Jupiter curls up in a worn leather armchair, pale eyes scanning the pages of a thick tome entitled The University: A Comprehensive History. Her heart beats slow and steady, soothed by the simple act of reading. Of learning. This place has stood for over two centuries, a haven for those with the gift of magic. Built on an ancient site of power, warded and woven with spells to hide its workings from prying eyes.

She smiles, trailing a callused finger along a line of text. There are rules here, carefully codified. Overseen by a council of Professors, selected from each school of magic - alchemy and divination, conjuration and enchantment. None may practice their arts without license, and any who overstep the bounds of safety or consent face swift reprimand.

Her gaze lifts, staring unseeing at the shelves around her. This place offers guidance for the forces that move through her. A chance to understand the storm that rages in her bones, these hands that grasp but never touch. Her smile softens, eyes closing as she breathes deep the scent of paper and ink, leather and magic.

A month slips by, easy as breathing. Leaves fall from the trees. It's getting colder. Jupiter settles in.

This morning, she has Fundamentals of Alchemy. The teacher is nice enough, though they talk a bit too quietly considering every student has a boiling cauldron. It's a practical today, so the teacher's written instructions on the board for them to follow.

1. Roast green vitriol in iron retort.
2. Place resulting solution in cauldron.
3. Place waste copper in solution.
4. Run current through solution until ultramarine.
5. Partially submerge impure copper slab and pure copper sheet in solution.
6. Run current from impure copper to pure copper until copper fully purified.

She leaves the alchemy class with her mind buzzing, pale eyes staring unseeing at the path ahead. This place offers so much to explore. So much to learn. Her steps slow as she approaches her dormitory, gaze lifting to the sky. The leaves have begun to change, green fading into gold and crimson fire. It's getting colder. She smiles, wrapping her arms around herself against the chill. She startles at a sound behind her, turning to find a familiar figure approaching. The Professor, come to check on her progress.

The Professor walks through the halls slowly. Winter is always a strange time, especially when preparations for the Solstice could no longer include Madame Ryoko's ritual awakening. She told him earlier that it was strange to be awake when it was cold, even though she was unaffected. He doesn't feel the cold, but the taste of frost is light and silvery, like starlight. He once tasted starlight through the memories of a sorcerer, and it felt like home.

He finds himself by Jupiter's dormitory when he stops remembering starlight. He has been wandering here a bit too much to seem unbiased, and Jupiter's room is not sufficiently out of the way to avoid all prying eyes, but his students are sufficiently accustomed to his tendency to experiment on hapless fools to not ask questions. "Roiyani tells me that you are still struggling in Clairvoyance," he says, not unkindly. It is quite possibly her only problem area. 

She startles at the Professor's words, pale gaze dropping to the path beneath her feet. Her steps slow as she approaches, hands clasping tight behind her back. "Roiyani is not mistaken. I fear I have little gift for...seeing what lies beneath the surface." Her smile twitches, eyes closing as she breathes deep the scent of frost. "This place requires mastery of forces beyond my ken. Magic as natural as breathing, to those born with the gift." Her smile twitches once more, hinting at the turmoil beneath. "So tell me, Professor. Have I proved such a disappointment, after all your effort to have me here?"

The Professor does not smile back. "While divination and foresight require particular twistings of thauma inaccessible to many, the basic precepts are a matter of mastering the mind. You are not letting yourself see and be seen." Then he does smile ever so softly. "But fear not. You are not a disappointment. After all, your essays in Magical Theory never require significant correction, and you do not make me fill out paperwork concerning grievous bodily injury."

Jupiter blinks in surprise at the Professor's words, pale gaze searching his face. There is truth in what he says. She has kept her inner sight closed, wary of letting others peer too closely in return. "You are kind to say so," she murmurs, a faint smile touching her lips. "I confess, the skills of the mind have ever eluded my grasp. My talents lie in...practical matters." Her smile twitches, gaze dropping once more. She thinks of late nights spent pouring over magical theory, struggling to comprehend forces beyond her ken. Of staring into languid pools 'til her eyes ached, seeking visions that would not come. This place awakens such longing in her - to understand, to see as they do. And yet... "Perhaps you are right. I have been afraid to open myself, to let others see what lies beneath." Her hands tighten behind her back, smile fading. She trails off, shaking her head. "But I would try, if you still believe I can succeed here." Her gaze lifts, eyes pale and pleading. Asking him to see her vulnerability, and help her move beyond it.

