ã€ŠThe Will and the Wayã€‹


 Prologue: Real Magic

    Arryn

    From the rooftop of the local Horizon branch you can see the entire city. The setting sun dyed the surrounding buildings blood red, and looking down I could see the streets teeming with life. Scattered like shattered gemstones were the luminous multicoloured lights advertising everything from wands to runeboxes, and the tacky animated logos for each shop and brand made my head hurt. I took another swig of my bottle.

    A group of young mages flew past, cackling and twirling in the air on their brooms. One, a young girl sat side-saddle across some kind of garden rake, gave me a cheery wave. I broke eye contact and looked away. Magic was rife here, and it seemed even someone as young as that girl could use it to fly above the rooftops with minimal supervision. What would her parents think if she fell? Maybe it¡¯s better not to be able to cast magic. Safer, for sure. I finished off my drink, and went to look for another in the cheap Manamart plastic bag hanging from the rooftop railing. The sun was nearly below the horizon now, and it¡¯s golden glow was being replaced by the buzzing illusory logo on the billboard above me. A white background, with a sky blue circle slashed across with a horizontal line. Underneath, a fairly plain line of text.

    Horizon - Bringing tomorrow to you.

    Before I really had time to think about it, I lobbed the brown glass bottle I was holding at the sign. It passed right through and smashed across the other side of the rooftop. Of course. Nothing in this city was anything without magic. I slumped against the railing, pulling out the crumpled letter from my pocket for what must have been the hundredth time that day. My eyes scanned the text, but nothing had changed. Maybe it was foolish to hope that the denial was some kind of test - that if I held on to the letter for long enough that the Arcanist company would see my determination to learn, but no. Just a regular, Mundane letter.

    My brooding was interrupted by the sound of brushing and the tinkling of glass. I looked up from the letter to see a figure on the far end of the rooftop, sweeping up the glass I threw. It was a man, seemingly old but acting with a youthful vigour that made it hard to guess his age. He had a tattered cloak, and a fairly archaic wide-brimmed hat that hid his face except for a short salt-and-pepper beard. I didn¡¯t see him come up the stairs.

    ¡°Ah, I¡¯m sorry about that, ser.¡± I tried to not let my voice betray my drunkenness. ¡°I, er, dropped that. I was going to pick it up on the way back down.¡±

    The man finished his sweeping and looked up at me with a warm, almost grandfatherly smile. His crinkled eyes, I noted, were an incandescent gold. Not uncommon, in a city like Danmer, but striking. He began to walk over, hands in his pockets.

    ¡°Ahh, no you weren¡¯t.¡± He spoke warmly, as if chatting with an old friend. ¡°You were going to jump off after the sun went down, and that being the case I¡¯m sure you had more important things to think about than cleaning up some mess.¡±

    My breath caught in my throat. I took a closer look up at this man, so casually leaning against the railing and looking down at the streets below. I hadn¡¯t told anyone. I hadn¡¯t even really decided, I just¡­

    ¡°How could you possibly know that?¡± I couldn¡¯t stop the lump forming in my throat.

    ¡°Just a hunch. Arryn Tarlow, age 25 and no known spells of note. Worked for 7 years at Horizon for the ¡°Advanced Mana Infusion¡± package, only to be told he doesn¡¯t have a lick of potential for casting at all. What a fuckin¡¯ kick in the teeth, huh? I¡¯m sure you weren¡¯t here for the pay.¡±

    The confusion I felt but moments ago turned quickly into a stiff discomfort. I stood up from where I was sat against the railing and turned to face him. He was short, I realised, but with the sun almost completely sunk he cast a very long shadow.

    ¡°Who are you? Who told you these things?¡±

    I¡¯ve always felt vulnerable on my own in this city. It only takes one maniac with a fire spell or some novice kid with his first wand to cause permanent damage if you don¡¯t know how to defend yourself, and finding out I would never be able to do so made me feel so much weaker. Now, with this stranger who apparently knew my entire life story standing next to me, I started to wonder if I needed to defend myself.

    He wasn¡¯t responding to my questions, just looking down at the city. I noticed he was twirling a half-melted gold piece in his hand.

    ¡°Are you here to blackmail me or something?¡±

    Suddenly, he slicked the coin into the air, and I didn¡¯t see it come back down.

    ¡°You¡¯re inquisitive, that¡¯s good. Let me answer your questions with another question.¡±

    He turned to face me properly for the first time, and his glowing golden eyes seemed to draw me in as he smiled again.

    ¡°How would you like to learn real magic?¡±

    I was baffled by this turn of events. I was about to ask why he thought he could do what the biggest Arcanist company said was impossible, when I noticed the shards of glass flowing to his open hand. They clicked together like a jagged jigsaw piece, and once the bottle was fully reformed it started to fill with amber beer. There was even condensation on the glass.

    He didn¡¯t speak a spell name, or make a sacred gesture. He wasn¡¯t even holding an implement, or even looking at the bottle for that matter. Like nothing, he had done five impossible things in such a casual manner that I was struck speechless. Seeing my reaction, he let out a bellowing laugh.

    <hr>

    Medea

    The crowd roared as I took to the ring. The bookies would be making a fortune tonight, judging by the jeers that the people in the front row spat my way. They must be new.

    Across on the other side of the ring was my opponent. Maybe just shy of six foot tall, but floating a few inches off the ground to seem taller. Shaved bald head, with the Elven rune for ¡°eruption¡± tattooed on his forehead. I wonder if he knew it also meant ¡°ejaculation¡±. His most striking feature was his right arm, a blackened and porous slab of rock. He cheered at the crowd as he stepped into the glaring white spotlight from the magelights floating around the room, and as he raised his charred arm into the air it crackled with heat, and began to glow orange like hardened lava. I suppose that explains the tattoo.

    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, we have quite the spectacle for you tonight. In this round of cast-less combat, our two competitors are both dying to show you their Mage Boxing techniques. In the red corner, we have a first-time challenger hailing from the 17th Division of the Brimstone corporation, Jimmy ¡°Volcano¡± Jones!¡±

    The crowd shouted wild encouragement as ¡°Volcano¡± appeared on the holograms that appeared around the room. It showed a live feed of him doing some kind of dance move with his arm, along with some scattered information about him most of the patrons here were probably too drunk or high to read.

    ¡°Aaaand in the blue corner, we have returning champion Medea Baninyet, runewright and enchanter hailing from the Well of Wonders corporation! She¡¯s back to defend her title and earn the chance to win our grand prize of one THOUSAND gold!¡±

    The crowd booed, shouting more unkind words. Nothing I hadn¡¯t heard before. My image appeared over the screen now, and to be honest I can¡¯t really blame them for not thinking much of me. The image above their heads was a scrawny looking girl, with long white hair tied back in a rough ponytail, long pointed ears, and two stumps where her arms should be. Those not hurling insults my way were looking on with pity or concern, except one group of elven women who seemed to be too busy laughing at ¡°Volcano¡±¡¯s forehead. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    One figure in the crowd was different, though. A man sat at the bar at the back, looking directly at me with a calm smile on his face. His faintly luminous golden irises cut through the harsh white light of the spotlights. I shot him a confused look before the ring of the bell informed me that the announcer had finished rambling.

    Volcano floated towards me. I had to wonder how he thought he had the mana to spare for that.

    ¡°Listen ¡®ere sweetheart.¡± His voice was like wet gravel. ¡°Yer gonna make me look bad if I take you out, so why don¡¯t ye just call it now? Not sure how yer gonna kick me when I¡¯m floating like this.¡±

    Ah, that explained the floating. Also that he obviously hadn¡¯t seen me fight before.

    In response I took a fighting stance, much to his amusement, and like a silver flash two heavy steel gauntlets came flying off the hook on my belt. Both were solid steel, reinforced by very complicated runework that I had spent a very long time carving. Neither was usable as regular gloves anymore, since their hollows were filled by more steel and more runes long ago. Lefty flew out to grab Volcano by his magma arm, the metal beginning to turn orange from the heat on contact, as righty shot up into the perfect uppercut.

    Maybe it was the levitation he had already cast on himself, but Volcano flew towards the ceiling, right through his own holographic image. I¡¯d been warned about damaging the arena before, so I called Lefty back down again, dragging Volcano to the floor faster than he would have fallen. A cloud of white sand shot up, and I called back Righty to shield my eyes. The crowd was suddenly silent, except one man laughing in the back.

    From within the cloud of dust, an orange glow began to grow brighter. Volcano was back on his feet, clutching his forehead with his flesh arm as his magma arm radiated heat. Some members of the audience in the front row began to push back into the crowd, red faced and covered in sweat.

    ¡°Ye fucked up, sweetheart.¡±

    I tried to draw Lefty back to me, and saw it limply dragging a groove in the sand. Shit, the runic array must have deformed in the heat. I didn¡¯t have time to do anything about that before Volcano ran towards me, touching the ground this time, and drawing back his molten fist.

    I acted on pure instinct, sending Righty to impact his solar plexus while sidestepping the swing. He tried to grab the floating gauntlet, but I wrenched it out of his grasp with another mental command. He tried to backhand me with his fire hand, and in far too close of a maneuver I got Righty to block the blow. This wasn¡¯t how my fights normally go. What do they teach those guys at Brimstone? Volcano followed up his backhand with a left hook, and I sent Lefty to intercept. The hand stopped, but only after the fact did I realise that Lefty was still dragging itself across the ground. Volcano looked just as confused, and the moment broke as he regained movement of his fist again. I didn¡¯t let the distraction go to waste, and put everything I had into one final push from Righty. The heat had almost ruined its scriptwork too, but with my focus on only one hand I was able to give enough force to crack Volcano across the chin with his own fiery hand.

    Volcano hit the deck as the crowd found its voice again, this time screaming my praises. The holograms above their heads updated to show me with a golden crown on my head, and Volcano with the burnt red fist mark on his cheek I¡¯d just given him.

    I sighed, sending Righty to go pick up Lefty. I quietly hoped that Righty is still functional enough to do repairs with later, or fixing the runes with my feet is going to be a huge pain.

    I left the ring as the announcer rambled on some more about the fight tomorrow - the semi-finals, at last. Only two more fights and I can quit my job at the Well for a while. I followed the gloomy stone corridors to my locker room and found an old man, or maybe just a weathered younger man, standing by my door.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if you know what you just did, but you just performed what most would consider impossible¡± he said, pulling out a pipe and stuffing it with tobacco.

    ¡°Yeah, well, weight classifications don¡¯t mean much when buffs are permitted.¡±

    ¡°Not that, though you are plenty skilled as a boxer. Tell me, how would you like to learn some real magic?¡±

    <hr>

    Wyll

    ¡°Easy now, you¡¯ve still got another hour until the potion kicks in and your burns aren¡¯t properly healed yet.¡±

    The nurse had been very patient with me. Admittedly I hadn¡¯t been the most cooperative of patients, with all the screaming and crying last night.

    When people had told me that Brimstone was no joke, that I¡¯d be at risk of serious harm if I didn¡¯t take my protection spells seriously, I believed them. I really did feel ready to defend myself from any kind of magic. I even learned a counter-petrification spell, ¡°just in case¡±. What I had never planned for was to be the victim of my own magic.

    I¡¯m sure the instructor meant well by warning us about the dangers of fire spells, how although we start or shape the fire with our hearts, minds and souls, it still burns and spreads as fire does. Being the cautious sort, I had set aside a bucket of water ¡°just in case¡±. When the spell went off in my hands, I didn¡¯t have a plan for that.

    The pain was indescribable. I panicked, which only led to the fire becoming wilder and less controlled. My last memory before blacking out was my instructor shouting at me to ¡°calm down¡±. Some of the other new recruits had managed to put out the fire, I''m told. I''m lucky to get away with burns just on my chest and arms, I''m told. I certainly didn''t feel it.

    The hospital room was a strange mix of sterile white and classic Brimstone black and orange. The various runes on the wall behind me marked vitals, potion progress, mana levels, and various other things I didn''t understand. The multicoloured glow from the rune work as reflected in the large circular spectacles of the nurse, who was making notes on them. She was pretty, but that only made the pained grimace she made whenever she looked at my burns hurt more.

    The potion was doing good work, though. I barely felt any pain anymore, instead just a warm numbness. My instructor had stopped by yesterday to drop it off, and assured me that I''d be fit to return to training by the end of the week. The way he spoke, it was clear this wasn''t the first time a new recruit had blown up like I had.

    The thought of returning to training twisted my stomach into knots. I doubt they''d let me back out now. The potion that the company provided wasn''t cheap, as far as I was aware. Brimstone hadn''t provided it out of the goodness of their hearts. More than most, they guarded their magical secrets more zealously than Horizon or Well of Wonders. If they hadn''t offered to heal me up, they knew I''d likely need to ask another company who would surely agree in return for insights into Brimstone spells or runes. I''d heard plenty of stories about recruits ¡°disappearing¡± for sharing company secrets.

    I''d joined on a whim, sold by tales of glory in the North against the Elves, learning exclusive powerful spells, saving orphans from wicked blood images, more evoking tools than I knew what to do with, and now I''m stuck here. But the thought of staying, and risking feeling my skin charring while I desperately try to cast an extinguishing spell through my screams¡­

    ¡°Excuse me miss, is this the room for Wyll Darter?¡± A man''s voice interrupted my thoughts. He walked into the room with confidence, sporting the black velvet armour of a high ranking Brimstone Officer. His tall cap showed a rank higher than I knew how to identify, and the staff floating behind him hummed with mana that crippled the air around it. Most striking were his golden eyes, which flicked from me to the nurse.

    ¡°Ah, yes ser. He has about an hour left to process the potion and he''ll be good to be discharged.¡± The nurse seemed a bit uncomfortable, not sure how to properly address someone of his apparent rank. ¡°Is there an issue?¡±

    ¡°Afraid so. Would you mind giving up a few minutes? I need to have a word with young Wyll here.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± The nurse gave an awkward curtesy. ¡°I''ll let the other staff know to not disturb you.¡±

    After a brief moment to collect her tools and charts, the nurse was gone and I was left alone in the room with the new stranger. I tried to salute but found I couldn''t raise my arm. The man watched the door close, and focused his golden eyes on me again. His eyes bored into me, like he was reading my very soul. An uncomfortable moment passed, and then he smiled widely and sat on the end of my bed.

    I was very confused. All the higher-ups I''d talked to from Brimstone were stoic, dutiful, rigid professionals. Now this man who apparently out ranked them was leaning back against the foot of my hospital bed and lighting a pipe. As he exhaled the pale white smoke the uniform he wore blew away too in a billowing cloud of black fog, and left in its place was the same man in a tattered brown cloak.

    ¡°So, Wyll. You''ve sipped the tea of magic before it had cooled and burned your tongue, eh?¡±

    ¡°Ser, respectfully, what the hell are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Ahh, don''t bother with that. You''ve probably guessed by now that I''m not actually from Brimstone.¡±

    My brow furrowed, and I realised that with my arms immobile I couldn''t reach the button to call for help even if I needed to.

    ¡°Impersonating a high ranking member of the company is an executable offence.¡±

    The man smiled as if I had just made a joke. ¡°So is desertion.¡±

    I didn''t have a response for that. So I kept my mouth shut. This could still be some kind of test.

    ¡°I''m not here to drag you away to a dungeon, lad. Quite the opposite. How would you like a way out of your little bind here?¡±

    Despite my doubts, my heart soared for a moment. If this stranger had some way for me to get out of my enlistment without crossing Brimstone and ever having to cast a spell again, I needed to hear it.

    I decided to play it as cool as I could.

    ¡°I''m listening.¡±

    The man took a long draw of his pipe, while giving me another one of those analysing looks.

    ¡°How would you like to learn some real magic?¡±

    ¡°Fuck.¡± I groaned.

 1: Intuition

    Medea

    The images I had of hidden Arcanic laboratories or secluded mountain top academies were quickly shattered when my would-be new tutor declared that the dilapidated, rusting warehouse would be where we would learn this supposed ¡°Real Magic¡±.

    The cracked concrete floor was damp and splattered with rust-coloured puddles and clumps of gently writhing green moss that occasionally spat out a small glowing mote of ether. The corrugated steel walls rattled with the wind, and I could make out the lights of the city from the holes in the roof. There wasn¡¯t much light in here, except what filtered in through the grimy windows along the western wall of the building, and the glowing lanterns that hung from long metal staves on a rack by the opposite wall. There were a dozen or so of them, and considering there were only two other students here I wondered if more were invited but, perhaps wisely, declined the invitation.

    The other two students, standing awkwardly in the warehouse with nowhere to sit, didn¡¯t leave much of an impression. The taller one looked like he hadn¡¯t brushed his hair or shaved¡­ ever. Which was a strange contrast to his neatly pressed white shirt and tie emblazoned with a Horizon nametag. He looked the least comfortable here, casting wary glances at me and the other student while his hand fidgeted with a long wand hanging from his belt.

    My other new classmate was another human, poking at some of the moss with his boot. I noticed that on his neck his brown skin twisted into an angry red burn that seemed to extend below the collar of his baggy hoodie. He wore leather gloves which struck me as strange considering the warm summer night air. Maybe he has something going on with his hands too, since he keeps flexing his hand into a fist and moving his fingers as if he¡¯s still figuring out to. I can relate to that, I suppose.

