Teantry heard the light pattering steps over stone beside her and paused. Glancing right, the tall headstone gleamed nearly as bright as the silver-gray cat perched on it. He had come again. He came every year as drawn to the place as herself. She raised an eyebrow at the cat. “Did you want something?”

Dameron cursed himself for a fool for ever wanting to be a World Master. Once he had thought joining the erudite ranks would be an honor. A privilege. Few were blessed with magic and wit enough to master such lore. He, like his fellow students, had spent countless nights working to become a World Master. And he alone from his class had been chosen. A rarity in any class for any to achieve. And Dameron had been selected to progress along the path.

Aliza looked up from beneath the edge of her quilt to the jar glowing faintly blue in the darkness of her bedroom. A jar her mother had left there before departing for the evening with father. A light left to guard her through the long hours. A light too dim to see her room by.