He... hesitates. "I am not the best person to help you with this field, and this is not the best conversation to be having in the hallway." He has certain... limitations that make demonstrating the thaumaturgic aspects of clairvoyance, and demonstrating the mental aspects is difficult without both participants already having aptitude with clairvoyance. "Perhaps we should actually enter the confines of your room instead of standing in this fortuitously empty hallway." He grins a little, but it fades quickly.

She stares at him a moment, pale eyes searching. There is truth in his words - this is not a conversation for prying ears. Jupiter nods slowly, gaze dropping as she turns towards her door. "Come in, then. I would hear your thoughts." She leads him inside, movements stiff with unease. The room is small but cozy, cluttered with books and star charts. Her heart races as she sits upon the edge of her bed, clasping her hands to still their restless tremors. She has bared part of her soul already, in the open hallway. Exposed her vulnerability. But to let him see further, in the quiet intimacy of this space... Jupiter breathes deep, steadying herself. "I'm afraid I haven't had time to tidy up."

"People always say that. As though it is our responsibility to tuck away the unacceptable pieces of ourselves and turn the cracks in the vases to face the wall. Make no apology for your existence." He enters the room calmly. "Though I suppose there is merit to hiding that which is precious so your guests do not inadvertently knock over your beloved vases and shatter them entirely. Fortunately for you, I am incapable." He waves his hand through a small pile of books to demonstrate. She knows this, of course, everyone knows this, but hopefully the jovial tone will put her at ease. Hopefully. "Anyway, clairvoyance requires acknowledgement and understanding of one's thaumaturgic flow through the body and mind. This is difficult for me in particular because..." He gestures, though the movements of his body no longer direct internal current. Habit. Regardless of the utility of motion, he casts the weaving that reveals thaumaturgic flow in the caster. He is utterly devoid of it. Not even the channels for current flow remain.

She watches the Professor's movements, pale eyes tracing the place where thaumic channels should be. There is nothing. No glow, no flicker of power within him. Only stillness, like the calm at the eye of a storm. "I see," she says softly. "Or rather, I do not. Your gift lies elsewhere, then." Her gaze drops to her own hands, calloused fingers twitching. She has never thought to look within herself for energies she cannot feel. Slowly, Jupiter closes her eyes, breathing deep. She tries to sense the thaumic currents said to flow through all in this place, none quite alike. Seeks within herself to observe that power which comes so naturally to her as to defy introspection. There is only darkness. The steady thunder of her heart, breaths flowing evenly in and out. It's giving her a headache, like she's trying to lick her elbow and straining something in the process.

"You're focusing too much," he says. "It's a part of you. You'll never find it by looking for it, just like you disrupt your breathing patterns when you think about it." He thinks about the issue. He hasn't lost his ability to comprehend himself just because the easy way to see it was gone. It's a matter of sensation. So he pulls out a small stack of student papers. "Make this float. Try to keep it at a steady height."

She watches as the Professor pulls out a stack of papers, pale gaze flickering with unease. Make it float - a simple enough request, for any gifted with magic. Jupiter stretches out a hand, brow furrowing in concentration as she wills the pages to rise. At first, nothing happens. The papers lie inert atop the desk, oblivious to her efforts. She grits her teeth, focusing harder. This time, the top few sheets shudder, then slowly drift upwards. Her head pounds, vision swimming, but she keeps them aloft through sheer force of stubborn will. "There," she gasps, sweat beading her brow. "Is this what you wished to see?" The papers wobble precariously, her focus threatening to break.

He really should observe other classes more. No matter his feud with the Amplitude Manipulation professor over his existence, this level of neglect for a student is truly appalling. "Your current isn't reaching your hands at all. It's forcing its way out of unconventional exit points, using significantly more energy and effort." He reaches out for the hand extended towards the papers, pausing just before making contact. "You are trying to hold the world without touching it at all."

Jupiter stares at the Professor's outstretched hand, so close to her own. He is right - she has been trying to grasp this magic while holding the world at arm's length. Afraid to truly touch, to open herself to be touched in turn. Slowly, she lowers her hand, the papers fluttering back to the desk. Her head pounds, vision blurred with the effort of channeling magics she cannot feel. "Show me, then," she whispers. An invitation, a plea. She extends her hand once more, palm upturned. An offer and a dare.