    I was never really one to wait around twiddling my thumbs, so I walked up to the taller one.

    ¡°You. What¡¯s your name?¡± He flinched a bit when I walked up to him, despite being a couple heads taller.

    ¡°Uh, Arryn Tarlow. I¡¯m a junior scribe at Horizon in the Shape Stone department¡±. He spoke as if reciting a script, and held out a hand. ¡°I haven¡¯t met many elves, do you shake hands in the Scarlet Woods?¡±

    I smirked and lifted the edge of my cloak with Lefty to reveal my lack of arms. ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±

    I enjoyed his stuttered apology that followed. I didn¡¯t blame him for assuming I¡¯m from the Woods. There weren¡¯t many elves in Danmer, and those that were spent little time outside of their mansions. I barely remembered the red leaves of that forest, so as far as I¡¯m concerned I¡¯m a Danmian through and through.

    ¡°Relax, you didn¡¯t cause any offence.¡± I ruffled his hair with Righty, being careful not to knock his head too hard. He didn¡¯t look like he could take a light tap. ¡°I¡¯m Medea Baninyet, Well of Wonders senior Runewright, armour division, yadda yadda. Mostly I box, though.¡±

    He looked like he wanted to ask about that, but instead leaned in conspiratorially and whispered ¡°Do you know the other guy?¡±

    I looked over at the other human, looking like he was trying not to eavesdrop.

    ¡°Hey, other guy.¡± I yelled. ¡°C¡¯mere.¡±

    He took a moment to look about as if he thought I could have been speaking to anyone else before marching over.

    ¡°Ah, the name¡¯s Wyll Darter, new recruit of Brimstone¡¯s Artillery division. Are you with the¡­ guy?¡±

    ¡°Oh my god, I¡¯ve been dying to ask about him.¡± blurted out Arryn. ¡°What¡¯s his deal?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I said. ¡°He offered to teach me some tricks that will help me with some matches I have coming up.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s giving you boxing advice? He implied to me he had some kind of huge secret magic thing to show us.¡± said Wyll.

    ¡°Might be bullshit. Honestly, I was half expecting to get jumped when I saw where we were meeting. But I reckon I can take on you two and him and still walk away the victor¡± I gave them a sly smile.

    Arryn looked reflective for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure about that. He seemed to be crazy talented. When we met, he-¡±

    ¡°Sorry I¡¯m late!¡± came a voice from the wide metal doors on the far end of the warehouse. Stepping through was that strange man again, this time with a staff over his shoulder with a Manamart plastic bag hanging from it like a bindle. ¡°Just had to get some supplies.¡±

    He jogged across to us, dropped the staff and bag on the floor. Something clinked from inside the bag.

    ¡°Listen, guy. I agreed to hear you out but so far I¡¯m not impressed. I don¡¯t see any training circles, crystals, tomes, scrolls, or training dummies.¡± I said. ¡°Hell, as far as I can tell the leyline alignment here is terrible. What¡¯s your game here?¡±

    ¡°Yes, those are certainly things you would normally need. Good thing we won¡¯t.¡±

    I was even more skeptical now. Everyone knows that in order to learn magecraft, you need facilities to properly strengthen the heart, mind, and soul of the mage. Heart to build a body sturdy enough for channeling, mind to memorise the specific gestures and incantations, and soul to not be consumed by the spell for having a weak will or wicked intentions. I could never learn without proper arms to make gestures, but the runes helped mitigate that.

    I would understand this unconventional environment if I were already a mage, but I could see nothing here that would help my runework.

    The man was whistling what sounded like an off-key version of ¡°Mana Imperium¡±, a Danmian war song, while he pulled out three bottles, three candles, and three apples from his plastic bag.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to speak for the group here.¡± Wyll said, ¡°But I think we¡¯d all feel a bit more comfortable if we knew more about you. I don¡¯t even know your name.¡±

    The man stopped his whistling, and looked up thoughtfully. ¡°Yes, you¡¯re absolutely right. My apologies, I¡¯ve been rather busy of late and have been neglecting my social etiquette.¡±

    He stood and gave a deep, exaggerated bow.

    ¡°It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Fyron Hotaniyer, and I am the most powerful mage alive. Please call me Ron.¡±

    There was an extended silence. The first to get their words together was Wyll.

    ¡°That is a bold claim to make¡­ Ron. You surely understand if we can¡¯t take that at face value.¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    I noted that Arryn was the only one here who didn¡¯t seem so surprised.

    ¡°Oh, well, I suppose there¡¯s not really a way to quantify it or anything. But I can confidently say I can do everything better than anyone else.¡±

    ¡°Bull.¡± I said. ¡°The Archmages of the Big Three and the High Druids of the Scarlet Woods are the biggest mages around here and everyone knows it.¡±

    Fyron just laughed, and seemed to think about it more because it made him laugh harder. The sound bounced around the room, echoing in the empty space. After a while, he stopped, and wiped a tear away from his eye.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry my dear, but-¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not your dear.¡± I interjected, not bothering to hide the frustration from my voice.

    ¡°Right. I¡¯m sorry Medea, but that¡¯s ridiculous. If someone said that a soggy cabbage leaf could beat you in a boxing match, you¡¯d laugh too.¡±

    ¡°This is ridiculous, you¡¯re obviously off your rocker and wasting my time here. Goodbye.¡±

    I turned to walk away and found Fyron standing right behind me. When did he..? I looked back and saw no one standing by the bag on the floor anymore.

    ¡°It seems I might have to prove myself a bit. Sorry, folks. Again, social skills are not my fort¨¦. Feel free to propose any test you like so I can show you what you stand to gain.¡±

    Wyll and Arynn seemed to be seriously thinking about what to ask. I decided to take matters into my own hands. Fyron seemed to have some level of ability, so I -at a very reduced speed- sent Righty flying towards the side of his head. Maybe my temper was getting the better of me, because it rocketed towards him a lot faster than I¡¯d planned. I tried to slow it down, but before I could send the mental command to the propulsion runes the solid steel gauntlet exploded into silver sand. I felt the connection to the runes I¡¯d spent hours carving into the plates instantly sever. The sand didn¡¯t even reach Fyron¡¯s head, instead flowing around it in a stream before slowly forming into a sphere swirling around his hand.

    ¡°There, I hope that-¡±

    Lefty flew up at top speed, with an uppercut that once knocked the head off an iron golem. It had about reached Fyron¡¯s navel when the punch was blocked by two- no, three identical gauntlets. I didn¡¯t even see them fly in from anywhere, but they didn¡¯t budge an inch as I pushed against them. Completely overpowered.

    Fyron wasn¡¯t even looking, instead running his fingers through the floating ball of sand that was once my life¡¯s work. His gauntlets, which looked identical to Lefty down to the scuffs and scratches, also dissolved into sand and joined the sphere around his hand. I called back the real Lefty before it was destroyed too.

    ¡°Have I proven my point yet?¡±

    Arryn spoke up from the back. ¡°That¡¯s it again - how did you cast a spell with no verbal or somatic components? Such a specific one too - seemed like one of the spells from Well of Wonders, maybe?¡±

    ¡°Not one of ours.¡± I said. My eyes didn¡¯t leave the twisting sand.

    ¡°He wasn¡¯t even looking or aiming an evoker.¡± Said Wyll. ¡°Some kind of runework on his clothes maybe?¡±

    ¡°Not that either. If I could make my gauntlets with some fancy stitching on my cloak, I wouldn¡¯t need to spend so much time at the forge.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes, Sorry about that.¡± said Fyron ¡°You can have your glove back.¡±

    The sand sphere compacted, morphed, and deformed until it resembled a vague hand shape, then the dust suddenly cleared until Righty was once again floating in the air. I felt my mental connections to the runes snap back into place, not clearer than before but exactly the same.

    ¡°Now that is impossible.¡± I said, which only elicited a smile from the now rather smug looking Fyron. ¡°I had to paint those runes with my own blood to get them to respond to my mental commands. There is not a chance you¡¯re able to restore that.¡±

    ¡°And yet, I did.¡± he walked back over to the plastic bag on the floor. ¡°So, are you still planning on leaving?¡±

    I considered still doing so, but swallowed my pride and rejoined the group. Fyron was smart enough not to make a comment. Wyll gave me an awkward smile, and Arynn was looking intently at Fyron. Neither looked like they needed to challenge our new mentor any more than I had.

    ¡°Now, let me start by asking what you think is needed to use magic. Wyll?¡±

    ¡°Discipline, practice, control?¡± Wyll recited. Was that some kind of mantra?

    ¡°Nope. Arryn?¡±

    ¡°Knowledge of a spell, usually written on a scroll or spellbook, specific words or movements to shape the spell, and a good source of mana to use in it?¡±

    ¡°Closer, but still no. Medea, you¡¯re our last hope.¡±

    ¡°Can we just get to the part where you tell us the real answer? You¡¯ve obviously picked three people who can¡¯t do conventional magic.¡±

    Wyll and Arynn looked shocked, and Fyron let out another one of his hearty laughs.

    I turned to the other two. ¡°Surely you noticed? Wyll, you seem like you¡¯re recovering from some kind of spell-gone wrong situation. Shitty discipline, practice, or control maybe. Arryn, you seem well read but that wand is a fake. Looks too heavy to be filled with blood or aether, too cheap to be lined with crystal, and the runework is an absolute mess. It¡¯s just a baton in case this little pow-wow goes south, am I right?¡±

    Both looked a bit uncomfortable at that. Maybe I went too far. I was still wound up after my scrap with Fyron, if you can even call it that.

    ¡°And of course, I¡¯m missing my arms. I can make mental links to certain runes, but I can¡¯t prestidigitate to save my life.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± said Arryn. ¡°I¡¯ve got no talent for magic at all. Ron here said he had some way to teach me.¡±

    ¡°Correction.¡± said Fyron ¡°You are not faulty or dysfunctional at all, dear students. It is your understanding of magic that is at fault.¡±

    The three of us gave him our full attention. Obviously, this weirdo wasn¡¯t all talk. If he really had some kind of secret knowledge, and was willing to give it away freely¡­ Actually, was he?

    ¡°What do you get out of this?¡± I asked.¡± I can¡¯t pay you, but if that was your goal you¡¯re better off selling your secrets to one of the Big Three.¡±

    ¡°Well, I never really wanted to be a teacher¡± Fyron scratched the back of his head, tipping the wide brim of his hat over his eyes. ¡°But after recent discoveries about the world at large I felt compelled to test a couple hypotheses.¡±

    ¡°Those hypotheses being..?¡±

    ¡°I might share those another time. You came to learn real magic, yes? Rest assured that I won¡¯t charge you a copper for my tutelage, nor will I try to blackmail or extort you afterwards.¡±

    That didn¡¯t feel very reassuring, but I was too invested in this now.

    ¡°Now, let me introduce you to The Artifact.¡±

    Fyron reached down into his linen shirt, and pulled out a necklace. It was a strange ring of teal crystal, that glowed faintly in the dim light of the warehouse. It had been fastened with a thin leather cord, and as he lifted it up it started to slowly float over his hand, spinning slightly. There was a sudden clink as the ring suddenly snapped in three places, and three identical segments now floated in a lazy orbit.

    The thing reeked of magic, but nothing I recognised. It was made of crystal, obviously, which is a stable if slow-releasing type of mana. But as for its function, I had no idea. Aside from its unusual shape, I could see no rune markings on it anywhere. It¡¯s form didn¡¯t quiver like an illusion might under scrutiny. Any theory I had about it went out the window when it was split in three, which in most cases would destroy any internal workings completely. Best I could guess, this was some kind of hyper-condensed mana source. I¡¯ve heard the ancient elves used to compact crystals with geomancy to make them more valuable, but that¡¯s not my area of expertise.

    Also, it was crucial to remember that Fyron seemed to completely ignore most limitations of spellcraft somehow, so all my theories go out the window for that reason too.

    ¡°This ancient dwarven device allows its bearer to cast a spell without the normal required movements or chants.¡± Fyron spoke in a sombre tone. ¡°You simply need the requisite mana and a very clear image of the effect that you want. This is how I have become so powerful, and now I give it to you.¡±

    Arryn and Wyll gasped in awe as the one of the crystalline segments floated over to each of the three students. I didn¡¯t pluck it from the air straight away as they did, instead taking a closer look at The Artifact as it floated in front of my face.

    Maybe I was being overly cautious, but with closer examination two things became very clear. This crystal didn¡¯t seem to do anything but glow and float, and Fyron was lying through his teeth.

 2: Induction

    Wyll

    Ron got the three of us to sit cross-legged in a circle to attune with the artifact. Arynn seemed to be taking this very seriously, but Medea still looked like she was going to start an argument. I still couldn¡¯t believe this was happening. A powerful sorcerer granting the secrets of his power to his apprentice was something that only happened in stories. In reality, magical knowledge needs to be earned, fought, or bartered for with those who are in a position of power over you, meaning if you only get mostly ripped off you get away lucky. I¡¯d heard of some employees of Horizon working for years in mundane tasks just to earn the chance to see a page from their manager¡¯s grimoire. Now, with the chance for incredible power dropped into my hands - well, floating slightly above it - I would be stupid not to take it seriously too.

    But while I get lost in the boyish fantasies of power, I start to feel that creeping knot form in my stomach. I nearly died with the little power I had already. If I was as strong as Ron seemed to be and I¡¯d lost control of that fireball like I had, would I still be alive? Would I have taken out some of my comrades in the new recruits too? With that buzzing around my mind, the artifact in my hand seemed to get hotter, and the barely healed burns on my chest and arms began to itch.

    Wyll, my boy. You look like you¡¯re diffusing a rune bomb. Ron¡¯s voice echoed. Relax. I may have granted you use of The Artifact, but it is still under my control. It is literally impossible for you to harm yourself with magic while using it. Trust me.

    ¡°How sure are you?¡± I said.

    Arryn and Medea both gave me strange looks.

    ¡°Huh?¡± mumbled Arryn, quickly turning his attention back to the crystal.

    Telepathy can occasionally lead to awkward moments. Sorry.

    I looked around the room for Ron and spotted him standing by the large doors at the far end of the warehouse, smoking his pipe. I could only make out his eyes since they glowed, and one of them winked at me.

    I thought you might appreciate the privacy.

    Can I respond? I tried to think in his direction.

    Just did. Images too.

    Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of something in my mind, like a flashback. It was the Danmian skyline, with its excessive glowing advertisements and holographic signboards. The colourful lights were reflected on the Holic River, and above it all the pieces of the moon were sprinkled across the sky like silver crumbs. The image faded as fast as it came, and I realised it¡¯s what Ron was looking at right outside.

    This is amazing, and I¡¯m so grateful, but how does this help me get out of Brimstone? I tried to send an image of me being hauled off to a dungeon somewhere, but I¡¯m not sure if it went through.

    Well, either you¡¯ll become too powerful for them to boss around, and can go back to do whatever you like, or you¡¯ll become too powerful for them to apprehend. Of course, there are a lot more creative solutions too. I once got out of an irresponsible broom flight ticket by making myself look like the arresting officer¡¯s daughter.

    Not for the first time, I seriously considered the nature of this person I was throwing my lot in with.

    You¡¯ll like me once you get to know me. Ron somehow sent a note of amusement through the mental link.

    Crap, I didn¡¯t mean to send that last part. I tried to end the connection, when suddenly a gasp from my right drew my attention. Arryn¡¯s part of the artifact was now orbiting around his hand in steady circles.

    ¡°Oh my god, I¡¯m moving it!¡± Arryn sounded ecstatic. ¡°I¡¯m doing magic!¡±

    Medea and I shared a look. That¡¯s what he was working on? Basic telekinesis on something this small was practiced by five-year olds for their first spell. That said, I didn¡¯t hear him chant anything. Maybe he did it under his breath? It is well documented that the verbal component of the spell needs to be clear and properly pronounced, but not unheard of that it can be whispered for a lesser effect.

    ¡°Wonderful work, Arryn! Now, pick up your apple in the same way.¡± Ron ambled back over to the group, pocketing his pipe.

    Each student had one of each object Ron had brought in - an apple, a small wax candle, and a glass bottle of water with a twist cap. Arynn was beaming as he squinted at the apple with a look of intense concentration.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°Focus inwards. The artifact has already become part of you, and its power is yours. You need to simply visualise picking it up without your hands.¡± Ron¡¯s voice was calm and steady as he leant in behind Arryn and stared at the apple too.

    A few moments passed, when suddenly the apple started to float slowly into the air.

    ¡°I¡¯m doing it! This artifact is amazing! To think Horizon said there was nothing that could fix my mundanity.¡±

    Ron clapped, and suddenly the incredibly powerful artifacts floating by them crumbled into dust.

    ¡°Sorry, but they were right.¡±

    ¡°I knew it!¡± Medea shouted. ¡°I knew that thing was bogus!¡±

    Arryn looked devastated, staring in shock at his apple that had thunked to the ground.

    ¡°Perceptive as ever, Medea. Now, I wonder if you could also tell me how Arryn, who so far has been unable to do even basic mana shaping tests despite years of trying, was suddenly able to overcome his inabilities?¡±

    Nobody had an answer for him then. Some people in the world, maybe one in ten, are simply unable to use magic. Some theories suggested it was a genetic defect, or a bloodline curse, or something to do with malicious spirits, but it was generally agreed that it was incurable.

