For the next hour, they progressed through increasingly complex linguistic concepts. Riven carefully calibrated his responses, demonstrating unusual aptitude but stopping short of the full extent of his comprehension.
He allowed Halwen to guide the lesson, asking occasional questions that would seem precocious but not impossible from a gifted child.
Then the magister turned to imperial history, recounting the traditional narrative of how the first Emperor had discovered the Eleven Grades of Aether and used this knowledge to unite the warring kingdoms.
"The imperial line carries the divine blessing of Aether," Halwen explained, his voice taking on the reverent tone of a true believer. "This is why only those of Valoria blood can achieve the highest grades of Aether mastery."
Riven tilted his head slightly. "What is Aether, Magister?"
Halwen smiled, clearly on more comfortable ground with this topic. "Ah, an excellent question, Your Highness. Aether is the divine breath that flows through all creation. It is the sacred current that brings order to chaos, the living essence of the world itself."
He gestured to the ceiling, where Aether conduits pulsed with their steady blue-white light. "These channels direct the flow of Aether throughout the palace, but Aether exists everywhere, in the air, in the stone, in our very bodies. Those with the gift, those of imperial blood, can sense its patterns and, with training, direct its flow."
"Like the conduits?" Riven asked, his eyes tracking the geometric patterns overhead.
"In a manner of speaking, yes. The conduits are physical manifestations of the divine principles that govern Aether's movement. They follow the Sacred Geometries laid down by the First Emperor."
'Not divine principles,' Riven thought. 'Mathematical constants. The conduits follow the path of least resistance through probability space, creating stable channels for energy transfer.'
Aloud, he asked, "How does Aether work, Magister?"
Halwen's expression grew more animated. "Through faith and understanding, Your Highness. Aether responds to the will of those who comprehend its divine nature. It is the language through which the world was spoken into being, and those who learn this language can reshape reality in small ways."
He reached into his robe and withdrew a small crystal, pale blue, with facets that caught the light in hypnotic patterns. "This is a Lumes crystal, these are the refined form of Aether harvested from the deep mines of the Mournspire. These crystals power our ships, our machinery, and the conduits that illuminate the palace. Each contains a fragment of the divine breath, captured and purified through sacred ritual."
Riven studied the crystal with genuine interest. The faceted surface seemed to pulse with internal light, creating interference patterns that shifted as the angle changed.
Not divine breath, but a crystalline lattice structure that resonated at specific frequencies, capturing and storing energy through quantum entanglement.
Halwen continued, his voice rising with enthusiasm. "The Aether flows in currents throughout our world, Your Highness. These currents follow the Sacred Paths established at creation. Those with proper training can sense these paths, can feel the divine breath moving through all things."
'Energy fields,' Riven translated mentally. 'Probability waves that follow the path of least resistance through spacetime. Not divine breath but quantifiable, predictable patterns of force.'
The magister placed the crystal on the table between them. "In future lessons, when you are older, you will learn to sense these currents yourself. All those of Valoria blood possess this gift, though to varying degrees."
"And what determines those degrees, Magister?" Riven asked, his voice deliberately innocent.
"Divine favor, primarily," Halwen replied with absolute certainty. "Those most attuned to the sacred nature of Aether can achieve greater mastery. The Eleven Grades mark the path of this mastery, from the common tenth grade to the exalted first. It is said that the legendary Zenith Grade, the theoretical zero, has been achieved by only one person in history: the First Emperor himself."
Riven nodded, absorbing this information and comparing it to his observations. The "divine favor" was likely genetic predisposition combined with neural plasticity and cognitive training.
The Grades represented quantifiable thresholds of energy manipulation, not spiritual advancement.
"The divine breath," Halwen continued, warming to his subject, "manifests differently depending on the practitioner's affinity. Some channel it as fire, others as motion or illusion. These manifestations are called Weaves, the patterns through which Aether expresses its nature."
'Frequency modulations,' Riven thought. 'Different energy states producing different physical effects based on the operator's mental framework.'
Halwen's hands moved through the air, tracing invisible patterns. "The true beauty of Aether, Your Highness, is that it responds to faith. To truly understand it is to recognize its divine nature, to approach it with reverence rather than mere curiosity."
Riven kept his expression neutral, but his mind raced with calculations. This was the fundamental disconnect, the empire viewed Aether as mystical, divine, beyond rational understanding.
