Given that momentous premise, Orion would not be satisfied with only a few historical misconceptions.

  Not that the Sanctum tries hard to hide its propaganda, but I was confident they hadn’t intentionally concealed major events. Now I’m beginning to doubt that.

  History lessons had always felt a bit vague to his taste, either focusing on the distant past, which was mostly mythology, or recent events that everyone needed to know to function in society and could be easily distorted.

  The Minister leaned back in his chair, appearing pleased with the attention they were giving him. “Yes, I mean what I said. What is usually taught as the history of Cyril is just a cleaned-up version of history, one that intentionally omits the most important part: the rest of the world.”

  Orion froze. He had found it strange how little everyone seemed to care about what happened outside the Magocracy’s borders, but it had just become another thing for him to sneer at.

  I thought it was due to the distances involved and the lack of technology. In a way, magic being real means only those who wield it will advance in society, and it’s not always necessarily those who would push for change and open new trade routes.

  “We shall start far enough back,” Minister Ames said, tapping two fingers once against the arm of his chair, causing a blue glow to form in the air, which soon became a three-dimensional map of the Magocracy, though with a western coast that extended much further than Orion remembered. “Before councils, before treaties, even before the dragonlords united into one lineage, Cyril was not a single polity but a collection of squabbling kingdoms.”

  His finger traced several lines, and the modern map fell apart, revealing minor polities where the major factions now sat. “Small and proud kingdoms, separated by rivers, mountains, and bloody battles. They rose quickly and fell just as fast, both because of disaster, famine, and enemy action.”

  Orion folded his hands and listened. He had seen versions of this in Sanctum primers, but they were always very vague on details. It was, according to them, a distant past, and not a very interesting one.

  “What changed?” he asked.

  “The sea rose,” Ames said gravely. “And its dwellers attacked.”

  He traced the coast with his fingers, causing a massive wave to rise in what would have been an apocalyptic display. “Back then, trade from the continent flowed in and kept the kingdoms healthy enough. Ships ran up to the Belt, crossed the shallows, and down to the great cities of the west. But one day, a people rose from the water in numbers that made any resistance futile. The Pelagic Host plundered the coast for a decade before retreating into the sea with hundreds of miles of it.”

  That… No one thought to mention that? I have never heard of this before!

  “So,” Ames continued, uncaring of his gobsmacked face, "Cyril was cut off from the rest of the continent, as no one dared to navigate those waters for a century. The south became the only route to the outside world, but despite what they claim, the elves do not control the entire Greenwood, and darker things hide in the wasteland beyond.”

  Gathering himself after the revelation, Orion decided that he would have to think of this as merely a magical version of what happened at the end of the Bronze Age on Earth. “I imagine such a thing caused a complete societal and economic collapse, since you said the petty kingdoms were reliant on the continent’s trade?” He asked.

  “Indeed,” Ames nodded. “And the economic hardship became the driving force behind the century-long bloodbath that ensued as every fool with a crown tried to bring their neighbors to heel. Only long after the generation of those who’d seen the horrors of the sea died out did the killing stop, and by then, Cyril was entirely cut off from the rest of the continent. ”

  He raised a hand and held up four fingers. “From the shadows emerged four new power centers. First, the dragonkins who had once lived for centuries apart from their brethren united to form the Dragonspire Dominion after the elders abandoned their clan rivalries. Second, the Ebony Gauntlet rose from its tomb, and their leader, known as the Death King, gained followers from those seeking to escape the horrors they had witnessed.”

  Orion didn’t fully understand why anyone would want to become undead, but he could see why those who’d watched their land destroyed for a century would seek lasting protection, and who better to give it than the most powerful Elder Lich.

  “Third, the witches,” Ames continued, glancing at Orion, “they were once a monastic order of sisters, promoting their Mother Goddess to all who would make the trek up the mountains. But when war tore the land apart, and women fled to the safety they offered with their children, they had to stop being so isolationist.”

  “Finally,” he added gravely, “came the Collegium. For centuries, the archmages had been content to be power-adjacent as advisers and courtly magi. Then, the bloodshed lost any coherence, and the mages decided that no king could be trusted with the levers of power.”

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  Yes, I bet that has nothing to do with the power vacuum and them seeing an opportunity to insert themselves into it.

  “From that chaos, you get what is known as the Magocracy. It’s the best solution available in a terrible situation, and with the rise of several new, more powerful factions, the balance shifted, but never enough to change things fundamentally again.”

  He paused, looking at them and gesturing with an open hand.

  Questions bubbled up in Orion’s mind, but Ophelia beat him to the punch. “I find it hard to believe the factions would be content with the presence of a genocidal force at our doorstep, so I imagine this Pelagic Host is not there anymore,” she said, brow furrowing, “but if that is the case, why have we remained so isolated from the rest of the continent? I almost never hear anything of them, aside from a few valuable materials trickling through.”

  Ames smiled with pride. “The Pelagic Host has moved on to easier prey, and even if they were to return, Cyril’s current factions would wipe them out. Also, we are not completely cut off,” he said. “The Crimson Wheel sails farther than most think, and everyone else lets them because they are seen as the weakest of the major factions. The merchant princes also make sure the goods are evenly spread to avoid angering anyone.”