    Arryn especially looked conflicted. I didn¡¯t blame him - I was so reliant on magic to make a living, I can¡¯t imagine what he¡¯d do without it. Seemed like more of a drawback than Medea missing her arms. Did he say he was a Scribe? Surely he doesn¡¯t actually draw out all those scrolls by hand, right?

    When nobody answered him, Ron continued. ¡°You see, the foundation of how magic works in our society is built on a lie. There is no reason why a certain gesture and certain words could create a fireball. The reason it works is because there¡¯s a well established precedent that that¡¯s what those things result in. The Arcanists tell you that¡¯s what it does, you see someone else cast the spell with that effect, and as a result you truly believe that that sequence of actions produces that result. That is the core principle of magic - conviction. If you were raised in a far off land, and they taught you the exact same sequence of actions and told you it would result in making flowers bloom, it would. As long as you believed it would do so.¡±

    That was a lot to process. It made a strange kind of sense, but a lot of things didn¡¯t add up.

    ¡°Hang on¡± I said after a moment. ¡°But, if that¡¯s how things work, why do spells go wrong sometimes? Even if you¡¯re certain that the actions and words result in that specific spell?¡±

    Thoughts of burning pain and panicked screams flashed through my mind. Ron gave me a compassionate smile.

    ¡°Fear. Simply put. If you summon fire, and fear seizes your thoughts, you start thinking about how it should burn your hands to hold fire so closely, or that it¡¯s dangerous to wield such an explosive spell. Those fears influence your beliefs, and the spell is changed. What happened to you is unfortunately an all to common sign of breaks in one¡¯s convictions.¡±

    Fear? I wasn¡¯t scared, was I? I was confident going into the training grounds. I had spent hours going over the spell so I knew it was right. I watched the senior recruits training weeks before I attempted it. I remember the buckets of water I kept nearby¡­ Oh, I was afraid, wasn¡¯t I? That¡¯s why I over-prepared. It¡¯s a little embarrassing to admit, even to myself. My own anxieties had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. But¡­ I don¡¯t know how easy that would be to overcome. It¡¯s a self-fuelling cycle of fear, causing pain, causing fear.

    Medea spoke up. ¡°Surely it¡¯s not that simple. You cast some new spells there sure, and skipped the chanting and gestures, but what¡¯s limiting you from making yourself believe that you¡¯re the King of Adleth, or summon a pile of gold, or more?¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes. Unfortunately godly powers aren¡¯t as simple as that. Wyll mentioned Heart, Mind, Soul earlier - the widely taught three core facets of magic. It¡¯s not quite right. I¡¯m not one for catching mnemonics, but it¡¯s more like¡­ Mind, Mana, Matter. Imagine those three in a triangle, then draw a big circle around it to represent the Universe¡±.

    Ron started scratching the triangle in a circle in the mud on the ground, but as he spoke became less and less sure I understood.

    ¡°But mana and matter are already part of our understanding of magic. You¡¯re saying they¡¯re more important than being strong of heart and pure of soul?¡±

    ¡°Oh definitely. I don¡¯t know where they got those two from, but they don¡¯t really mean anything.¡±

    Wyll thought back to the brutal exercise regimes and exhausting meditation sessions he¡¯d done with Brimstone and sighed inwardly. He¡¯d often asked what the point of that was, and yet had mixed feelings about being right after all.

    Ron looked up at our somewhat confused or disheartened faces, and stopped scratching in the mud.

    ¡°All right, how about I give you some time to digest this information. We can pick it up again tomorrow once you¡¯ve slept on it a bit. In the meantime, see if you can achieve some kind of effect using your magic without any kind of nonsense words or wiggling fingers.¡±

    I was dying to know more, but I was somewhat glad we were done for the day. I needed time to think about all this, and my parents were probably wondering why I was taking so long getting home from the hospital.

    ¡°Ah, I should warn you of one thing.¡± Ron spoke as we were getting ready to leave. ¡°The so-called Big Three are vaguely aware of the type of magic I teach. I¡¯m not the only one, but might I say I¡¯m the most accomplished with it. They sorely misunderstand what it can do, and treat it like some uncontrollable force of evil. Needless to say, they¡¯re wrong, but I would advise against sharing what we discussed today with anyone other than each other. In the eyes of the Arcanists, this unfettered method of spellcraft is known as Wild Magic, and stupendously illegal. You ought to consider that before getting in any deeper. As always, you¡¯re free to back out whenever you please.¡±

    Wyll felt the now familiar knot of anxiety once again. He knew this whole situation was fishy, but ¡°stupendously illegal¡±? He was in enough trouble for the explosion, and was considering deserting. Now he¡¯s rubbing shoulders with someone hunted by the entire Big Three. Any shred of common sense he had left was screaming at him to leave and never come back.

    And yet¡­

 3: Inside

    Arryn

    The walk home from the abandoned warehouse was a long one, which left a lot of time for contemplation. I walked through the industrial district, seeing the heads of stone golems peeking over the high walls of the factories as they worked through the night. There were fewer holograms floating around here compared to deeper in the city, and the night sky was clear and beautiful. The streets were empty, and in the distance I could see the Clock Tower - towering over the other skyscrapers. It was nearly midnight.

    I didn¡¯t know what to think. On one hand, the fact that after so long I finally managed to use magic was thrilling. The countless books, tutors, dubious potions and advice I¡¯d tried hadn¡¯t made a difference at all, but now this random person shows up in my life and does the impossible. On the other hand, it feels like I¡¯m getting into something really dangerous. My life has been incredibly stale so far, but safe.

    My eyes moved down from the Clock Tower to the Horizon building. Just a few hours ago, I was ready to throw myself off of it. I didn¡¯t have much going for me, not really. My friends had found it hard to include me when we were growing up, as nobody wanted to be stuck doing mundane activities like picnics or the beach when they could be racing their brooms or conjuring miniature familiars to battle. They were nice enough about it at first, but over time the connections faded away to nothing.

    Working at Horizon wasn¡¯t much to hang on for, either. I was apparently the best mundane Scribe they¡¯d had in years, but I was still vastly outclassed by every new coworker that joined with the capability to manage dozens of animated quills at once. As my coworkers climbed the corporate ladder, I was left writing the same Shape Stone spell over and over in the stuffy basement of the building. I¡¯d held on so long for their ¡°Advanced Mana Infusion¡± package, but that did absolutely nothing. I didn¡¯t even get to refund it.

    As I moved out of the industrial district and started passing more shops and restaurants, I came to my decision. I had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. If everything went wrong, and I ended up being sent to some prison on a distant demiplane, that¡¯s fine. I¡¯d be better off than I was on that rooftop.

    Though it was pretty late out, the streets in downtown Danmer were bustling with activity. I passed a Well of Wonders Emporium, selling all kinds of magical armour and trinkets. The blue and pink aesthetic was a bit tacky, in my opinion, and beneath the spiraling logo was their motto ¡°Beyond Belief¡±. Two teens were messing around inside with an Endless Jug, pouring a ceaseless stream of water from it onto a Cleansing Stone, which absorbed the torrent of water without spilling a drop. A stern looking shopkeeper came over and roughly returned the objects to their shelves with a swish of her wand, and in another motion telekinetically picked up the troublemakers and dumped them outside.

    Another storefront sported the black and orange of Brimstone, with their simple logo of an orange diamond on a plain black background. I could see some recruiters inside, talking to some novice mages. The walls were lined with expensive looking evokers - wands, staves, sceptres, even some more uncommon ones like swords, or some kind of orb. Where the wall wasn¡¯t covered with weaponry, there were illusory screens depicting dashing young mages in black armour fighting in a blood-red jungle.

    Eventually, I reached my destination. The Horizon downtown branch had white marble floors, walls, and ceilings. There wasn¡¯t much furnishing, except for a single reception desk in the center of the room that seemed to be unmanned. In reality, the receptionist was sitting there invisible, since corporate loves the idea of it seeming like the staff are teleporting in at will. The room was softly lit by lights embedded in between the large marble tiles, and there was only one customer inside swiping through some projections on the wall. It seemed like he was headed to the Dwarven lands. Wouldn¡¯t like to be paying for his trip¡­

    I didn¡¯t stop at the reception desk, instead heading straight for the door behind it.

    ¡°Hi Kelly, would you mind sending me to Ms. Joya¡¯s apartment first? She was looking after Minion.¡±

    A voice came from the chair behind the desk, shrill and raspy. ¡°It¡¯s Hinda, Ryn. Kelly¡¯s out for her birthday.¡±

    Ugh, here we go. I was really hoping it was Kelly tonight.

    ¡°You really ought to take better care of that cat. You can¡¯t just leave it with that poor old widow whenever you like. You know when I left my husband, I wanted the company of real people, not animals. I hope you¡¯re at least paying her for her time. Why don¡¯t you go over and offer to help her clean up or something as thanks? I¡¯m sure she¡¯d like that. Do you want me to send her a message to ask?¡±

    ¡°Ah, well I¡¯m about to go see her if you¡¯d just put me through¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve sent her a message. Really now, you must start to sort your own life out. You really can¡¯t have me taking time out of my busy day to do favors for you like this. How are you going to find yourself a wife if you can¡¯t even talk to your neighbour? Or take care of your cat? You¡¯re getting to an age where you might want to start talking about having a couple real children instead of that-¡±

    ¡°Hinda, please. I¡¯ve had a long day. Please send me through before I try to scale the walls of this building myself.¡±

    ¡°Tch. No need for the attitude.¡±

    The white marble of the reception desk lit up briefly where her invisible hands touched them, and the door opened. I rushed inside before she could start another topic.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Inside was a small room. It was 3 meters cubed exactly, with untextured white walls with strips of light running vertically up the walls. It was identical to 240 other rooms in this building, and countless others scattered at Horizon branches around the world. I walked across to the far wall and traced the specific pattern that linked to Ms. Joya¡¯s room. Then, once I was standing in the circle at the center of the room, the light strips brightened to the point where I had to squint my eyes, and then it faded. The door opened once again, and instead of the Horizon lobby and Hinda waiting for me, there was a simple wooden door. I knocked, and after a few moments it swung open to reveal a cosy looking apartment..

    Ms. Joya seemed to be in a war of aesthetics with the minimalist lobby downstairs, as the small space was absolutely crammed with things. Dozens of houseplants and lamps, books on every surface, various ornaments, baubles, and trinkets on shelves or in some cases hanging from the ceiling. Amongst all the chaos was the smiling, stooped form of Ms. Joya herself, wrapped in a fleece blanket. Perched on her shoulder was Minion, purring as he nuzzled into her perm. If he missed me, he didn¡¯t show it.

    ¡°Ryn, my darling boy. Back so soon? I thought you were off on a work trip?¡±

    I felt bad about lying to Ms. Joya, but I¡¯d feel worse about leaving Minion on his own if tonight had gone differently.

    ¡°Ah, uhm, last minute cancellation. I¡¯m back now.¡±

    ¡°Oh well, never mind. I was quite looking forward to some quality time with Minnie here.¡± she said, petting Minion affectionately. Judging by the half-empty bag of cat treats on the side table, he¡¯d been plenty spoiled already. ¡°Would you like to come in for some tea?¡±

    I wanted to find a way to politely refuse, but she was already channeling some mana into the rune on the kettle. Within moments, steam started rising out of the nozzle, so I gave up and decided to sit down.

    ¡°Hilda sent a message.¡± she said, tapping her temple. ¡°Please don¡¯t try and clean my apartment, you¡¯ll probably start an avalanche.¡±

    ¡°I promise I won¡¯t. But instead as thanks, feel free to stop by whenever you like to see Minion. You know my pattern for the teleporter, right? I¡¯m sure he¡¯d be happy to see you.¡±

    ¡°Ahh, I won¡¯t intrude.¡± she said, setting down a pair of mismatched mugs of milky tea. ¡°So, tell me - how did the highly-acclaimed Advanced Mana Infusion thing go?¡±

    ¡°It, er¡­¡± I started as she leaned in, smiling. Her beady eyes peeked over the thick frames of her glasses. ¡°It was a huge success. I managed to levitate an apple on the first try.¡±

    ¡°Ohh! That¡¯s wonderful Ryn!¡± she beamed, reaching across the table to give my arm a supportive squeeze. The sudden movement disturbed Minion on her shoulder, who hopped off to rub himself against my feet below the table instead. I took that as his own sign of support. ¡°I always knew you had it in you, and I¡¯m so happy you¡¯ve found something that works.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate that. I¡¯m excited to see what else I can do tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°My, I remember my school days. Seems a lifetime ago, before all that business with the Elves. Did you know Brimstone was an adventurer¡¯s guild back then? They used to go digging around in the ruins within the Scarlet Woods for old magical artifacts and treasures. Nothing like the gung-ho military they have now.¡±

    ¡°You used to work for Horizon too, right?¡± She hadn¡¯t mentioned it, but you only got one of these company-owned apartments if you did.

    ¡°Yes, yes¡­ I was a detainer, in fact. Portal Polly was my nickname back then.¡±

    ¡°A detainer? I can¡¯t imagine you capturing rogue mages.¡± The shriveled old woman wrapped in a blanket didn¡¯t give much of an officer of the law vibe.

    ¡°Oh, back in the day I was the real deal, you know? Half the stories from back then are still classified.¡± she said, gazing thoughtfully into her tea.

    There was a moment while we reflected on this, and I decided to try my luck.

    ¡°Did you ever detain any Wild Mages back in the day?¡± I asked.

    Her thoughtful face turned serious. ¡°The less said about those the better. Most of my callouts with Wild Magic were poor kids trying to break the rules to cheat at school or make a quick buck. Very rarely did we have to capture anyone who was a danger to anyone more than themselves.¡±

    A pit formed in my stomach as she spoke. Was I just like those kids, playing with powers I couldn¡¯t handle?

    ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t worry about that dearie. There haven¡¯t been reports of Wild Mages in decades. I don¡¯t have connections like I used to, but they used to be all over the papers.¡± she smiled, taking a sip of her tea.

    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s¡­ a relief.¡±

    ¡°Anyway, I didn¡¯t invite you in to talk about scary things like that. Would you like something to eat?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you Ms. Joya, but Minion and I better get back home.¡±

    Minion seemed to protest the idea by wandering off deeper into the mass of houseplants and stacked books. I got up from the table and picked up the bag of cat treats, the rustling of which brought him running right back.

    ¡°No worries at all dear. I was about to head to bed soon anyway. Do stop by again and tell me about the magic you¡¯ve been learning, yes?¡±

    I smiled, picking up my cat. ¡°Of course.¡±

    After saying our goodbyes, I stepped out of her apartment and into the plain white room again. I drew a different pattern on the wall and was teleported outside of my apartment. Like Ms. Joya¡¯s, my place was a mess. Unlike hers, it wasn¡¯t in a cute, cosy way. Plastic food wrappers cluttered the floor, books and scraps of papers were piled in haphazard mounds on my desk, leaving only a small space actually usable. Dishes piled high in the sink, and my bed was just a tangled mess of sheets. The lights were off, and the room was lit by the city lights coming in through the floor to ceiling windows that covered the entire back wall. There were blinds for those, but I hadn¡¯t fixed them after Minion had gotten tangled up in them a month or so ago.

    I set Minion down, who went to go climb to his spot atop the mound of papers, and sighed deeply. I still needed to decipher what Ron was talking about earlier, but first I needed to sort this place out. I hung up my coat, flicked on the lights, and began to get my life back together.

 4: Insight

    The pattern for the head office of the Well of Wonders¡¯ Danmer branch was a complex one, and it took Grey¡¯s assistant two minutes of swift angular swiping tracing all around the small white room to access it. Grey had never needed to memorise the pattern himself - he had people for that - but had to commend his assistant for their memory. He made a mental note to find out what her name was.

    When the lights faded and the doors opened, he was met with a luxurious suite that could hardly be called an office. It resembled more of a museum - there were elven artifacts and machina all along the walls, contained in glass cabinets with small holographic signs floating nearby detailing the given name, function, and value of each piece. One nearby caught his eye - Sunreaver, blessed blade of the Moon God. The mana content of it was impressive, if the sign was to be believed. There hadn¡¯t been a moon god in centuries, so it must be fairly old. Grey would have to take everything here with a grain of salt, though. This office was as much of an emporium as the ones on street level. If he showed his interest in any of the objects here he was certain that Marcus would try to use it to gain favors that were not in Grey or Brimstone¡¯s interests.

    Amongst the glass cabinets were a few small golems busying about. Their design favoured form over function, and utilised a lot of delicate brass pieces and exposed crystal. They were obviously very sophisticated, though, and as much of a power play as the artifacts were. One was sorting papers on Marcus¡¯ desk, and the other was pouring out two glasses of a dark amber liquid from an elaborate crystal decanter.

    Marcus was sitting behind the large mahogany desk, bent over a stone tablet that he was scratching at with delicate looking tools. He didn¡¯t look up as Grey walked up and sat across from him, so Grey took the chance to see what he was working on. Runework had never been his strong suit, but he could make out some of the key elements - ice, a stabilizing array, concentric circles that could be a contact marker, and a few ambient mana distillation sequences.

    ¡°Any guesses?¡± mumbled Marcus, who looked up at Grey for the first time. His eyes were comically large, magnified by the goggles he was wearing.

