Ema paused, feeling the heat rushing to her cheeks again. "Family? I'm a bit too young for that, don't you think? I don't even have a relationship, let alone thinking about a home and kids..." Tomáš froze for a second and then burst out laughing. He laughed so genuinely and infectiously that a few guests at neighboring tables turned their heads in amusement.
"I'm sorry," he calmed himself down, his eyes still watering with laughter. "I didn't mean a husband and kids, Ema. I meant a family of Architects. A faction. Most Architects don't stay alone after university; they join powerful families who show an interest in them and offer them a background."
Ema let out a breath of relief, though feeling a bit embarrassed. She laughed at her own foolishness, but then her expression hardened into a firm, resolute refusal. "No. I won't be joining any foreign family. By the way, Beata asked me the exact same thing on the first day we met in our room. My answer hasn't changed since."
Tomáš raised an eyebrow at her vigor. "Interesting. Most Architects are already born into such families. It's rare for someone to break away, or to want to change their family through the university at such a young age." "Change?" Ema asked, puzzled. "We don't want Architects to be blindly bound by the doctrine of their blood," Tomáš explained, lightly swirling the remaining wine in his glass. "That's why everyone has the opportunity to attend the university. It serves as neutral ground. If you find that your family's ideals don't suit you, you can legally transfer to another faction under the school's protection. But for someone at our power level to want to be completely alone... that rarely happens. It's dangerous."
He stopped, looked her straight in the eyes, and with absolute calm, without any pressure, added: "But if you ever change your mind in the future, Ema... I want you to know that the Přemyslids would gladly welcome you among us. You would have an open door with us."
Ema looked up at him in surprise. She hadn't expected that. It sounded like a massive, genuine honor, even though she didn't yet know exactly what it would entail politically. "Thanks, Tomáš," she answered quietly and gratefully. "I appreciate it. Really. But... it does happen, right? That people sometimes just prefer to be alone?"
"Yes," he nodded, returning to the original topic. "Some Architects just want to live like ordinary people, away from all the magic, politics, and intrigue. But it often doesn't last long. You see, Architects age much slower... The speed of aging depends on the intensity of our power. The more powerful ones can live for centuries. So eventually... they watch all their ordinary, mortal loved ones grow old and die. Over and over again. It's a massive psychological burden that eventually drives you back to your own kind anyway."
Ema frowned. "And isn't it within the power of Architects to raise the dead? Or cure the terminal illnesses of their loved ones?"
"Theoretically, yes," Tomáš said, his voice growing heavy. "But there are two major catches. The first is human nature itself. A person without the power of Architects simply isn't built to live longer than their naturally allotted time. Let alone return from death. If you resurrected someone like that or artificially rejuvenated them, their soul wouldn't survive that massive rewrite of reality. An ordinary mortal can't process such an interference with their own existence. They would gradually go completely insane."
He lightly swirled the rest of the wine in his glass and looked at her. "And even if by some miracle it could be stabilized, there is the second reason: The Order. It ensures that everything runs on the set tracks of nature. A life for a life, a death for a death. If we started reviving people en masse or breaking natural laws for personal motives, we would disrupt the very essence of existence. And they wouldn't leave that without a response."
At the mention of a massive reality rewrite, Ema remembered Hanna von Riese's recent lecture. "But how is it possible that Architects managed to erase dragons from existence?" she asked, leaning closer across the table. "That must have been a gigantic interference with the world."
Tomáš smiled slightly and took a sip of his wine. "And it would have been," he replied calmly. "If it were actually true."
Ema froze. "Are you telling me... that dragons exist?"
"I won't comment on that," he said with a perfectly neutral expression, but then, looking into her eyes, he gave a tiny nod. Before Ema could recover from yet another crack in her current understanding of the world, Tomáš turned serious and rested his forearms on the table.
"The truth is, the world itself has built-in natural defense mechanisms. A global rewrite of reality is set up so that it always requires the connected will and consciousness of a massive number of Architects all at once. It's a failsafe. A guarantee to preserve humanity's free will, so that reality cannot be rewritten to suit the whim and madness of a single individual. The world simply resists the dictate of one god."
He paused and tapped his fingers lightly on the table. "And this collective consensus is exactly the key to avoiding their attention. When a massive amount of shared will and power accumulates within a ritual, it crosses the threshold and the Order accepts it as a global, natural shift in reality. They don't intervene. But if, theoretically, you yourself had that gigantic power and tried to rewrite the world purely out of your own dictatorial will, you would become an anomaly threatening creation. And at that moment, you would have to face the Order directly. Which is something you definitely do not want."
"Has anyone ever fought them?" Ema breathed in fascination.
Tomáš leaned back in his chair and looked out at the illuminated city. He was clearly weighing how much to actually tell her. "Yes. But I don't know if you can even speak of a fight in the context of the Order. Usually, it's just... a one-sided erasure. Except for one gentleman in our history... but that's a longer story and, frankly, calls for harder liquor than coffee. If you're interested in history, though, I can bring you some really interesting books from my private library."
