressing the green book to her chest.