    ¡°If I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d say it looks like a step-triggered ice trap, nonlethal and mana efficient enough to be left out in the field for long periods of time.¡±

    Marcus chortled. ¡°Such a Brimstone thing to say. Not everything needs to be judged in combat potential, you know. But since you do know better, what is your actual guess?¡±

    Grey picked up his glass from the table and paced it on the carving. As soon as the glass made contact, the drink inside froze instantly to a block of yellow ice. ¡°Needs adjusting.¡± Grey smirked.

    Marcus sighed. ¡°That was Dwarven Fire Whisky. Not easy to come by in this part of the world.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t drink during business meetings anyway.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I suppose we should get on with it, shouldn¡¯t we. Horizon.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. I¡¯m assuming you have more to say than was in your message.¡±

    Marcus, took off his goggles and stood up, walking to the window at the back of the office as he spoke.

    ¡°Well, as you know, the balance between the Three has always been tenuous¡­¡±

    Grey shot his assistant a look to make sure they were writing this down. It seemed they were getting distracted by the golems. To think he was about to learn their name, too.

    ¡°However recently Horizon has been crossing into areas that shall we say¡­ overreach. Reports are that they¡¯re looking to establish branches in the Scarlet Woods in return for some of the more elusive Elven spells. Great news, by all accounts. However in return they want assurances that Brimstone will stop looting their ruins and Well of Wonders returns some artifacts in our care. My people at Horizon are saying that they are preparing a proposal for us by the end of the week. One very much in their favour.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem as bad as I thought.¡± Grey mused. ¡°We¡¯d just need to increase what we¡¯re asking for.¡±

    Marcus turned away from the window to face Grey. The sun shining through the gaps in the buildings across the street cast him in a silhouette, framing his greying curled hair and shining through the gaps in his prosthetic leg. Grey could see the fluids stored within colour the sunlight red.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be a fool, Grey. The spells they could share with us are valuable, yes, but there¡¯s a reason they¡¯re willing to spare those to get the artefacts back. My teams have been trying to figure out how they work for decades, but have only scratched the surface. The Elves wouldn¡¯t want them back so badly if there wasn¡¯t more to learn from them. Not to mention those left lying in forgotten tombs and dungeons.¡±

    ¡°Of course that¡¯s your priority, Marc. But I fail to see how making new gadgets and gizmos with some old Elven technology has to do with Brimstone¡¯s interests.¡±

    Grey nodded to one of the golems, who picked up a binder from one of the bookshelves behind the desk and placed it on the desk. Grey flipped through it to find countless pages tracking local magical beasts, rogue mages, magical hazards, Brimstone recruitment numbers¡­

    ¡°You¡¯ve been doing a great job defending the city, Grey.¡± Marcus said. ¡°Perhaps too good a job. Tell me, should peace be made with the Elves, how would Brimstone justify its costs? There hasn¡¯t been a civilian death to goblins or undead in years. Mana Shield is being taught to children at school. You¡¯ve cleared out all of the dens of dangerous flora and fauna for miles in training your new recruits. If you weren¡¯t fighting the Elves, you¡¯d be out of business and we both know it. This should concern you more than it does me. I¡¯d lose a few lucrative armour and evoker contracts with you, sure. Missing out on the secrets of the ancient Elven technology would severely reduce the rate at which we can grow. But people still need brooms, or household appliances, or drink coolers.¡± He tapped his finger on the stone slab with the frozen drink on it.

    Grey couldn¡¯t disagree. The battle in the forest was at somewhat of a stalemate. Elves didn¡¯t build cities, so there wasn¡¯t really a place to capture. They couldn¡¯t build fortifications, as their strange druidic magic made the forest itself hostile against them. Even traversing the woods deeper than a mile or so required specialised navigational equipment. But Brimstone had by far the superior firepower. The Elves couldn¡¯t do more than nip at them for fear of their highly trained, coordinated artillery mages raining down hell upon their position. As a result, they had a constant influx of new recruits coming in to seek fame and fortune. A team of mages who successfully recover an Elven artifact are very generously compensated, and most recruits join looking for their ¡°big break¡± before retiring on the reward money. The money that the recruits pay for their training, equipment, and membership was most of what kept Brimstone afloat. Without that¡­

    ¡°Okay, I can see your point. What needs to be done?¡± said Grey after a long pause.

    ¡°First of all, we need to refuse whatever Horizon brings to us. They benefit the most here from the rights to the spells and the ability to open up trade and travel with the Woods, so they¡¯ll probably put up a fight about it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a given. But you know what I meant.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m not sure when Horizon and the druids became so friendly, but that needs to end too. Think you can take care of that? Of course, I¡¯ll provide whatever equipment you need.¡±

    Grey grimaced. He went into this line of work for the direct kinds of combat. He wasn¡¯t a fan of all this subterfuge. But these were desperate times.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it.¡± Grey said, standing to leave.

    ¡°Wonderful. I¡¯ll be in touch, then.¡± Marcus sat back down at his desk and picked up his carving tools.

    Grey made his way to the teleporter room, mulling over what Marcus had said. He was absolutely right on one thing - Brimstone was too reliant on the conflict in the Scarlet Woods. If there were no other sufficient sources of threat available, then they needed to diversify a bit.

    His assistant input another complex pattern onto the wall, and he was ported directly to his own office. It was far less ostentatious than the one he came from, with a flattened stone serving as a desk, a pair of leather armchairs by a roaring fireplace, and a rugged looking golem that served as a training dummy. Grey sat in one of the armchairs by the fire and held his hand out to his assistant for the notes. He flicked through them as he thought, barely reading the words. After a few moments he realised the assistant was still hovering around nearby.

    ¡°Oh, that will be all. Report to have your memory wiped before you go home.¡±

    To her credit, she did a great job at hiding her disappointment before heading to the exit, leaving Grey alone to plan.

 5: Interrogation

    Wyll

    As I reached the tall gates of my family¡¯s estate, I went through my excuses one more time.

    The hospital had discharged me, and I wanted to go send a message to Cas to tell him I¡¯m okay. He was in the middle of an operation, so I had to wait a bit until he was free. That¡¯s why I took so long to get home. Also, in order to get back into shape I¡¯ve taken some additional private lessons from a tutor in the city to practice my mana shaping, so I¡¯ll be out for the next few nights too. That tracks, right?

    Honestly, I would much rather skip the inevitable family meeting and just go upstairs to practice what Fyron taught us, but I decided it was best to keep a level of normalcy. Above all, my father could never know what I was really getting up to.

    A rune on the gate recognised me by my blood and gracefully folded open, each metal pole twisting out individually to clear the way. I always found it a bit of a pain - a regular gate would be easier to get through - but mother had always insisted that appearances were vitally important for someone of our standing. I suppose that¡¯s why as I walked through the front garden, there were various exotic summons prowling around the house. One, a kind of luminous imp with a glowing green tongue that trailed along the floor and long, peacock-like feathers protruding from its back, passed the hewn stone path in front of me.

    ¡°Hey Gralax!¡± I waved at the conjured creature.

    ¡°Aochgrraugh.¡± croaked Gralax, giving me a polite bow before continuing his patrol.

    The house itself was large, and inspired by the Dwarven architecture from Gottlan. Large stone pillars framed the front of the house, and statues of various war heroes were spaced in between those. There weren¡¯t many lights on that I could see in the house except for the dining room, so I was probably about to enter right in the middle of dinner. Not ideal when I¡¯m trying to avoid a fuss, but Gralax had seen me now.

    I took a deep breath, being once again reminded of the tightness of the freshly healed skin on my chest, and knocked at the door. After a short moment, it swung open to see our Butler, Hobbins, standing there. Hobbins was another summon, if more sophisticated. He was a flowing mass of different kinds of fabrics, as if someone had made a pile of rags up to the height of a human. He had his silks on the outside for answering the door, but could switch to a cloth for cleaning, a towel or mop for drying, or a tougher kind of reinforced linen for manual work. Hobbins was always my favourite. I remember dressing up as him once by throwing a bunch of blankets over my head and running around the house. That had ended up in tears after I ran into a bannister, but Hobbins had dabbed my tears dry with a silken handkerchief.

    ¡°Young Master, it is so good to see you home again at last.¡± said Hobbins, his voice muffled like someone speaking from under a pile of laundry. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±

    ¡°Much better, that potion did wonders. Am I interrupting dinner?¡±

    ¡°Not at all, I was just about to fetch the starters. Please, come in.¡± Hobbins lifted some cloth resembling an arm to gesture inside. ¡°Allow me to get your coat.¡±

    I hadn¡¯t even unbuttoned my coat before it tore off me in pieces, before reforming in perfect condition on a hook in a corner of the foyer. I made my way into the house, over plush heated carpets and under crystal chandeliers, to find my family sitting around the table.

    Father was sitting at the head of the table. A tall man, well built, with a shaved head and perfectly trimmed moustache. His white button-up shirt had his medal pinned to it, as always, and a sturdy looking wand hung from his belt. Mother sat opposite, wearing an elegant, off the shoulder red dress that looked more suited for a royal ball than a family dinner. Her dark brown skin was painted with flecks of gold that accented her very expensive-looking gold and crystal necklace - an engagement given from father and a fairly unique evoker.

    In between them were my siblings, Sammie and Milo. Milo was the youngest, and wore his favourite ¡°Dragons are COOL¡± shirt that was somehow already stained with food. He had been insisting that he gets to use the ¡°grown-up chairs¡± recently, and seemed to have gotten his way since he could barely see over the table. Sammie was next to him, leaning back in her chair with a wet cloth over her eyes. She was older than me, and very responsible. I¡¯d be damn surprised if she was hungover, but it certainly looked like it.

    As soon as I turned the corner, the entire family rushed over.

    ¡°Oh my baby! Welcome back!¡± ¡°There¡¯s my soldier!¡± ¡°You¡¯re back!¡± ¡°WYLL!¡± Their voices overlapped each other as they all spoke at once.

    ¡°Hi guys, sorry to make you all wait.¡± I said sheepishly. ¡°I¡¯m home.¡±

    ¡°Are you all healed up?¡± asked mother, pulling up my sleeve to see my arm. The skin there was still tight and hot pink, but not nearly as bad as it was the last she saw me.

    ¡°Getting there. They said that there¡¯ll probably be some scarring, but by next week I won¡¯t have any more discomfort. I¡¯ve got the week off training to recover.¡±

    Father let out a bellowing laugh. ¡°Eager to get back to the fight are we? That¡¯s my boy.¡± He only ever seemed proud when we talked about Brimstone.

    ¡°I heard that fire magic is, like, super dangerous. More dangerous even than ice magic even!¡± chirped Milo, hugging my leg.

    I crouched down next to him. ¡°That¡¯s right. Guess that just means I¡¯m super tough, huh?¡±

    Milo beamed at that, and I ruffled his hair.

    Sammie did the same to my hair, and said ¡°Good to have you back, Wyllie¡± I looked up to protest the stupid nickname, and say she was squinting in pain.

    ¡°What¡¯s up with you? I¡¯m supposed to be the injured one here.¡±

    ¡°Got a killer headache. Work made me wipe my brain again.¡±

    ¡°It comes with the job I¡¯m afraid, Samantha.¡± Father said. ¡°Take it as a mark of your responsibility.¡±

    ¡°Uh huh. I just wish that the elixir worked faster. Got any of the healing potion they gave you left Wyll?¡±

    ¡°Nah, they wouldn¡¯t even let me keep the bottle. Company secret, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Bummer.¡±

    ¡°Please, you two, you¡¯re as bad as your Father. Save the war stories for later and let''s have something to eat.¡± said mother. ¡°Hobbins, could you put together a plate for Wyllam too?¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Already done, Mrs. Darter.¡± came a voice from the carpet. ¡°I¡¯ll bring the food out now.¡±

    We moved back to the dining table, and a plate of fresh bread and a steaming bowl of mandrake soup was placed in front of me. I didn¡¯t realise how hungry I was until I smelled Hobbins¡¯ cooking, and wolfed it down as impolitely as I could get away with in front of my parents.

    After a few minutes of quiet eating and small talk, mother turned to me. ¡°So, what took you so long to get home? It must be nearly midnight by now.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s eleven fifty, ma¡¯am¡±. Intoned the tablecloth.

    That late already? Damn. If we had lived in Gottlan, my family would be asleep by now. That said, I¡¯m not sure if Dwarves even sleep. I¡¯d heard a rumour that they just shut down on the spot like golems. Either way, it¡¯d make avoiding this conversation a lot easier.

    ¡°Yeah, I went to the Horizon by the hospital to talk to Cas. He was on a mission, so I had to wait a bit to be connected.¡±

    Father gave a disapproving look. ¡°You tried calling him while he was on a mission? That could have been dangerous, son. When you¡¯re eventually deployed, you¡¯ll see that someone trying to form a telepathic link with you at the wrong moment will get you killed. There was this one time-¡±

    ¡°Now honey, Cas has been worried sick too. He¡¯s been sending us messages too to ask how Wyllam has been, so his situation can¡¯t be too perilous.¡±

    I said a silent thanks to Cas for unknowingly helping my alibi. I really do need to call him soon.

    ¡°Did he find any dragons yet?!¡± asked Milo excitedly.

    Mother laughed. ¡°Cas told Milo he¡¯d keep an eye out last time he called.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s spotted any yet, but he said he¡¯d keep looking.¡± I replied to Milo.

    ¡°Cool!!¡±

    Hobbins came to clear the plates away, and in the same motion replaced them with the main course - spicy shredded pork with rice, topped with melted cheese. There was a merciful break in the conversation as we ate, but I decided to take the initiative to help steer the conversation.

    ¡°Regarding the accident¡­¡± I started

    ¡°Oh baby, you don¡¯t need to explain yourself. These things happen. You¡¯ll be better prepared next time.¡± I briefly caught Mother giving Father a look.

    ¡°Erm, yes. It¡¯s okay son. It happens. Better on the practice range than in the field, right?¡± Father did his best to sound comforting.

    ¡°Actually, I¡¯ve taken the initiative on making sure it doesn¡¯t happen again. Brimstone referred me to a tutor in the city to help practice my mana shaping so I can better control the spell next time.¡±

    Father looked pleased at that. ¡°Wonderful! What¡¯s their name? Are they from Brimstone too?¡±

    Anxiety swelled in my chest. ¡°Ah, erm, actually it¡¯s an outside agent. Nobody you¡¯d know, but they come highly recommended. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m paying for it out of my own money.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense. How much are they charging? I¡¯ll cover the costs. I¡¯d want to meet with them first, though. There are some real con men out there.¡±

    Sweat began to form on my brow. ¡°No, I insist. This was my mistake, and I want to be the one to fix it. It¡¯s a matter of pride, you know?¡±

    It was a gamble, but Father seemed to accept that. Sammie however, was giving me a very curious look as she chewed on her food. Crap. She was always the smartest in the family, and I hadn¡¯t considered that if anyone saw through my lie it would be her.

    Mercifully, the rest of dinner passed without incident, and I excused myself by saying I wanted to check out my burns in the bathroom. I locked the door, activated the runestone on the ceiling, and steaming water started to spray into the spacious porcelain tub. A set of towels flew out of the cupboard and folded themselves on a side table. Thanks, Hobbins.

    I stared at my own face in the mirror above the sink. Cas said I was handsome, but I never saw it. Especially not now, with the burn scars creeping up my neck. My military buzz cut was getting a bit long after my hospital stay, and I had some heavy bags under my eyes. The nurse did say that I was going to be wiped out for the next week or so since the potion just enhanced my body¡¯s natural healing abilities. Explains why I was so ravenous earlier.

    I had to review the conversation in my head. I don¡¯t think I gave the game away, but Sam¡¯s look was seared in my mind¡¯s eye. She knows something. Or thinks she does. I don¡¯t think I gave any indication of my doubts for working at Brimstone, but why did I use the tutor excuse? Idiot! Of course my father would want to meet him. I tried to imagine a meeting with Ron and my father, and shuddered. He would take one look at his ragged robes and send him packing.

    I wanted to ask Cas about all this. He¡¯d know what to do. He¡¯d probably say I was an idiot for getting involved with Wild Magic, but maybe when he saw the results he¡¯d want to join too. I¡¯d have to wait, though. If I went to go call him again so soon my parents would definitely start to wonder.

    I thought about what Ron had said. Did I even need to go through Horizon to talk to him? Could I really just mentally connect with him if I really believed it would work? I didn¡¯t fully trust him. Arryn could have been working with Ron and just lied about being mundane. But the skills Ron showed fighting against that elven girl¡­ He was skilled, that much was obvious. Also, to be completely honest, I was desperate.

    Maybe with more practice I could avoid another accident like that again. I could use it as a way to learn from my mistakes, be extra cautious in my learning. Stick to the plan. But that would expose me to more danger. I had taken some serious damage just learning. The idea of willingly putting myself in hostile territory in a forest that has trees that tear people apart with their branches and highly coordinated and intelligent magical beasts filled me with so much dread that I broke out in a sweat just thinking about it.

    On the other hand, I could use Ron¡¯s lessons (if they were true) to rapidly rise the ranks of Brimstone. I could find some undisturbed dungeon in the Scarlet Woods and plunder its treasures for an early retirement like my father had. I could get so strong that I was practically untouchable, like Ron. Or I could leave Brimstone entirely, use some kind of weird magic to make everyone forget I even joined in the first place. Go back to my life before my parents started pushing for me to ¡°make something of myself¡±.

