"........that is very fair. And -- there are worse goals to die for." Probably if Lev needs anything he is not the person in the room best positioned to provide it but he looks at Lev anyway.

Lev has VERY CONFLICTED FEELINGS HERE.

"Can I--"

"Yes. --You would too, you know."

"I know." He sighs. "Let's do this."

[Romantic plot tumor is here.]

Mordred has a very difficult time learning the mystic secrets of not exerting any sort of power or control over the world.

HE SURE DOES.

Oswald has... a less difficult time but still pretty difficult.

What did he say. Seeds, evil, destruction. Which is why you don't abuse children.

Ayers gets sicker over the course of the three weeks. By the end, he is barely holding himself together by willpower alone.

His mouth gains color, grows moist. It begins to expand. It starts to move. He grows paler, more wan.

If Mordred could just learn faster maybe he would live this is exactly the wrong kind of thing to be thinking and it's not going to help and he is still thinking it, maybe that can be its own kind of lack of control over the world.

It seems like a horrible way to die.

(Maybe they should ask him. If he'd prefer something faster, marginally less painful.)

When asked he acerbically says that he prefers for humanity to continue to have goals other than the continual accumulation of power.

No, but, like, if they've learned by now and he is just going to waste away would he prefer some kind of adhoc euthanasia.

Ad hoc euthanasia sounds fine. Don't let Lev watch.

But--

NO.

One time, Mordred kills every small animal in a five-foot radius.

Another time, Oswald goes blind for two hours.

A third time, Mordred's vision blurs and he doesn't know if it's the magic or his effort.

He's so certain the blindness is permanent that it's a relief when it only lasts hours. He spent a lot of the time trying to work out what he could contribute to a deadly globe-spanning anti-apocalypse mission without seeing anything.

Mordred doesn't get sick, somehow. Oswald gets a fever once for a few days, and worms.

Mordred HATES THIS. he hates this SO MUCH. He hates this and -- and --

-- and he has been keeping silent about something for years and years, because some things matter more than him getting every stupid selfish thing he wants, and that's kind of working towards a goal but it's also self-denial in the name of something higher, right --

The spell clicks. 

Meanwhile--

Zoe is biking back from the Dallol site. It is incredibly hot. She has become gruesomely sunburned. Angry red skin one day gives way to peeling flakes the next day, and the day after that, raw blisters, as progressively deeper layers of skin become progressively burnt.

The heat shimmers in front of her; she thinks she catches a glimpse of something.

Zoe blinks in its direction. Is there actually something there? She keeps seeing things which turn out to be mirages.

It resolves into a familiar face. "Hello!"

Zoe tries to bring the bike to a stop gracefully, but she is too tired and in pain. She falls off her bike.

"Wha -- you --"

"Tut, tut. You used to be more athletically gifted than that."

"The heat is getting to me. And the hand I'd normally use for the brake is, well." She raises her bandaged hand.