But he could see the patterns, the mathematical principles that governed its behavior. It wasn't divine at all. It was a natural force, following consistent rules that could be observed, measured, and ultimately manipulated with precision.
A question formed in his mind, dangerous in its implications but necessary to test the boundaries. He weighed the Empress's warning against his need for information, calculating the optimal approach.
"Magister," he said, his voice carefully modulated to sound merely curious rather than challenging, "if Aether is divine, why does its flow follow mathematical constants?"
The words fell into the chamber like stones into still water. Halwen's hands, which had been gesturing animatedly, froze in mid-air. His eyes widened, mouth opening slightly as he struggled to process the question.
"Mathematical... constants?" he repeated, as if the words themselves were foreign.
"The conduits," Riven elaborated, pointing upward. "They follow perfect geometric ratios. The patterns repeat at precise intervals. If Aether is divine will, why does it behave so... predictably?"
Halwen's face paled visibly. The question hung between them, not just unexpected from a three-year-old but fundamentally unsettling in its implications.
Divine will should be mysterious, beyond mortal comprehension. Predictable patterns implied mechanism, not divinity.
"The... the sacred geometries," Halwen stammered, his earlier confidence evaporating, "reflect the perfect order of divine thought. The patterns are consistent because... because they express eternal truths."
But the explanation sounded hollow even to Halwen himself. Riven could see the fracture lines spreading through the magister's certainty, the momentary crisis as his faith collided with an uncomfortable observation.
"Mathematics is the language of order," Riven pressed, sensing weakness. "Does that mean the divine is bound by mathematical law?"
Halwen stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair. "I believe that is quite enough for today's lesson, Your Highness." His voice had lost its lecturing tone, replaced by a brittle formality. "You ask... unusual questions for one so young. Perhaps we should continue this discussion when you are older and better prepared for... for theological complexities."
He gathered his materials with trembling hands, the Lumes crystal nearly slipping from his grasp as he returned it to his pocket. "We shall continue with language studies tomorrow, focusing on the practical aspects of imperial script."
Riven watched him retreat, noting the signs of genuine distress in the magister's posture and movement. He had miscalculated slightly, the question had proven more disruptive than he'd intended. Still, the reaction itself provided valuable data about the rigidity of the empire's theological framework.
After Halwen departed with a hasty bow, Riven remained at the study table, contemplating the implications.
The magister would likely report this conversation to someone, perhaps the Academy directors, possibly even the Empress herself. He would need to frame his interest as childish curiosity if questioned, innocent wonderment rather than systematic doubt.
He rose and moved to the center of the chamber, looking up at the Aether conduits overhead.
Now, with no one to observe, he could study them properly. The blue-white energy pulsed through transparent channels, following paths that formed perfect geometric patterns across the ceiling.
Riven closed his eyes, reaching out with that other sense he had been secretly developing, the ability to perceive Aether directly.
He felt the currents flowing above him, around him, through the very structure of the palace.
Not divine breath, but data, pure information encoded in energy, following predictable patterns that could be mapped, measured, and potentially manipulated.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw the conduits differently.
The visible light was merely a side effect, a byproduct of the true phenomenon, the flow of probability waves through carefully constructed channels.
Halwen's explanation had been a theological gloss over a scientific reality, a comforting narrative draped over uncomfortable precision.
The empire's entire understanding of Aether was built on this fundamental misconception.
They worshipped what they should study, approached with reverence what required analysis.
Their power, considerable as it was, represented only a fraction of what might be possible with a truly empirical approach.
Riven felt a clarity of purpose settle over him, more defined than before. His path forward was not just to prevent the empire's collapse, but to transform its understanding from within.
To master what they worshipped, to comprehend what they merely revered. The historical records had never indicated why the Aether flows began to shift before the empire's fall, only that they did, triggering a cascade of crises.
Perhaps that shift wasn't inevitable. Perhaps, with sufficient understanding, it could be predicted, even prevented.
He looked down at his small hands, calculating the years until they would be large enough, strong enough to implement the changes necessary to alter history's course.
Time was both his ally and his enemy. Each day brought new knowledge, new insights, new opportunities to understand this world's systems. But each day also brought the empire one step closer to its prophesied dissolution.
The conduits pulsed overhead in perfect, predictable rhythm. Riven watched them with newfound resolve, his mind already formulating the next series of experiments.
The empire had built its theology on misunderstood science. He would build his power on properly understood reality.
And perhaps, in doing so, he would save them all.