    There was a knock at the door. Sam¡¯s voice came through. ¡°Lil¡¯ Wyllie, are you gonna spend the whole night in there or do we get to use the shower too?¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t be long!¡± I shouted back. I waited a moment until I heard footsteps walking away.

    I took a quick shower, the hot water prickling uncomfortably on my burns, then got ready for bed. My bedroom hadn¡¯t changed much, though it was clear that Hobbins had prepared it for my return. He¡¯d not touched my posters of Flaming Arrows, the best broomstick racing team in Adleth. It looked like he¡¯d even dusted my golem figurines, still on my shelf from when I was a little kid. There wasn¡¯t a speck of dust in the place, and my bed had been freshly made. I¡¯m sure the sheets had been neatly pressed too, if it weren¡¯t for my older sister sat on my bed.

    ¡°Wyll. You¡¯re hiding something.¡±

    Shit.

    ¡°What do you mean? I just got home.¡±

    ¡°Since when do you pick up a tutor on the way home from the hospital?¡±

    ¡°My supervisor did all the legwork while I was bed bound.¡± I lied.

    She grinned. ¡°I thought you said they weren¡¯t related to Brimstone.¡±

    ¡°Uh, they¡¯re not¡­¡±

    ¡°Save it. You seem to be hiding something, but I won¡¯t make you spill¡­ yet. Just tell me - are you being safe? Is it worth all this lying? You¡¯re a terrible liar, by the way.¡±

    I didn¡¯t say anything, but I gave a very slight nod. That seemed to satisfy Sam for whatever info Sam was fishing for, so she stood up and made her way to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle.

    ¡°By the way, I spoke to Cas this morning. He¡¯s not on a mission for another two weeks, so maybe don¡¯t rely on that excuse going forward.¡±

    I swore internally. I needed to ask Ron if there was some kind of magic that made you a better liar.

    Sam gave a smug wave and went back to her own room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sat down on my bed, closed my eyes, and tried to figure out how to access this new, unscripted kind of magic until the sun started to rise again.

 6: Invalidated

    Medea

    I wasn¡¯t used to walking this much, but I¡¯m damned sure I wasn¡¯t going to try flying today. Normally for getting around, I have a custom-made kind of folding seat that Lefty and Righty slot into for carrying me around places, but instead I walked the streets, the folded chair strapped to my back and Righty clutched in Lefty¡¯s iron grip. Occasionally as I walked, something would pop into my head and I¡¯d bring it close to my head to check for some minor detail or imperfection I might have missed, but the damned thing was no different to when I¡¯d made it.

    I¡¯d made Righty first, with my mentor¡¯s help. She taught me about the proper runes and seals for making a mental link with a tool first - something that she used a lot in her workshop - and over several months I had forged the steel sections, carved in the runic arrays, and performed a complex, multi-step ritual to complete the process. It involved a comprehensive understanding of Elven runemarks, and a lot of Well of Wonders classified magic to make work.

    On top of that, Righty wasn¡¯t even my first attempt. The prototypes were full prosthetic arms, attached at my shoulders, but I found that having a finite arm span was too limiting. I tried alterations like tools in the fingers or hidden blades, but as it turns out a regular, five-fingered hand was most useful for getting by day-to-day. The project was incredibly personal to me, and one of my greatest achievements to date.

    And that doddering old bastard had taken it apart and put it back together flawlessly.

    It wasn¡¯t just my pride as a craftsman being bruised. The abilities he displayed unnerved me. I had no doubt that if the situation was different he could have reduced me to dust just like he had with my hand. Could he have recreated me too? I remembered the way he summoned duplicates of Lefty from seemingly nowhere too. Could he have done the same to a living person? The implications were endless, each more horrifying than the last.

    Maybe my pride was a bigger factor than I would admit. If what Fyron is saying is true, then all that work into being a Runewright was a waste of time too, since magic is just whatever the hell people want it to be.

    With no recall of the journey there, I found myself standing in the back alley behind the Well of Wonders emporium. I tried to release the tension building up in me as I opened the rusted back door by some dumpsters.

    Inside was home. Not in a conventional sense, but I¡¯d not known anything other than the warm orange glow of the forge filling the room, or the various tools neatly organised and displayed on every inch of the walls. There were specific work stations within. A table with multiple lenses for magnification and boxes of fine needle-like tools was for runesmithing, and the place where I spent most of my waking hours. Near that was an anvil with a rune-enhanced sledgehammer resting by it, enhanced to hit harder and silently (at request of the shop next door). There was also a station for painting and woodworking boxes and boxes of spare parts and failed prototypes, sealed chests of mana sources, and even a few wooden humanoid figures to be used as practice dummies for weapons or more recently, boxing.

    Amongst the industrial aspects of the single large room, there were also various creature comforts. A small kitchen at the back with cooking utensils on display in the same way as the workshop tools. A large, threadbare sofa where my mentor often passes out instead of going home, and my favourite place - a loft area above it all, accessible by a ladder. My own little hiding hole.

    Standing amidst the chaos was an Aniya. She was tall and muscular, unlike most elves, with her chestnut brown hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She wore a leather apron over an olive-green tank top, and a pair of thick leather gloves she was using to pull something out of the blazing mouth of the forge. When I entered, she lifted up the darkened lenses of her goggles to smile at me.

    ¡°Dee! I heard from Switch, good work on the fight!¡± said Aniya. ¡°Heard you send that guy with the stupid tattoo home crying.¡±

    I had honestly almost forgotten about the fight. ¡°Ah, yeah. Don¡¯t sing my praises too loud, pretty sure the fight was rigged.¡±

    ¡°You sure? Don¡¯t downplay yourself like that, the guy was tough according to Switch.¡±

    ¡°Well yeah, he¡¯s going to play up the guy as part of fixing the fight. ¡®Volcano¡¯ thought I saw just some short kicker, thought levitating would keep him out of my range. Someone else had cast the Levitation anyway, because he was floating before the fight even started and didn¡¯t seem to have the mana reserves to keep it up, to put it politely.¡±

    ¡°Levitation huh? You send him flying?¡±

    I smirked. ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    ¡°Atta girl. How come you¡¯re holding hands with yourself?¡± She said, nodding to the floating gauntlets as she dumped whatever she took out of the forge and dumped it into a bucket of water with a hiss of steam.

    ¡°Ah. That. Would you mind taking a look at Righty for me?¡±

    ¡°She not behaving?¡±

    ¡°Something like that. Just see if you notice anything off.¡±

    Aniya took off her heavy gloves, took Righty by the fingers, and pulled it towards the runesmithing table. She tapped a few runes on the side of the desk to make a few floating magelights hover around the workspace, and pulled the large glass lenses in place to take a closer look.

    ¡°Hmm¡­ yes, there is an issue here I see.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    My heart soared. I knew that it wouldn¡¯t be so easy to make a perfect copy!

    ¡°This part here of the array.¡± She said, pointing to a section with a thin tool. ¡°Someone prioritizes making this poor thing work as fast and strong as possible with no consideration to the longevity of the construct.¡±

    My heart crashed right back down again. He¡¯d even copied my imperfections.

    Seeing the look on my face, Aniya gave a sympathetic smile. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m just kidding. It all looks fine. Obviously it works great, since you trashed that Volcano guy. Ooh, I know what will cheer you up. Do you know what his tattoo actually reads like in Elvish?¡±

    I smiled despite my mood. ¡°I know. You taught me Elvish, and looking up all the dirty words was the first thing I did with the dictionary you bought me.¡±

    Aniya pretended to look scandalised. ¡°Medea! I did not spend half my monthly funds to buy that book for you to use it for such vulgarity!¡±

    ¡°I was eight! Of course I would!¡±

    ¡°Despite that, you were so much sweeter back then¡­¡± she said, gazing wistfully up at the loft.

    ¡°Yeah, well. Sucks for you that I was raised by such an improper woman.¡±

    She threw a leather glove at me for that. I caught it with Righty without thinking, then frowned.

    ¡°What¡¯s bugging you, Dee?¡± Aniya said, trying to meet my eyes.

    ¡°Ah, it¡¯s nothing. I¡¯ve just been thinking about stupid things.¡±

    ¡°I like stupid things. That¡¯s why I took you in.¡±

    I threw the glove back at her and she laughed.

    ¡°Cmon, tell me what¡¯s on your mind.¡±

    I sighed. ¡°I know this is something we went over nearly fifteen years ago, but how do runes even work? Take the rune for fire, for example.¡± I nodded my head towards the large marking carved on the side of the forge. It was three overlapping triangles with a small circle nestled in the middle of them. ¡°What makes the fire rune and not, I don¡¯t know, the water rune?¡±

    Aniya seemed to give the question some serious thought. ¡°Well, there¡¯s some theories about that. Different, depending on who you ask. Most agree it has a kind of pictographic side to it. The dwarves would say that it makes it easier for the spirits of mana to understand what it¡¯s for, like a codeword for fire. The elves say it¡¯s more about the geometric arrangement and how the lines twist the mana into a certain shape for a certain effect. I¡¯m more partial to the Kiti and Gooba theory.¡±

    ¡°Kiti and Gooba?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an old story from the Scarlet Woods. It¡¯s something like a short fat dwarf and a tall boney elf were wandering the land, with one being called Kiti and the other being called Gooba. Stupid names, I know. They went around asking people from all kinds of languages and cultures which one of them was called Kiti and which one was Gooba.¡±

    ¡°Seems like a waste of time.¡±

    ¡°Oh for sure, but the interesting thing is that most of the time people guessed correctly that the dwarf was Gooba and the elf was Diti. Why do you think that is?¡±

    ¡°I dunno, neither of them are common names in either culture as far as I know, but I guess I had already assumed in my head that was the way the names were too.¡±

    ¡°Weird, right? So I¡¯m partial to the theory that there is a universally understood reason why a fire rune looks like a fire rune. I guess that¡¯s a lot of words to say ¡®it just looks like that because it does¡¯¡±

    I pinched the bridge of my nose with Lefty. ¡°I¡¯m starting to remember my frustrations with your lessons.¡±

    ¡°And yet, you were my favourite and most successful apprentice.¡± she said fondly.

    ¡°I was your only apprentice.¡±

    ¡°Details, details. Why are you wondering about deep questions like that right after a boxing match, anyway? You get hit in the head?¡±

    ¡°I was just wondering if there was some kind of way to use magic to whip together constructs faster. In theory.¡±

    ¡°Hah! I wish. Though I¡¯d probably be out of work. Sorry to break it to you though kiddo, but those gauntlets of yours don¡¯t work for spells with somatic components, which is pretty much all of them.¡±

    ¡°Yeah yeah. I¡¯ve certainly tried that hypothesis out enough to disprove it.¡±

    In truth, that was why I was so keen on making Lefty and Righty in the first place. Not having arms was bad enough, but not being able to use magic cut me off from most of modern life. I wasn¡¯t convinced by Arryn¡¯s tale of being completely mundane yet, but if he was I could empathise with how debilitating it could be.

    ¡°Anyway, I should probably head home.¡± Aniya said, turning down the fires in the forge. ¡°I stocked up the fridge with some food, so eat before you turn in for the night.¡±

    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll be heading out in the evenings for the next few weeks, so don¡¯t wait up for me.¡±

    I started putting together a snack while my mentor packed up her things and left. I put my five bean, extra spicy, free-range gryphon meat burrito on a plate and sent Lefty up to the loft with it and followed it up with the ladder.

    I remember first moving here, and this ladder was a nightmare. I didn¡¯t remember the day Aniya took me in, but I remember this stupid ladder. She told me that she was walking to work one day and saw this tiny, armless thing sitting on the side of the road, completely out of it and covered in dirt and scratches. She took me in, trying to find my parents, but never did. She didn¡¯t have any space at her company-issued apartment for me, but cleared out the loft and filled it with things for me. I loved the loft, but getting up a ladder without arms is very difficult, to say the least. For a while she built a pulley system, then a floating disk to get me up there easier, but after a while I saw the ladder as a challenge. I didn¡¯t want to let it beat me. I wanted to be stronger.

    Now, it¡¯s no longer a challenge, but those memories remain. My space in the loft was very special to me, and hadn¡¯t changed much as I grew up. Various racks with personal projects filled the perimeter of the space. Blueprints and notes covered every inch of the low sloped ceilings, and a pair of skylights shone the lights of the city in through the gaps in the paper. There was a small bed covered in dozens of various plushies that Ariya had hand made me when I was little to get me to warm up to her.

    It worked.

    I collapsed onto my bed, sending a stuffed manticore rolling on to the carpeted floor, and began to plan.

    I don¡¯t trust Fyron at all. Or Wyll and Arryn for that matter. But they might have information that I need to know. I don¡¯t have to commit to anything too shady, just grab whatever knowledge I can and run with it.

    My mind settled, I drifted off to sleep.

 7: Involuntary

    Arryn

    The warehouse had been almost completely transformed. The rusted corrugated steel ceiling looked brand new, missing the rusted-through holes that peppered it last night. Dozens of small magelights in glass balls hung from the ceiling on ropes, glowing with warm light. The floor was now polished wooden planks, reflecting the lights from above. The writhing moss that once grew there seemed to have been moved to a set of long planters along the western wall, along with a collection of other potted plants by the windows there. A large circle with a triangle in the center had been painted onto the floor with neat black lines, which gave the place the impression of a school sports hall for some kind of unknown sport.

    I¡¯d arrived early, hoping to catch Ron to ask some questions before the other two showed up, but once again he was the last to arrive. There was some awkward small talk with Medea and Wyll about what to expect, but I got the impression they were a bit distrustful of me. Wyll was polite, but a bit overly inquisitive. He asked about how I met Ron, and I left out a lot of the major details and just told him he met me at my workplace. Medea on the other hand was outright glaring at me as I spoke, as if waiting to call me out at any second. I wasn¡¯t sure what that was about.

    Ron ambled in at about 10:20, twenty minutes past when we¡¯d arranged to meet.

    ¡°You¡¯re late.¡± Medea said, seemingly reluctantly taking her glare off me to direct it at our new tutor.

    Ron simply chuckled, taking off his wide-brimmed hat to bow his head. ¡°Terribly sorry, got caught up in a bit of business in the city.¡±

    I was intrigued. I was very curious to know who this man was, and each nugget of information painted a bigger picture. Before I could innocuously probe for more details, Wyll spoke up.

    ¡°Not to worry, ser. What are we learning today?¡±

    He¡¯s an eager one. I couldn¡¯t blame him, because I was dying to get started too, but Wyll was doing his best impression of a model student.

    ¡°Ah, yes. Hmm. Yesterday we started going over the triad. I fear in my eagerness I may have bombarded you with a bit too much information, so let¡¯s take it one step at a time. Miss Banyinet, you asked about the limits of this kind of magic, I believe?¡±

    Banyinet? I assume that¡¯s the elf girl¡¯s surname. Not a common one, that¡¯s for sure. I started to wonder if I should get to know my classmates more outside of these sessions, but then I remembered the apparent distrust they have for me and the desire faded quickly as it came.

    ¡°You see,¡± Ron continued, starting to sound more like a professor of magic as he went on. ¡°Magic is limited by three factors: Mind, Mana, and Matter.¡±

    Wyll pulled out a notebook and began to write that down, but the book was yanked out of his hand by an invisible force.

    ¡°Oh, my apologies, but please don¡¯t make any physical notes on what we learn here. It would be very bad for all of us if it fell into the wrong hands.¡± warned Ron, his voice taking on an unusually serious tone. The book floated back towards Wyll, but settled into his leather backpack. Wyll gave him an apologetic look.

    ¡°Now, as I was saying¡­ Matter is probably the easiest to explain.¡± he said, moving to the rack of staves resting against the eastern wall. ¡°You may know this already, but many staves like this one have a lantern hanging on the end of them. This isn¡¯t just a decoration, but a useful source of fire. You see, spells are much more mana-efficient when you¡¯re affecting something that already exists in the world. Not that it¡¯s impossible, mind you, but sometimes the mana cost of doing something like summoning a castle out of thin air is so exorbitant that it is impossible without a huge wealth of crystal, blood, or ether at your disposal.¡±

    Medea frowned. ¡°What about a spell like Magic Dart? That is formed from nothing into a bolt of concentrated and hardened mana.¡±

    ¡°Ah, certainly it is possible, but you could cast a spell just as lethal for a small percentage of the cost if you lobbed a stone or a knife with your magic instead, or formed the dart from fire or air. This will be particularly relevant in regards to the next part of the triad: Mana.¡±

    I swallowed, my mouth starting to feel dry. When it was discovered I was mundane, it was determined that the cause of it was my total inability to process mana into a spell. This could be what I¡¯ve been waiting for.

    ¡°Mana is something every novice mage learns about. It comes in three forms, each good for different things. Crystal is stable, and with the right applications can be compacted into more potent forms, but is the slowest releasing by far. Good for artifacts, less good for carrying around as fuel all day.¡±

    ¡°Unless you make wearable mana batteries like jewelry or talismans from it.¡± added Medea.