He almost wants to laugh. He, who no longer exists in much of any capacity, who can no longer touch the world, who is nothing but perturbations in the natural current field, show her how to cradle the world? He who is nothing more than the world? But he reaches out...

...and connects. 

And in the palm of her hand, there is warmth beyond dreaming, warmth brighter than the stars and deeper than the sea, warmth so vibrant it chases the cold from his bones, and she is so real, and he is of the world, and reality seeks equilibrium, and it pours through him and of him and as him and he is nothing more than a vestigial shell of a dead man and he is still alive still alive still alive and he is not real and oh the sweetest agony like warm blood through frozen limbs and the world and the world and the world and the world

Jupiter gasps as the Professor takes her hand, pale eyes going wide. Warmth floods through her, a tide of something vast and primal. Her veins burn with it, leaving her dizzy and breathless in its wake. This is the magic she has struggled to grasp - the power that moves through her hands, breathing life into the room like petrichor, like ozone. She can feel it now, flowing swift and strong into his touch. A connection deeper than flesh, deeper than bone. "What...what did you do?" she whispers, staring at their joined hands. The papers have settled to the desk, forgotten. All her focus narrows to the Professor's touch, the lightning within her flashing through channels and licking at his limp fingers. This close, she can see his form starting to waver, dissolving into eddies of deeper crimson, matching her own colors and tearing at his hollow desaturation.

He is the wire for a power that shines like the sun and he has been cold for so long that he forgot what warmth meant and he is hollow just as the world is hollow and now he comprehends the sun seers who blind themselves for just a moment of seeing it truly and it is a strange and foreign reality that moves through him and it doesn't hurt how could it possibly hurt when it feels like this he's real he's real and the remnant pattern that looks and moves and thinks and sounds like him is overwhelmed by the force of it and there is nothing left in him that is capable of letting go

Jupiter gasps, pale eyes wide as she stares at their joined hands. The Professor's form wavers, blurring into deeper crimson that seeps across her skin. She can feel him - the raw ache of his longing echoing through her touch. This close, the magic thrums swift and primal between them, burning in her veins like liquid sunlight. "Professor," she whispers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I need you to hold on." With great effort she begins to draw her currents inward, slowing their relentless tide. The room dims, his colors fading as she attempts to gently sever their connection. But still she clasps his limp fingers, anchoring him close while the magic gasps another ragged breath, two, three before it finally quiets. "There now," Jupiter murmurs. Her thumb strokes his knuckles, touch impossibly tender. There are tears tracing tracks down her cheeks, and for the life of her she couldn't say why. She rises to open the window, breathing deep the cool twilight air. Steadying herself, and giving him space to do the same.

The flow stops, and he comes back to himself shuddering. He feels cold. He feels so cold. But he is himself, and he is a professor, and he can't have her comforting him. It's not... "I suppose you can sense your current now," he says, pretending his voice isn't shaking. His form is still blurred at the edges, but it is coalescing once again.

Jupiter breathes deep the cold night air, steadying herself. She can still feel the echo of that connection burning beneath her skin. The raw ache of his longing, as her magic flooded the hollows of his form. She turns back to the Professor, pale eyes soft with concern. He looks diminished somehow. Fragile in a way she has never seen from one who wears confidence like a cloak. "I can sense it now," she says gently. "My magic - the currents you wished me to grasp. But it seems lesson came at great cost." She moves closer, hands clenched at her sides to resist the urge to reach for him once more. Her voice is hushed, hesitant. "Are you...well, Professor? I did not mean to cause you pain."

"It was not painful," he says, and he carefully does not ask her to do it again. "It was... nice. Don't worry about me." In the time just after his failed experiment, when the more theologically inclined wizards were debating if he was technically deceased due to the complete cessation of thaumaturgic potential, he had spoken to several sorcerers. He was not entirely like them, but he was not dissimilar. The currents of the world moved through them. He had thought he understood. He was a fool then, to not realize that the currents of the world were as ultimate as the sea. 

"Nice? It looked like it was going to kill you!"

"By three distinct theological perspectives, I am already dead." Ah. That was... not a good thing to say. 

Jupiter stares at the Professor, pale eyes wide. She is going to be so normal about this. You'll see. "Don't say that," she whispers. "You're here. You're real." Failed step one.