"I would love that," Ema agreed with genuine enthusiasm.
When dinner drew to a close and the waiter began clearing the dishes from the table, he asked politely: "Will you be paying together or separately?" "Together. My treat," Ema blurted out quickly, remembering their afternoon agreement over ice cream, and started fishing in her backpack for her wallet. She was determined to show her independence.
But before she could even grasp it, a short, quiet beep sounded. With an utterly casual smile, Tomáš tapped his smartwatch against the waiter's terminal without breaking eye contact with Ema. The transaction was approved instantly.
"Tomáš!" Ema yelped indignantly, dropping her wallet back to the bottom of her backpack. "We had a deal!" Tomáš just smirked mischievously and shrugged his broad shoulders. "I apologize. Apparently, deep down, I am terribly old-fashioned. A man simply treats a woman on the first dinner. I promise that tomorrow after the concert, it's on you."
Tomáš walked Ema through the quiet night streets right to the front doors of the dorms. They parted with just a brief, friendly smile, exactly within the boundaries Ema had set that evening.
When she opened the door to her room, Beata was already sitting cross-legged on her bed, a mug of tea in hand, with sparks of pure curiosity in her eyes. "So? How was the famous non-date dinner?" she blurted out immediately.
Before Ema could even put down her backpack, Beata raised her hand. Bright pink and red colors suddenly materialized on the bare wall right above Ema's bed. Within a second, they flowed smoothly, forming into a neat, moving collage of overlapping hearts.
Ema couldn't help but laugh. Then she looked intently at the wall above Beata's bed. She tried to mimic her fluid, visualizing stroke and send at least a small, harmless little flower over there. But instead of paint, a loud, dry crunch echoed, and a small cloud of plaster drifted down from the wall. A deep web of cracks appeared in the stucco, looking as if someone had smashed the wall with a sledgehammer.
Ema slumped her shoulders, put on a totally badass expression, and threw an ironic underground hand gesture like a proper rapper after a well-executed destruction. Beata looked at the ruined wall, then at Ema, and sighed sarcastically: "Thanks, Scalar. I feel cozier here already."
"Dinner was actually great," Ema started telling her as she took off her jacket. "We went to the Tower Grill, right at the top of that glass building. They make absolutely incredible steaks there, and the view of Olomouc at night was just flawless. And Tomáš... well, to be honest, I didn't even recognize him on the street at first." She chuckled. "He looked exactly like some young, billionaire CEO from those weird romantic web novels."
She described his dark blue, tailored linen shirt and light chinos, along with the casual, confident style that screamed old money and an even older pedigree.
Beata whistled admiringly and took a sip of her tea. "Hmm. Tower Grill? So the Přemyslid ditched the denim jacket and whipped out the platinum card. I don't think I've ever seen him dressed decently outside of his school uniform. A totally normal, friendly dinner with a walking CEO, huh? I totally buy that."
"He's just a friend, Beata," Ema reminded her, sitting down on her bed. "I told him straight up right at the beginning. I'm not looking for anyone right now and I don't want a relationship. And he took it completely fine, without any bruised ego."
Beata just smirked mischievously and didn't comment further.
The following morning, the Department of Experimental History was immersed in its usual freezing silence, but the air among the students practically vibrated with anticipation.
Vector Šimr wasn't standing alone in front of the assembled formation. Beside him towered a woman who looked as if she had just stepped off the cover of a dark, decadent fashion magazine. She was unbelievably, almost paralyzingly sexy. She had sharply cut, very short red hair, topped with a subtle, elegant black fascinator with a fine net.
This aristocratic detail, however, brutally contrasted with the rest of her look—she wore high leather over-the-knee boots, a tight latex skirt hugged her hips, and her snow-white blouse was unbuttoned so daringly that the taut fabric seemed to hold together by sheer willpower alone. She radiated the absolutely uncompromising confidence of a predator.
Ema let her gaze sweep over the formation. Half of the young students were staring at her with their mouths half-open and pupils dilated, completely unnerved just by her very presence. Teenagers, Ema thought to herself and imperceptibly rolled her eyes.
"Welcome. I am Tenzor Valérie," the woman spoke. Her voice was quiet and velvety, but it carried across the massive hall with crushing authority. "I am here today to teach you the most important of the absolute basics of power. Focus." She slowly paced in front of the first row. The sound of her stiletto heels sharply, rhythmically measured the silence.
"A lot of young, naive Architects think that strength lies in the raw amount of power. But unfocused power is useless. It's just a waste of energy that will eventually kill you. I want all of you to form a flame in your dominant hand right now. And hold it. A perfectly calm, stable flame." The students obeyed. A hum ran through the hall, and small, crackling fires lit up above dozens of outstretched palms.
Valérie stopped in the middle of the formation. "Focus is the key to survival," she purred quietly. And then, with an utterly bored, natural expression, she slowly undid another button on her blouse, revealing even more bare skin and the shadow of her deep cleavage.