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s an option, but still limited in its monetary costs or versatility. Ether on the other hand is much more potent in its gaseous form, but far less reliable. It¡¯s hard to contain, and usually is only used in places where the natural flow of ether, Ley Lines, is particularly focused. That said, trace ether is in the air almost anywhere, so is often used to ¡®pad out¡¯ the mana a spell costs.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°I¡¯m a bit worried he left blood til last¡­¡± Wyll whispered to me. I couldn¡¯t disagree.

    ¡°Yes, Ser Darter, there was a reason for that.¡± said Ron, staring at the triangle on the floor. ¡°Blood is the one mana source always at hand. It is more potent than ether, more stable than crystal. Arguably the best source of the three, were it not also needed to keep you alive.¡±

    ¡°Wait, are you talking about using your own blood as fuel for magic? I¡¯ve heard of blood magic being used in the Scarlet Woods with sacrificial altars and dark rituals, but, er¡­ sorry if that offends, Medea.¡±

    Medea rolled her eyes, but otherwise didn¡¯t seem too offended by my ignorance.

    ¡°Yes, that is certainly one way to bypass your mortal limitations, but arguably a bit distasteful, no?¡± said Ron, the moustache of his beard twitching up in a smile. ¡°But yes, blood is the last line of credit that a spell will draw from without any other sources available. You might have heard of mages getting mana sickness before, but in reality that is just a spot of anemia.¡±

    Ron stopped looking at the diagram on the floor and fixed us all with a serious look. The golden iridescence in his eyes seemed to glow brighter for a moment as the lights hanging from the ceiling seemed to dim, deeping the shadows in the corner of the room.

    ¡°The magic we will learn here is far beyond the limits most mages are capable of. It does not do discounts. If you successfully cast a spell requiring a great amount of mana without enough to pay the costs, the blood in your veins will be taken as payment. All of it, in some cases. The so-called ¡°Wild Mages¡± who sought power without the proper precautions often end up as withered husks, their hubris being their last mistake. Keep this in mind as we proceed.¡±

    A shiver rattled down my spine. The image of some young mage shriveling into a mummified state before crumbling to dust was not a pleasant one. Would I be more susceptible to that fate with my deficiencies with mana? Wyll seemed even more anxious, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Even Medea seemed perturbed, her eyebrows knit tightly together.

    ¡°Fortunately,¡± continued Ron, all traces of the serious mood gone from his features ¡°I have a few little tricks and workarounds for that. In theory, used right, there is no upper limit on the size of spell you can cast with my methods. Just gets quite a bit riskier the bigger you go. Often the smallest spells can have huge effects, where the huge earth-shaking ones leave you a bit disappointed after. Not to mention you¡¯ll never accidentally reduce yourself to dust with a random spell, you¡¯d really need to force that spell to complete.¡±

    Ron moved across the floor to another corner of the triangle, twirling the staff in his hand in lazy circles.

    ¡°Last but certainly not least is Mind. This will be the least familiar for you, since as far as conventional magic goes the legwork for this part is managed by tradition and precedent. Simply put, Mind refers to your ability to conceptualise and believe in the reality of a spell you¡¯re going to cast. This is the part most people struggle with, too. Picturing something in sufficient detail to bring it to existence takes a lot of effort, and convincing yourself to believe in what you once thought was impossible can sometimes feel¡­ well, impossible!¡±

    Ron seemed to be really getting into the role now, gesturing wildly with the iron staff as he spoke.

    ¡°There is a bit of a workaround, though. Like two magnets snapping together, or lightning finding a lightning rod, a spell wants to work. I don¡¯t subscribe to the dwarven ideas of personifying magic, but it does seem to help you fill in the gaps, sometimes. If I were to do this, for example¡­¡±

    Suddenly, a dozen white rabbits poofed into existence around the room, hopping about. I was surprised at how quickly I was becoming used to these once impossible feats of magic. Wyll looked delighted, but Medea¡¯s frown deepened.

    ¡°Obviously I didn¡¯t have to picture every hair on their fluffy little bodies, or plan and arrange the functions of their internal organs, or tell them when to breathe or beat their hearts. That would be a lot of hassle. For a slight increase in the mana costs, the spell fills in the gaps between your vision of the result to create a more functional effect. The clearer your mental image, the cheaper the spell will be. If your vision isn¡¯t clear enough, or your faith in the spell is insufficient, the spell may not work at all, or may lead to the gaps being filled in unwanted ways.¡±

    The bunnies on the floor all twitched in unison, before morphing into fleshy, tentacled abominations. Their slimy purple flesh twisted and writhed, and along each glistening protrusion were yellowed eyes or tooth-like growths. Each still had an unchanged pair of white bunny ears. The sight was horrific, but with a gesture the ¡°bunnies¡± poofed back out of existence.

    ¡°Not great for petting zoos, as you can see.¡± Ron laughed, then his face became serious again. ¡°But this can also be a risk for unprepared Free Mages. You don¡¯t want the monster you summon to save the village to start eating the villagers too, you know?¡±

    Wyll looked like he was going to be sick.

    ¡°There is another drawback to the spell being overly cooperative at times. If a lack of vision can lead to unexpected results, a lack of conviction can sometimes hit a point at the edge of belief and nonbelief where a portion of the mana is used to fill in the gaps within your own thoughts, too. If you¡¯re close to believing in the effects of a spell but still harbor lingering doubts, the spell also alters your perception of reality to nudge you over that line. Needless to say, that can have some rather difficult long-term complications if you become over-reliant on it. Some have completely lost grasp on their sense of reality this way, which ironically makes their magic much more potent!¡±

    Wyll ran to the exit, and hurled open the doors before bursting outside. A moment later, we could hear him throwing up on the floor.

    ¡°Oh dear, that might have still been a bit much for you. A master of magic I may be, but a good teacher I am not. Let¡¯s take a short break.¡±

    I really wanted to hear more, but I reluctantly sat down on the polished wooden floor and tried to get my thoughts in order. In a way I appreciated Wyll for hitting his limit before I did, because I might have been the one out there otherwise. I looked to Medea to ask how she was, but stopped myself as I saw the intense look she was giving the diagram on the floor, obviously lost in her own thoughts.

    I could probably guess what she was thinking. If Fyron had been using this magic for as long as it seemed he had, could he also have been mentally impacted by its continued use? If so, what did that mean for us?

 8: Invasion

    Lyon could hear the peacekeepers outside his home, and he knew that his time was coming to an end. He looked around the room for something, anything that could help him. The place was pristine - the thick carpets white without a spot of dirt, the wooden furniture gleaming as if freshly waxed, not a cobweb or mote of dust in sight. He¡¯d been very happy about his cleaning spell, until it had also ¡°cleaned¡± his mana crystals into nothingness. Now he was woefully unprepared for his current predicament, and could hear the armour-covered mages outside setting up wards and barriers to trap him in here. He had to act fast.

    He risked a peek outside through a gap in his curtains, and saw that his fears were true. It was always good to check. Sometimes his paranoia meant that he thought every bump in the night were corporate agents or peacekeepers breaking into his home, and a part of him was somewhat relieved that it was real this time. He could see a crowd of people trying to get a look, being held back by some sturdy-looking golems. The Peacekeepers looked more like knights than mages, their interlocking plate armour covering every inch of their body. A faint blue light bled out from between the gaps in their armour, hinting at the absurd amount of runework lining the inside. The Well really hadn¡¯t held back this time.

    Lyon wondered what had given him away. He hadn¡¯t hurt anyone, kept his spellcraft to his own personal projects. He rarely even left his house these days, and had all of his groceries delivered to his door. Lyon had never been good with other people. The outside world didn¡¯t agree with him. Now the outside world was coming to him, violating his solitude. Could it be what he¡¯d bought? That much meat could be explained by a number of things. Maybe he was having a barbeque. That wasn¡¯t a crime!

    He dashed from the window towards the basement stairs, his slippered feet thudding on every step. It was cold down here, and his silk dressing gown did little to protect against the chill as he descended. The basement was dark and bare, and in the gloom he could just barely make out the silhouette of a person.

    ¡°My love, is everything okay? I can hear people outside.¡± A soft, feminine voice sung out from the darkness. It was Lyon¡¯s favourite sound, and based on a singer he had once heard in Valanc.

    ¡°Teya, things are getting a bit hectic out there. I¡¯m going to need your help.¡± Lyon flicked out some lights, illuminating the shadowed form. She was beautiful, and even now took Lyon¡¯s breath away. Her long, wavy hair was the colour of spun gold, and her eyes sparked like starlight and sapphires. She wore her usual sheer dress, conjured specifically to compliment the shapely form he had spent hours planning out. Each part of her was formed from past loves, unfulfilled crushes, famous celebrities, or just people Lyon had noticed while walking down the street. She was perfect, in every way, and Lyon¡¯s greatest work.

    ¡°My love, I would do anything for you.¡± Teya purred, her voice for a moment taking that uncanny, ever so slightly off note that Lyon had never figured out how to fix. Something for a future version.

    ¡°Wonderful, come with me.¡± Lyon said, grabbing her by the arm and running back upstairs. She giggled as if they were playing a game. He¡¯d never had much experience actually talking to women, so a lot of guesses were made in figuring out how to make her act. She was pretty normal as far as he could tell. Maybe he should have had her go out more, to make him seem more well-adjusted. Surely nobody would accuse a happily married man living in the suburbs of being a Wild Mage? Too late for that now. He¡¯d have to start fresh, leave Damner, maybe. He needed to get out of this situation first. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Lyon weighed up his options. Teleporting was out, as by now Horizon portal traps were surely set up and running. The cost of overcoming that was too risky. He could fight his way out, but he¡¯d never really fought anyone before, preferring to avoid conflict wherever possible. That left very few options.

    His planning was interrupted by a heavy thud coming from the front door. There was a humming sound that rose in pitch higher and higher before being punctuated by another slam at the front door. Small chips of wood started to splinter off near the doorframe, he was out of time.

    With more than a moment¡¯s hesitation, he focused on Taya¡¯s forearm clenched tightly in his white-knuckled grip. She couldn¡¯t feel pain, and instead smiled sweetly at him as she always did. So much work. With an exertion of will, he began siphoning the mana that constituted her form into one condensed point in his hand. The blood in her body crystalised in his palm, creating a ruby of highly condensed mana that hummed with power. As her form sagged and crumpled like wet cardboard, she maintained her peaceful smile right until she collapsed into a pile of leathery clumps on to the plush white carpet.

    Lyon would have time to figure out that problem later. For now, whoever was trying to break down his door was almost in. He clenched the crystalised blood in his hand and focused on the working of his spell. He needed to wipe the memories of all the peacekeepers in the vicinity, and probably all of the crowd too. He¡¯d also need to just wipe it enough so that they didn¡¯t suspect what had happened, and ideally pack up and go home. If he had any spare mana left after that he¡¯d dismantle the wards and the portal trap too, which shouldn¡¯t be an issue. Taya had been quite an investment, and the mana he¡¯d put into her should be more than enough for what he intended.

    The door finally gave in, as a large marble statue smashed through base-first and embedded itself in the opposite wall. A gauntleted hand reached through the gap to unlock the door, and Lyon began the spell. He could feel it reaching out to the consciousness of the dozens of people around his house, each entity a faintly glowing star in his mind¡¯s eye. He pictured reaching out to pluck them, mold them, trusting the spell to sort out the fine print of the workings. There were far more people out there than he thought there was, and without the spell altering much physical matter the cost was already very high. The glowing ruby in Lyon¡¯s hand sparked and fizzed as it dissolved into the working. He had to adjust it on the fly to stop it wasting mana on the birds and insects in the area too. But it was working. He pictured the thoughts being plucked from each star as glittering motes that faded away into nothingness, and opening his eyes he saw the hand reaching through the gap in the door was now holding on to the edge of the hole for support.

    One mind was proving difficult. It blazed with a golden light, and seemed to grow brighter, rather than dimmer, as Lyon channeled the mana towards it. Something was wrong.

    Lyon had heard of mages that specialised in mind magic - memory wipers at Brimstone, corporate spies, idea thieves for Well of Wonders, even some counsellors that dealt with mental trauma with gentle application of thought alteration, but why would the peacekeepers bring someone like that for him?

    The hand at the door retreated, and the door swung open. A peacekeeper walked in, and Lyon knew this was the one resisting him. Cutting his losses, he redirected the full force of the spell at the intruder, and gasped as it suddenly began to drain more and more of his mana away. His head was pounding, and he began to lose control of the spell. It began filling in more and more gaps in his perception to sustain itself, and he began to see his opponent as not a man but a gargantuan steel monster, come to kill him, to obliterate him.

    As Lyon¡¯s mind began to fracture and the gem in his hand shattered into dust, he could only discern one remaining piece of reality that cut through his delusions. This was no mind mage, it was someone like him. A Wild Mage, and one that far outclassed him. Lyon¡¯s reality was almost completely broken now, the house and the twisted monster of steel spiralling around one central point - the only thing yet to be warped by his madness.

    A pair of iridescent, golden eyes.

 9: Introspection

    Wyll

    I spat into the long blue grass growing along the outer wall of the warehouse, trying to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth. The bile burned my throat, and I found myself wishing I had brought some water. The night air was pleasant against my sweat-covered skin, and I leant with my back against the wall to try and calm my thoughts. Images of my body withering away or my mind being irreparably changed raced around my head, and it brought back the all-too-recent memories of fire washing over my body.

    I was furious.

    At Fyron, at myself. I had thought this was my golden ticket out of here, a serendipitous solution to my issues, but now it seems that this is the worst of all options. I was so foolish for thinking it would be that easy. Fyron had certainly made it seem so. I should leave right this second and never look back. And yet I was more furious with myself at still wanting to stay. I was ready to desert Brimstone and risk all of the consequences involved in that, why do I not have the same sense of preservation around this? Stupid. I was going to end up getting myself killed, and for what?

    The door creaked as it opened next to me, and Fyron poked his head out to give me a sympathetic look before coming out to sit on the floor with his back against the wall. I was going to warn him about where I¡¯d thrown up, but saw that it had mysteriously been cleaned up when I wasn¡¯t looking.

    ¡°I remember when I first learned about this stuff, my reaction was fairly similar to yours.¡± he said, staring out over the river towards the city lights. ¡°Ran out from my mentor¡¯s house. Didn¡¯t speak to him for a good month or two. In that regard, you¡¯re doing better than I did. Ha!¡±

    I said nothing to that, but I sat on the floor next to him. Fyron produced a bottle of water and a handkerchief from somewhere, probably just conjured, and passed them to me. I took a swig and wiped my face. The water was ice cold with a hint of lemon.

    ¡°A fear of magic is a healthy thing.¡± he continued when I didn¡¯t respond. ¡°Without it, you would risk taking it too lightly. Your taste of its dangers was a valuable albeit painful lesson, and one you won¡¯t soon forget.¡±

    Fyron took out his pipe, which lit on its own. He blew out a long stream of white smoke, which curled up to the starry sky. I wanted to tell him that this wasn¡¯t going to work for me, that I would find some other way to get out of Brimstone or at least the front lines. My dad would be devastated, but he¡¯d help out. He had plenty of connections.

    Instead, I asked ¡°Does it ever go away?¡±

    Fyron gave that some thought, breathing out another puff of smoke. ¡°No.¡± he said, and my heart sank. ¡°And it shouldn¡¯t. But part of overcoming it is accepting the lessons it teaches you, and using it for your benefit. We feel pain to learn those lessons. Same goes for fear. Without it, we wouldn¡¯t have survived as a species.¡±

    ¡°But what if I can¡¯t overcome it? If we¡¯re doing this kind of magic, fear could be a fatal flaw.¡±

    ¡°Aye, you¡¯re not wrong. But you should know that¡¯s why I¡¯m here. You should have a good grasp of what I can do by now, or rather the lack of things I can¡¯t do. You won¡¯t come to harm while I¡¯m around, in body or mind.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t argue against that. Above all else, I was certain that whatever spell I could create that passed beyond my control, Fyron would be able to contain without putting down his pipe.

    ¡°Let me ask you something.¡± Fyron said, ¡°Why do you want to learn magic?¡±

    I thought about that for a moment. ¡°To keep myself safe, I guess. Protect myself from the dangers of the world.¡±

    Fyron chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°I doubt that. If safety was your goal you wouldn¡¯t have signed up for the artillerists. You¡¯d be a receptionist at Horizon or something.¡±

    I clicked my teeth, but thought some more. He was right again, of course. A year ago, I had no real drive or motivation. I¡¯d coasted through school, not really aspiring to do much. Why would I need to? With the money my family had I never really had to work. I thought back to why I joined Brimstone in the first place, and the answer came to me.