  “But why not more?” Ophelia pressed. “If some trade is possible, why not set up a system? If a ship can reach such distant coasts, why not prepare a fleet?”

  “Because a fleet becomes a major venture that risks drawing the attention of the continent’s powers,” her grandfather replied, and the warmth left his voice. “Cyril is likely more powerful than any single power on the continent, but only when acting together, which is not something that’s likely to happen. No, we simply do not need it anymore, and trying to reestablish trade routes would only upset the balance.”

  “What about sharing control of such a venture?” Orion asked. To his modern sensibilities, staying so isolated from the world felt insane.

  “We have tried,” Ames sighed. “But every venture turned out to be either an undercover attempt from a faction or fell apart. There simply isn’t political will to upset the status quo.”

  “The war in the south,” Orion said aloud in realization, interrupting the Minister. “The elves and the Ebony Gauntlet. It isn’t just a matter of old grudges.”

  “Nothing is ever only old grudges,” Ames nodded, a hint of respect shining in his eyes. “Old grudges are how you sell new wars to soldiers. The truth is that the elves tried to set up a new road in secret, through older, darker parts of the Greenwood that do not answer to any court, and beyond into the badlands that lie between us and the Throndron Kakokracy. The Gauntlet discovered the attempt and immediately moved to prevent their old enemy from gaining the advantage.”

  “The border skirmishes were just the public front,” Ophelia said softly.

  “Indeed,” Ames said. “A lot of people died because of greed and fear. Neither side is necessarily wrong, of course, but they aren’t right either.”

  Two days later, Orion was lying on his back on the marble table in the lab, a space that had, for lack of a better term, become his.

  There were so many other rooms available that no one seemed to miss this particular one, so he had made himself at home.

  Looking up at the ceiling, where Light crystals were set in silver fittings, Orion reached out with one hand, letting his fingers feel its soft hum without touching it.

  A week ago, his timeline for leaving the Sanctum was at least three years, possibly up to five if progress was slower than expected. The Computing Crystal had cut it down considerably, and the level-ups had let him dream of reaching his goals much sooner than he had anticipated.

  Now the trouble wasn’t whether he could walk out; it was where he would walk to. The lesson in the Ames manse had been enough to confirm what the latest events had told him—that wandering around the Magocracy without a clear plan and the approval of the factions was likely to get him killed in a ditch before he learned anything important.

  Despite what his looks might suggest, Orion knew he wasn’t in a fable where everything was supposed to go right.

  This situation cannot go on. The Magocracy remains stuck in perpetual stasis, and although there are genuine powerhouses here, they don’t seem to realize that the rest of the world has kept moving forward while they were cut off. Who knew what kind of monsters lay beyond the sea?

  No, something had to be done about this situation. The idea was risky, but he truly couldn’t see any other solution.

  He wasn’t naive or arrogant enough to believe he could seat elders and archmages around a table and get them to hold hands. But as a man from another world, he understood that cooperation was possible with the right incentives. And punishments, he thought privately.

  It would require years, if not decades, of building relationships. The current generation in power was probably a lost cause, but he already had an advantage with the ones they were preparing for leadership.

  Ophelia was destined to be a center of gravity, whether she wanted it or not. Esmeralda was another who would undoubtedly rise high if her ruthlessness and power were any indication. Selene, Luna, and Dorian, too, were likely to become powerful someday.

  And now I’m in Valderun, the heart of the Magocracy’s political power. No doubt, many more scions are just waiting for me to find them.

  He rolled off the table and sat up, the cold piercing through his thin shorts and reminding him that things wouldn’t be quite that easy.

  First, he wasn’t exactly the most social person himself. The idea of navigating Cyril’s complex faction politics wasn’t a simple matter, especially since he wasn’t exactly starting as a neutral party.

  As a member of the Lunar Sanctum, he would undoubtedly be regarded as acting on their behalf, unless he did something truly drastic to distance himself, which would completely undo everything he had worked so hard for over the past week.

  No, I can't get discouraged that easily. Of course, it won’t be a walk in the park; nothing worth doing is. And this... this is definitely worth it.

  The thought was just a budding one now. Orion needed to consider carefully the implications, especially regarding the resistance he’d encounter once the factions realized what he was doing.

  But could he live like this? Knowing there was a whole world out there for him to explore, and being forced to close his eyes to it.

  I could probably take one of those ships that trade with the continent, but it would mean abandoning everything here, and it wouldn’t lead to any societal progress. One person, no matter how great, cannot change everything, and Cyril has an incredibly entrenched power system, guarded by monsters so powerful they could erase me from existence if they decide I’m too dangerous.

  That fact alone told him he couldn’t remain on his solitary path forever. Oh, Orion would never be particularly outgoing, and his secrets would stay with him until his death, but science only advanced when discoveries were shared.

  And if I’m lucky, I will be able to make myself too important to kill off, by the time they see the board I’ve set up.

  It was definitely a gamble. But it was one he was willing to risk everything on.

  Especially because he had the perfect plan for turning his whims into reality.

  “Building my relationship with the upcoming faction leaders is a priority, but that alone won’t be enough. No, I need something more tangible, something that will benefit everyone enough to allow me to keep going until I cannot be uprooted anymore.”

  He needed to create a neutral space where knowledge could be openly shared, and where magic could evolve into something closer to the Truth.

  He needed a University.

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