#kinloch.

          Karl knows as much about the Harrowing as the next apprentice. It happens at night. Mages survive or die. The alternative is hardly better. There is no literature on the subject save for certain gossip-worthy rumor pieces based in nothing but speculation. 

          He can assume only one thing for certain; that however the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter guarantee a mage’s silence must be severe. But the methods employed can also only be speculated about. Silences existed, of course, but wore off within the bell it was cast. Theoretically, such a spell could be weaved into a rune for permanent use, but if mages walked around with Silence runes etched into their robes, then more people would know about it.

          And Karl hoped that enough would see the resemblance to how the Quanri treated their own mages to let that stand.

          Fear, he’s come to realize in his six years within the Circle, is an effective motivator and most likely how the First Enchanter managed it. Karl tasted the sword-sharp rupture of a Smite boil blood down his throat once. He’s lived in fear of it since. Templars loomed in every hall and Karl isn’t blind nor deaf to the grief they cause. There are bad Templars as there are bad men in everything. There are bad Banns, bad Teryns, bad Kings, and bad Chantry brothers. And there are good ones, all the same. A whole could not be rotten by the few because if that were true, the handful of maleficarum in the world meant the Chantry was justified.

          Fear isn’t what Karl regards his own Harrowing with, however. He knows Anders does and that is part of why he doesn’t. He knows his only choice is to survive it and, fear be damned, prepare Anders for it. By any means.

          Whatever the test was, it couldn’t be one of power. Mages were never encouraged to strengthen themselves in such ways. They were taught to temper, control, remain level headed. The fact that Karl could manage only a handful of spells would not hinder him, he assumed; not when he excelled in the subjects mages were actually schooled in. He had nothing to fear of the Harrowing, but Anders … Anders certainly did.

          Level headed was not how Karl would describe him. Infuriating. Impulsive. Indulgent. Passionate. Stubborn. Brilliant in all the worst ways. Anders could never temper himself. Karl had spent much time in the Circle with Anders out chasing his own tail and the dusty stone Tower was always brighter when he returned, as though he dragged part of the sun in with him.

          It had been three years since he convinced Anders to stop running – a feat more difficult than convincing a Templar to open the front door. In the end, it had taken an admission of … feelings, rather than logic – which baffled Karl still to this day. But it had worked and Anders had stayed safely by his side since.

          Rebellion came in many forms, Karl lectured; there was no need to be eager for a life on the run when their betters entertained discussion. Hope was how Karl actually regarded his Harrowing, because with it came the opportunity to formally join the Fraternities. The essays he – and Anders – had labored on for years now would finally be seen, potentially even sent to Cumberland someday after the First Enchanter reviewed them. Karl knew many long years of revision lay ahead of them. Laws were not codified in a day, of course, but eventually they would sway enough minds and the Circles could see more independence.

          The right to marry. Creches within the Towers, themselves, for mages to raise their own children. Leave to visit family. No restrictions on non-magical activity within the Tower. And for the Maker’s sake, privacy. Less Chantry oversight would be a boon beyond comprehension.

          Karl would see it done. Hopefully with Anders at his side. But that could never be accomplished if the Void-damned man kept running. Which is what Karl assumes he’s attempted – and blessedly failed – when he wakes to the glaring shine of silverite hovering at the end of their bunk. 

          Resignation settles heavy in his chest alongside the bitter stab of disappointment before his eyes have even adjusted to the morning light. He sighs and stands quick enough to make himself dizzy just to check that Anders is in their top bunk. Karl frowns at the sight – he looks as he always does when sleeping. Brow creased with a small pucker between them, jaw tensed enough to grind his teeth. There was so much Anders feared.

          Karl wants nothing more than to reach out and tuck that errant strand of hair behind his ear. His fingers itch to feel the coolness of his cheek beneath his palm. It takes every bit of self discipline Karl has not to wake him with a gentle brush of their lips. Worst of all is the knowledge that Anders would welcome all of it.

          Most other apprentices are still sleeping, Karl realizes as he glances around the room. It must still be early. His cursory search ends on the Templar and his pensive expression lightens into a smile of recognition that doesn’t reach his eyes.

          First Meetings Sentences | Accepting

          ━━━ KARL HAD BEEN POPULAR IN EDGEHALL ... in Kinloch, the opposite seemed to be true, though by no fault of the other young mages. Upon assimilation to the Circle, Karl had taken immediately to solitude, watching the clumps of children glance at him between their whispers ; boys and girls in equal measure giggling and all but pointing as though he were some novelty on display.

          Anywhere else, Karl would've indulged the gossip. Given a wink and smile, played into their curiosity. But this was no place for such indulgence. He remained bitter and resentful of the fact that he was even here, though had no illusion that his position would change in any future, near or far.

          He had read more books in the last month than his teacher had ever assigned him in lessons. There was little else to occupy his mind. Reading and magic. Magic and reading. And always the reek of dust and the pungent, bitter smell of the blue liquid people drank like medicine.

          Despite their curiosity, no one had attempted a conversation with him, save for the teachers. Perhaps he was intimidating in his posture, or perhaps no one was daring enough. Whichever the case, the blond boy that foists himself into his company is the first his age to try.

          Karl had seen him in the groups of chatting children ━━ though in was perhaps inaccurate. He seemed to be the center of attention most times, and though Karl was never close enough to hear the words from his mouth, the others' reactions were adequate to have formed some sort of opinion on him. He was witty or clever, funny, maybe ; he made others laugh and kept their rapt attention with wide smiles and shining eyes.

          Karl tried not to stare, though he may have failed, considering the boy now sat next to him.