    ¡°I want to impress people, I guess. My father, well, my family as a whole really. I want them to look at me and be proud.¡±

    Fyron nodded sagely. ¡°Hmph. Closer. What were you planning on doing to impress them?¡±

    I sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Take out an archdruid, maybe. Find some super-amazing artifact to take home and retire early like my dad did. Be some kind of war hero like on the Brimstone posters.¡±

    ¡°All within the realm of possibility, I suppose. Now, if you had the magic I did, how would you do it?¡±

    ¡°Well, shit. Same kind of thing but more, I guess. There¡¯s a lot of evil in the world I could solve, a lot of problems I could fix. I honestly don¡¯t know why you¡¯re here in this dingy old warehouse instead of out there fixing the world.¡±

    Fyron gave a sad smile, stowing his pipe. ¡°You think it would be easy? Just go in, slay the evil overlord, save the world?¡±

    ¡°For you? I mean, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Tell me, who do you think would need to die to have the greatest positive effect on the world?¡±

    ¡°Man I don¡¯t know¡­ We went over some still-at-large rogue mages in one of our first sessions at Brimstone, but all of them sounded pretty nasty. I think they were trying to inspire us or something. Oh! There was this one guy who lives over in Gottlan, who took over a whole province with his summoned demons. I think his name was Axaran the Betrayer, or something.¡±

    ¡°Araxan the Betrayer?¡±

    ¡°Yeah that¡¯s the one. Apparently nobody has been able to get close to the heart of his domain for years, since he has a bunch of insta-death bubbles surrounding it.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°And you think his death would cause the most good for the world?¡±

    ¡°Probably. He used blood magic to fuel his demon summoning, and raids the surrounding provinces for more sacrifices to this day.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, okay.¡±

    Fyron closed his eyes for a second, and the air shimmered over his outstretched hand for a moment. There was a brief shimmer, then with a sudden popping sound a red, beating lump of meat appeared in his hand. Steam rose from it in the cold air, and as it beat it gushed blood onto the ground. Fyron said nothing, just looking at the hunk of flesh in his hand. His expression was neutral, as if he were examining a weed he¡¯d just plucked from the ground.

    After what felt like an eternity, as the heart slowly stopped twitching, Fyron looked to me. ¡°Well, he¡¯s dead now. Now what?¡±

    I was stunned. There was no way that was right. I didn¡¯t remember all the details of that training session, but this guy was supposed to be immortal, using dark pacts with otherworldly beings to extend his life longer than many mortal lifespans.

    ¡°What the fuck? What do you mean now what?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± he said, tossing the heart into a nearby bush and magicking away the blood on his hands and the floor. ¡°Do we stop there? Plenty of evil left in the world, and we have a few more minutes before we should get back inside.¡±

    ¡°I-¡± I wasn¡¯t able to process all this at all. This was too surreal, too unbelievable. ¡°I don¡¯t know, that seems¡­ wrong. Shouldn¡¯t there be a big quest, some kind of honour or something?¡±

    Fyron smiled, pulling his pipe back out of his pocket. ¡°There¡¯s no honour in killing. You should know that. As you can see, given a long lunch break I could take out the rest of the terrible people on that list you heard about. Probably a bunch of worse ones you don¡¯t have clearance to know about yet. But why stop there? There are plenty of terrible people in the world. Killers, slavers, rapists. Shouldn¡¯t I get them too while I¡¯m at it? What about other criminals? Crooked lawmakers? Schoolyard bullies?  When killing is easy, it loses all meaning. Honour in combat is simply the bravery to enter a fight when there¡¯s risk it might not work out in your favour. If I dedicated myself to your goal of fighting evil, the only wicked one left standing on a mountain of corpses would be me, and you don¡¯t strike me as the tyrant type.¡±

    I thought about his words. He made a lot of sense, but I¡¯m not sure if I agreed. With his power, there was so much good he could do in this world. He could end the war with the Elves, he could make crops flourish, could bring riches to the poor. Why was he wasting his time with us in some run-down industrial complex? I had so many questions, but before I could ask them Fyron stood up and dusted off his brown robes. Not a speck of blood remained.

    ¡°Shall we? The scary stuff is out of the way now. Of course, you¡¯re free to leave any time you like. I won¡¯t force you to stay here.¡± he said.

    Part of me still thought running away was the smartest thing I could ever do, but at the same time I wasn¡¯t ready to give in yet. I was less sure than ever why I still wanted to learn this terrifying kind of power, but one thing was crystal clear: I could never ever get on Fyron¡¯s bad side.

    We headed back inside, Fyron closing the door behind us. Medea and Arryn seemed to have been talking, but stopped their conversation as we came in. Arryn came over to see how I was doing, but Medea was fixing Fyron with an icy stare. I don¡¯t know how she had the balls, knowing what he can do.

    ¡°Now then, I hope we¡¯re all feeling a bit more settled. Where was I¡­?¡± spoke our mentor, walking over to the diagram on the floor. ¡°Ah yes, the final piece of the puzzle - the Universe. A bit of an ambiguous term, I¡¯m sure the elves would say something like the ¡®Laws of Nature¡¯ and the dwarves would name it some god or another, but for simplicity¡¯s sake I just call it the Universe.¡±

    He tapped the circle that surrounded the triangle of Mind, Matter, and Mana. ¡°As I said, spells often want to complete themselves. The opposing force to that is the Universe, who wishes to keep everything the same or ¡®normal¡¯ as possible. You may wonder why no mage has ever rewrote history, or permanently changed the laws of physics. These things change the functioning of the world in such a way that it is intolerable for the Universe, and logistically impossible. The mana required for such feats increases exponentially, to the point where there isn¡¯t enough on the planet to do such a thing. That¡¯s how the Universe tries to get its way, by upping the costs of your spells if they change things around too much. You can think of mana as a sort of bribe to make it look the other way for a while.¡±

    ¡°What happened to not personifying magic?¡± asked Medea, arms crossed.

    ¡°Yes, well, sometimes it helps paint a clearer picture.¡± he replied.

    ¡°Do you think you could give us a practical example? All of this talk is going over my head a bit.¡± said Arryn.

    ¡°Ah, wonderful idea.¡± Fyron beamed, picking up a stone from the ground. ¡°Take a Shape Stone spell, like Mr. Tarlow is so familiar with.¡±

    Arryn sighed. ¡°Don¡¯t remind me¡­¡±

    ¡°If I were to quickly shape this stone¡­¡± Fyron said, and the stone burst into pieces for a second before reforming into a small statuette of a bird. ¡°The Universe was upset for just a moment, and the result is something that could feasibly exist in the world, so there¡¯s no continued cost to keep it there. The bribe in this case is very small.¡±

    Arryn looked thoughtful. ¡°Hmm, that spell is one of our most popular because of its ease of use. Practically every construction company in the city teaches it to their employees.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡± replied Fyron. ¡°But if I were to make it float¡­¡± the stone bird started orbiting around Fyron¡¯s head.

    ¡°The change to the normality of the universe is more drawn out so it costs more, is that right?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Exactly. Now, if I were to do this¡­¡± Suddenly, the stone bird grew tenfold, and brilliant orange-red plumes of fire sprouted from the stone like feathers. It let out a screech, and encircled Fyron like it was protecting him. His robes didn¡¯t seem to catch fire, despite the shimmering heat surrounding them.

    ¡°I get it.¡± said Medea. ¡°Greater changes, making something that doesn¡¯t exist, so more cost, right?¡±

    ¡°Correct again Miss. Baninyet. So, how do you think we can mitigate this cost?¡±

    Medea thought for a moment, one of her floating gauntlets coming up to rest on her chin. ¡°Wait, runes?¡±

    ¡°Close! Runes work on precedent, which is the real ticket. Even if it is violating the usual rules of normalcy, if a rule is broken so often, the bribe needed to appease the Universe gets less and less. It¡¯s always cheaper to cast a spell that everyone knows than one you¡¯ve made from scratch. Tricks like this to manage mana usage are vital if you want to make it as a Free Mage. Taking all of this together¡­¡±

    Fyron walked to the center of the diagram now, pointing to different parts as he spoke.  ¡°Mana is the main challenge when casting spells. The costs can be reduced by following precedent and influencing Matter instead of bringing things into creation through pure will, and throughout this you need to have a clear Mind and not rely on the spell to take too much control over you or the product of the spell.¡±

    ¡°Agh, this is a lot. I feel like I need to unlearn everything I was taught in school.¡± I said, pinching the bridge of my nose¡±

    ¡°Perhaps that¡¯s a good place to leave things today. Until tomorrow, go home and try to shape a rock into something like I did. But¡­ don¡¯t go trying to make giant fire birds yet, please.¡± warned Fyron, and we all sighed in relief and went to gather our things.

    Fyron was the first to leave, and I was about to head home too before a metal hand grabbed his arm. He turned around to see Arryn grabbed in the same way.

    ¡°We¡¯re going for drinks.¡± she said, with and expression that told me I didn¡¯t get a say in the matter. ¡°I know a place.¡±

 10: Succor

    Arryn

    Medea led Wyll and I out of the industrial district and into the commercial district through a series of back alleys and shortcuts that I would either avoid for fear of being mugged or had no idea were there in the first place. I¡¯d tried to make excuses about going home to feed my cat or pick up a package, but she didn¡¯t buy it. When I tried to sneak off, a metal hand grabbed my tie and dragged me along. I eventually gave up resisting, and followed her to a restaurant on the western edge of the city. The place was called ¡°The Firesong Bar & Grill¡±, and frankly looked a bit like a dump. The faded sign depicted a cartoon dragon breathing fire onto some steaks and it was painted, of all things. It was almost hard to spot the place without an illusory hologram advertising it. Wyll seemed to have perked up since his outburst during the lesson, and was now looking over the tattered paper menu posted on the front window.

    ¡°No way, they sell Kraken meat here?!¡± he exclaimed, pointing out a section of the menu where ¡°Kraken Kalimari¡± was written in faded ink.

    ¡°No, they don¡¯t. That¡¯s just squid and deceptive advertising.¡± replied Medea, who sent her flying gauntlets to open the doors for her. ¡°Tastes good though. Kraken is too tough.¡±

    The inside of the restaurant was admittedly nicer than the outside. A handful of round tables took up most of the floor, each with a warm magelight floating above them. A long, L-shaped bar took up the entire left wall, and stood behind it was a burly-looking dwarf wearing an apron with the cartoon dragon emblazoned on the front. He was putting some bottles on the set of backlit shelves behind the bar, and balanced precariously on a stepladder. I hadn¡¯t met many dwarves before but this one was just a mass of muscle and hair, wider than he was tall. His bald head was tattooed with some kind of geometric tribal pattern, and his long orange beard was stuffed into a hairnet. His arm hair too, by the looks of it.

    Aside from the burly bartender, the place was empty. It was just before midnight, usually peak mealtimes, but the place was completely dead. Maybe they only catered to dwarves - they went to bed as soon as it got dark, which seems pretty inconvenient if you asked me. Medea didn¡¯t wait to be seated, instead striding across to the bar and sending her gauntlets out to pour her a drink of some kind of alcohol that smelled like a chemical spill.

    ¡°If you didn¡¯t tip so well I¡¯d ban you for that.¡± Grumbled the dwarf. His deep baritone voice was slightly muffled by the hair net over his face.

    ¡°Oh quiet, you. It¡¯s been a day.¡± grumbled Medea back, finishing her drink before sending it to a sink behind the bar, where the gauntlets began washing the glass.

    The bartender turned around, giving a curious glance to Wyll and I, who had just been hovering awkwardly.

    ¡°Oh yeah, these are some new friends of mine. Arryn, Wyll, this is Pips.¡±

    ¡°Pleasure,¡± said Wyll, a bit stiff.

    ¡°Is it now?¡± said Pip. ¡°I suppose you¡¯ll be wanting a private booth?¡±

    ¡°Aye, the full works if you could.¡±

    Pip gave us another look, as if seeing us differently. He grunted an affirmative to Medea, then hopped off his stepladder and made his way around the counter. While his back was turned, Medea sent her hands to grab three large bottles of booze from the shelf and pass one each to me and Wyll, then taking one for herself. I gave Wyll a look, and he shrugged and followed behind her.

    We were taken through a bead curtain over a doorway at the back of the restaurant, with dimmer lighting and a more dignified decor. The cartoon dragon was nowhere to be seen, instead the walls were lined with sectioned off booths with candle lighting instead of the harsher magelights. I assume this is more for special occasions and dates, and part of me was glad it wasn¡¯t just me and Medea here.

    Pip pulled some menus from his apron and placed them on the table. Curiously, he placed them with some careful consideration in a seemingly random location, adjusting the angle ever so slightly before seemingly being satisfied with the placement. I was about to ask why when as the last menu was placed my ears popped and I felt the static-like feeling of a ward springing up. Medea sat down in the booth and gestured for us to sit too. She spoke too, but no sound came from her mouth before I stepped into the booth.

    ¡°-reful you don¡¯t knock the menus.¡±

    Pip quickly excused himself, leaving the three of us alone in the warded booth. Medea didn¡¯t say anything, instead producing three small glasses and pouring out some drinks.

    ¡°I¡¯m guessing by all the extra security we aren¡¯t just here for the Kraken Kalimari.¡± I said, taking one of the glasses. I noticed it fizzed slightly, but the bubbles glowed faintly pink as they popped. Was this carbonated using ether?

    ¡°No. We need to talk without him there.¡± said Medea. ¡°I want to know who you are, how you know him, what you know about him¡­ We need to know what we¡¯re dealing with here.¡±

    Wyll took an investigatory sip of the drink, and his face scrunched up like he¡¯d bitten a lemon. ¡°What¡¯s the alcohol for then?¡±

    Medea took an unflinching sip from her glass. ¡°As I said, it¡¯s been a long day.¡±

    ---

    An hour or two later and three bottles in, we had exhausted everything we could think of about our mysterious benefactor. I was struggling to remember what was said, as the room had begun to spin about two bottles ago. Medea, for all her bravado, was looking fairly rough too. Her long white hair spilled out over the table as she rested her forehead on a gauntlet, which slowly dipped in the air before pushing back up again. Wyll was managing the best out of the three of us, possibly sobered up by the giant plate of Kalamari and garlic mayo dip he was devouring.

    ¡°So, uh. We know knowth- nothing.¡± mumbled Medea, lifting her head to peer down the neck of one of the bottles and scowling when she found it empty. ¡°Bloody shit all except he can yank yer heart out from the other side of fuggin Adleth. Good to know. Gooood toooo knoooow¡­.¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you thought I was working with him.¡± I said, taking care not to slur my words.

    ¡°Mmph, I just said you might¡¯ve.¡± said Wyll, wiping his hands with a paper napkin. ¡°We didn¡¯t know each other at all. Still don¡¯t, really.¡±

    Medea snorted. ¡°Arryn din¡¯t even know that Elves shake hands.¡±

    ¡°I was trying to be polite! I don¡¯t know! Sorry if I made it awkward¡­¡±

    ¡°Pssh.¡± she waved him away with a gauntlet. ¡°I¡¯m barely an elf. If I¡¯ve been to the ol¡¯ red woods I don¡¯t remember it.¡±

    ¡°Ah, were you born here?¡± asked Wyll

    ¡°Maybe. I ¡®unno. Ani found me when I was like, five or something. Who knows before then.¡±

    ¡°And¡­¡± I thought carefully about what I was going to say next. ¡°How long ago was that?¡±

    Medea looked confused for a second, then burst into laughter. She laughed so loud that I was sure the wards wouldn¡¯t dampen it, and continued to do so for a good minute. Eventually, she managed to wipe the tears from her eyes and gasp out ¡°Do ya- do you think Elves live millenia?¡±

    My face flushed red. ¡°I, um, I thought-¡± whatever words of defence I was trying to scrabble together only set her off laughing again. It was infectious, and soon Wyll and I were in hysterics too.

    ¡°Heh, sorry. I¡¯ve had a pretty sheltered life I guess.¡± I said.

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s a daily common misunderstanding I suppose.¡± Wyll spoke like he was reciting a lecture. ¡°Elves¡¯ appearance stays the same as they get old, and their healing magic is world famous, so I guess that¡¯s where the idea of them living forever comes from.¡±

    ¡°Hah, enjoy getting all grey and wrinkly, losers. I¡¯m gonna be hot forever. Well, another like 60 years or something, unless this Wild Magic stuff is even better than I thought.¡±

    ¡°Is this stuff common knowledge? I¡¯m surprised you know so much about it, Wyll.¡± I observed.

    ¡°Ah, well..¡± Wyll looked a bit embarrassed. ¡°It¡¯s part of basic training at Brimstone. For uh, dealing with the natives in the war. Also a bit of personal research recently, as I was reading up on Elven medical magic to see if I could heal my burn scars.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, I wonder why that hasn¡¯t spread outside the Woods. I figured Brimstone would be dying to get their hands on that kind of info.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not that simple. Elven medicinal spells use a lot of blood magic. To heal these burns, I¡¯d have to practically bathe in the stuff. Not really battlefield applicable.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, I think you might know more about my people than I do.¡± chimed in Medea, sending a hand to steal a squid ring from Wyll¡¯s plate. ¡°Anything in that book of yours about growing arms back?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I thought that if anything you would know about that¡­¡± Wyll looked quite uncomfortable talking now. ¡°As I said, one of the reasons that this kind of stuff hasn¡¯t spread is that it¡¯s a bit¡­ extreme. For regrowing limbs you¡¯d need to graft on a limb from someone else. Usually an infant, which can be grown to match your other arm perfectly. I was wondering if that was¡­¡±

    I glanced over at where Medea¡¯s arms should be. The stumps cut off about a third of the way down the bicep, and were uncovered, showing smooth skin and no scarring whatsoever.

    ¡°Eh, I don¡¯t really care about that stuff.¡± Medea said casually, through a mouthful of fried food. ¡°I reckon I¡¯m pretty fine without em. Bet with your crappy flesh arms you can¡¯t steal booze half as well.¡±

    To punctuate her point, she floated the last half-full bottle up to her lips and took a swig. She went to give Wyll a smug look, then stopped. Wyll and I stared at her, mouths agape.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter with yas?¡±

    ¡°Medea, look at that bottle again.¡±

    She turned to look, and stared in shock. The bottle was floating, sure, but her gauntlets were still resting on the table. As if spooked by the attention, it dropped from the air and poured all over the table, filling the booth with the eye-watering smell of alcohol.

    ¡°Aw shit, but oh shit! I did it!¡±

    ¡°Did you really do that without even thinking about it?¡± I said, reaching for some napkins.

    ¡°I ¡®unno. I just did it. Maybe the drink helps you forget to doubt it, or something.¡±

    ¡°Try levitating some more stuff.¡±

    Medea looked around the booth for targets to practice on, and her eyes found the remainder of Wyll¡¯s food. With no sign of effort or movement, the rings of fried batter began floating up one by one, gently spinning in the air.

    ¡°No way. It¡¯s that easy?¡± Wyll gasped.

    ¡°It¡¯s just like moving my hands, but less¡­ flexible. Muscle memory, y¡¯know. Ooh, wait, lemme try something.¡±

    Most of the rings dropped down to the table, landing right in the liquid I was trying to mop up, except for one that floated right in front of Medea¡¯s face. Suddenly, it split into three equal segments. Just like Fyron¡¯s phony artifact. Then, they compressed together so tightly the grease was squeezed out in drops. Wyll and I watched in awe. I was a little disappointed, privately. For a while there I had been the only one of the three of us to succeed with this new kind of magic, and now Medea has gone and completely outdone me.

    ¡°Man, I really have to step my game up. I can actually do magic, and you two have already overtaken me.¡± said Wyll, poking the compressed ball of food in the air. It didn¡¯t budge.

    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s the issue. You have to relearn how stuff feels.¡± I guessed.

    ¡°Yeah, maybe. Fyron must have picked us for a reason.¡±

    ¡°That is curious, actually. Why did he pick us? For that matter, why the time that he did? I don¡¯t know about you, but had he shown up much later I, uh, wouldn¡¯t have been able to make it.¡± I said sheepishly.

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t want to pry, but yeah, he caught me at a suspiciously good time too. What about you, Medea?¡±

    We turned from our conversation to see Medea slumped back in her seat, mouth open and snoring softly. Several balls of compressed Kraken Kalimari gently bobbed around her head.

    ¡°Might be time to call it a night.¡± Wyll sighed.

    ¡°Yeah, maybe. But, uh, this was fun. I¡¯ve not hung out with people like this before.¡±

    Wyll smiled. ¡°Well, we¡¯re in this shit together now, for better or worse. I¡¯m sure there¡¯ll be more ¡®strategy meetings¡¯ again soon.¡±

    We woke Medea up, and were thanked by compressed food pellets pelting us as soon as she woke up. A few attempts later, we left the restaurant. Medea apparently lived behind a Well of Wonders Emporium nearby, so Wyll and I decided to walk her home. Despite her intoxication, Medea stumbled through the same complex back alleys and side streets without any sign of getting lost, so we trusted her to lead the way.

    We¡¯d almost made it back to the main street, when our path was blocked by a towering bald man with some kind of symbol tattooed on his forehead. His arm glowed with fiery orange cracks and dripped molten rock onto the ground, and he was staring daggers straight at Medea.

    ¡°Sorry to interrupt yas like this.¡± he growled ¡°But I believe we have some unfinished business.¡±

    I barely had a moment to register what had happened before I heard a quick chant coming from an adjacent alleyway and cold blackness swept over me.

 11: Surrender

    Medea

    Though the long walk home had done much to clear my head, the effects of PIp¡¯s special-brew Sunshine Moonshine were still very much felt in my system. My vision was unfocused, if no longer blurry, and the ground gently swayed beneath my feet like the deck of a ship at sea.

    But I was a fighter, and the second I heard chanting behind me and saw Arryn hit the floor, bouncing his head on the pavement, I sprung into action. The light from Volcano¡¯s magma arm only faintly illuminated the shadowed alleyway, but I could see at least three other assailants lurking behind us, down a side street near Arryn¡¯s unconscious form, and one on the rooftop above us.

    Volcano started lumbering forward into a run, his arm seeping molten rock as he built up speed. He wasn¡¯t my biggest priority right now. I exerted my will, sending Lefty and Righty in opposite directions. Righty flew towards Arryn, impacting the man standing over him in the face with a punch hard enough to violate mage boxing regulations. Fortunately, I didn¡¯t see a judge here. Lefty flew up at the same time, grabbing the man on the rooftop by the collar of his shirt and pulling him off his perch. He bounced as he hit the ground.

    Wyll was fairly quick to react too. I suppose all that training wasn¡¯t for nothing. He charged the man in the back, and I trusted him to deal with that as I turned my attention to Volcano. My hands weren¡¯t able to get back to me in time, so I had to dive out of the way to dodge the stream of searing hot lava that blasted past me. The heat was intense, and I smelled the acrid scent of burnt hair. That was too close. My dive was less graceful than I¡¯d hoped, as the swaying of the ground meant that instead of tucking into a tight roll I sprawled into some bags of refuse that had accumulated near a dumpster in the alley. Volcano, with apparently some exertion, turned the stream towards me as I was trying to get back to my feet, and Righty arrived just in time to knock his arm off trajectory. The flow of lava missed me by an inch, and the accumulated heat left me coated in sweat.

    The man I¡¯d pulled from the roof was beginning to stir, and the one I¡¯d punched in the face was spitting out teeth and glaring at me with absolute fury. Shit. At least I hadn¡¯t killed them but it confirmed my suspicion that they had some kind of physical buff pre-cast. They¡¯d planned for me. I looked to Wyll for backup and to my dismay found him completely bound in a large golden python, that shimmered with dappled light that flowed up its body to it¡¯d many-eyed head, that was hissing in Wyll¡¯s face as he struggled to get free. The mage he was fighting had a wrist mounted wand aimed in my direction, which glowed with a harsh pink light as he chanted something.

    I acted before I could think about what I was doing, and ducked around Vocano to put him between me and the incoming spell. The hulking man provided good cover, but tried to smack me away with his non-molten hand. His backswing was met with Lefty, and this time I didn¡¯t hold back. I squeezed,  and heard the crunch of bones as he screamed. I didn¡¯t let him rest, following with a kidney punch with Righty and a swift kick up between his legs. Lets see his buffs protect against that. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Maybe it was the booze that hindered my judgement, but I quickly realised that my cover had crumpled to the floor. Volcano curled up into a ball while trying not to fall on his burning limb, and I was rewarded for my victory by three darts of mana whizzing past me fast enough to crack the mortar of the wall behind me. I sent one of my hands after the other mage before he could fire more shots, but Righty was smashed out of the air by the assailant who took down Arryn. He had some kind of bat that was speckled with shoddy runework. I didn¡¯t have the benefit of time to figure out what they did, but judging by the way the force of his swing almost cracked Righty in half, it was almost certainly a force enhancement. A hit from that would be instant death. Righty clattered to the ground with a wave of sparks, and would no longer move as I willed it. I sent in Lefty to grab his ankle and trip him up, but he kicked it and sent it flying away down the alley. Okay, so, maybe those runes were more for reinforcement and he just has some potent strength buff instead. Noted.

    The good news was that the man I¡¯d pulled from the roof had slumped back down again, and Volcano didn¡¯t look like he¡¯d be fighting shape for another minute or two. The bad news was I was completely unarmed against the two remaining attackers. The one with the bat leaped into the air for a magic-enhanced overhead swing, and the one in the back had at least seven of those magical darts aimed in my direction.

    My back was against the wall, both metaphorically and literally. I couldn¡¯t outrun the darts, couldn¡¯t overpower the bat wielder. My mind raced for options when I remembered floating the bottle just an hour ago. The buff user was descending fast, so I reached out and grabbed the first thing I could see, picturing moving it as if I had gone through the same excruciating process of binding the gauntlets to my mind. I felt the connection there in some imperceptible way, and willed it to move as I had done so many times before.

    The dumpster hit with the power of a meteor, and crashed into the man falling on me so hard I saw his reinforced bat break into splinters. There was the screech of crumpling metal as it pushed further, crumpling against the wall like an empty can with him beneath it. The impact had embedded the dumpster in the wall, fifteen feet above my head.

    I barely had enough time to celebrate before I felt a hard thud in my thigh. It was like being punched, but looking down I could see blood leaking out of a hole that faintly shimmered with pink ether. My injured leg gave out under me, and that helped me avoid the barrage of the other darts, only one other grazing my neck. As I hit the floor, the pain finally hit me in a nauseating wave. I could make out Arryn holding his head and stumbling to help me. I hadn¡¯t even seen him get up again. He slumped down next to me and said something I couldn¡¯t hear over the thumping in my ears, but I did see another bolt flying towards his back, longer like a javelin instead of a dart. I acted on instinct again, and threw Arryn out of the way with my newfound magic. I took care not to treat him as roughly as I had the dumpster, and to thank my good deed the javelin of forged mana embedded itself in my shoulder and pinned me to the ground.

    The pain was excruciating, and to make matters worse Volcano had pulled himself together, standing over me with rage in his eyes and his ruined hand hanging limply by his side. His other one, now billowing smoke, was raised above me poised to strike.

    ¡°You shoulda taken the loss, sweetheart.¡± he said with a wicked smile. ¡°Alabaster sends his regards.¡±

    "Fuck you." I spat.

    He yelled and swung his hand down, but before it could make contact I heard Wyll scream, and the world went white.

 11.5: Screaming

    Wyll

    The scream came from inside and outside. Outsides out, insides in. The world spun and deformed around me, blistering and splitting and tearing and screaming. I didn¡¯t want to feel pain, I didn¡¯t want them to inflict it. The answer was so simple, like the falling of a stone. Common sense. Insides out, out, out. I was falling and flying and the world revolved with me at the center but at the same time was spinning so fast I was about to be thrown off, outside.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    Golden eyes told me the truth of the world but he was wrong. This was the only truth - whirling, spinning, twisting, tearing chaos. I was safe in the eye of the storm. No-one could hurt me here. I tried to think of the ones I called friends, but in the twisting tempest all was a blur, except me.

    I felt the mana flow through me like knives. I felt the essence of it in the vortex, spiralling into me. I was a drain. I was the storm. It all comes back to me. It all comes back to this. It all comes back to this.

 12: Cinders

    Fyron

    There was no noise from the blast, just whirling chaos and a gentle hush like shifting sands. The main market street just a few meters away probably wouldn¡¯t notice anything unless they got on a broom and flew overhead, but Fyron had taken measures to avoid interruptions. The wards, if they still even were classed as such, were only perceptible by the slight shimmer in the air that you would only notice if you paid attention to the stars or the pieces of the moon. Nothing the Three could detect right now, anyway.

    Tonight was important. It was vital there were no interruptions.

    From his spot near the edge of the blast radius, Fyron could see everything. He needn¡¯t have come in person, but there was something sentimental about being here in person with his students as they go through this ordeal. They couldn¡¯t know he was there of course, and young Medea was so perceptive even while intoxicated that he had to triple check his shroud to confirm he was still imperceptible while she scanned the area for the rest of the attackers.

    He had almost intervened when he learned of Miko Alabaster¡¯s plot to take Medea out before the finals, especially so when he realised that Wyll and Arryn would be wrapped up in it too, but then he recalled his first real taste of True Magic, and how unpleasant that was for him as well. At least this time their mentor was watching over the events to make sure that it didn¡¯t get too out of hand. No, tonight went fairly swimmingly with only a few little snags.

    The blast zone below him was a perfect circle, the buildings carved out with an interior lined with black glass that still glowed faintly orange with heat and crackled with arcs of lightning. The center of the radius was the exact spot where Wyll was standing, which was remarkably untouched. Fyron noted a piece of wet newspaper underneath Wyll¡¯s unconscious form that wasn¡¯t even ruffled by the maelstrom around it. Gently falling around the area was a faint red mist that coalesced on the glass and trickled in streams towards Wyll, pooling around him. The remains of Alabaster¡¯s thugs, presumably. As the crimson liquid pooled around his mouth, Wyll started to cough and splutter. Fyron would have to get him out of here soon to mitigate the emotional fallout.

    There was only one other part of the radius untouched by the working - another perfect circle, but this time around his other two students. They were piled in a heap, with Arryn protecting Medea with his body. Another surprise from the night. It was clear as day that Medea would end up a telekine, though he was impressed with her strength and flexibility with it. Arryn, however, didn''t see it coming. He knew he harboured doubts on his capabilities to do magic at all, but to be able to instinctively deny all effects of magic entirely? A dangerous gift, if he used it right.

    Unfortunately that meant that even Fyron would struggle to get them out of there. Even while unconscious, Arryn was maintaining a very small zone of antimagic around him and Medea. He could see the blood that trickled towards the center in streams now was curving around the pair, and the falling mist parted in the air showing visually the small dome around them. Experimentally, he tried to send them back home, but the spell didn¡¯t even come close to connecting. Fascinating.

    Wyll however, was now trying to sit up to cough out the mouthful of blood he¡¯d accumulated. He¡¯d push far too far, too soon, and was surely suffering the worst of mana sickness and mental distortions right now. He would need to be quarantined for a while. Fyron went to send him away, and noticed something strange. Though Wyll certainly had the dazed and confused look of someone who let the Universe completely dictate the outcome of a spell (to great effect, Fyron had to admit), he didn¡¯t display any signs of his mana reserves being overtaxed. His skin wasn¡¯t pale, his hands weren¡¯t shaking, and although he looked dazed he didn¡¯t look like he had much issue with pushing himself up to look around.

    Fyron was sure when he chose his students they all had middling natural mana reserves, and for a spell like Wyll¡¯s¡­ Fyron used a quick spell to scan the environment, and saw mana in only one place: Wyll. Arryn created a void in Fyron¡¯s perception, but it was clear that in the process of casting his spell, Wyll had used up every possible source of mana in the vicinity. There wasn¡¯t so much of a wisp in the air, besides what had started to diffuse back in. Even the blood was lifeless, devoid of magic. Did he draw mana out of the assailants in the casting of his spell? He hadn¡¯t even been taught that yet. Clever lad.

    Medea was beginning to stir now too, wincing in pain as she tried to push Arryn off her and seemed to remember her gauntlets had been destroyed. Wyll still looked like he hadn¡¯t grasped his situation yet, so Fyron quickly teleported him to the house in Gottlan. He¡¯d be safe there. Better than that, there wasn¡¯t another soul for miles just in case the mental strain was worse than he thought. Unable to help Arryn and Medea, he simply sat and watched them for a while.

    It took another few minutes of wriggling, shouting, and kneeing Arryn in the side for Medea to wake him up. As he did it was like a bubble popped around him and the mist in the air, now far thinner, sprayed them in red. They both sat up spitting and wiping their eyes. Fyron couldn¡¯t hear them talking from up here. He could, if he chose to, but he liked to respect his student¡¯s privacy where possible. After a few tense words between the two below him, Medea tried to stand up and yelled in pain from her wounded leg. Arryn bent down and picked her up, and they left as quickly as they could towards Medea¡¯s home. Fyron let them leave, taking down the wards before they passed through them.

    In a while, someone on the main street would see the two, wounded, blood coated individuals and let the Peacekeepers know, but they didn¡¯t have far to go.

    A woman¡¯s voice spoke from behind Fyron. ¡°So, these are your students?¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Fyron turned to smile at Sasha. Her dark green hair blew in the wind, tied back with a headscarf, getting caught on the large curved sword strapped to her back and tangled in the ribbons tied to the handle. Her thumbs were hooked around the twin daggers at her belt, and her multitude of silver piercings glinted in the moonlights as she surveyed the scene with a grim expression.

    ¡°Indeed they are. Making huge progress, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± Fyron pulled out his favourite pipe, and then a second one which he offered to Sasha. She took it, and sat on the edge of the rooftop next to him. He went to light them before realising that she already had without him noticing.

    Sasha took a long, thoughtful draw of her pipe. ¡°I¡¯m a bit concerned that you¡¯re moving things too quickly. The DAA are playing nice as long as we do, but something like this? Might accelerate things.¡±

    Fyron gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. ¡°Worry not, I have a feeling our friends at Brimstone might actually help our case here.¡±

    Sasha spat. ¡°Psh, Brimstone. When have they ever been good for something?¡±

    ¡°Well, rumor has it they¡¯ll be making a move against Olivia soon. That¡¯s not an opportunity we can waste.¡±

    Fyron nodded down towards the street level. Two Peacekeepers were there, in their shiny glowing armour. Fyron wondered if in another life he would be standing there now instead of sitting up here. He and Sasha watched in silence, smoking their pipes, as dozens of peacekeepers descended on the area. They blocked off the streets three blocks in every direction, and broom mounted peacekeepers patrolled the skies. None of which were able to spot the two Wild Mages sat right under their noses.

    Sasha nodded towards someone making their way through the blockade. ¡°There¡¯s something interesting¡­¡±

    The woman walked with authority and purpose, her wavy hair tied in a tight ponytail that bobbed as she shouted orders to the Peacekeepers, who cringed and quickly moved out of her way. Her black and orange uniform was pristine, and she wielded a pen and clipboard like a sword and shield. Samantha Darter. Wyll¡¯s sister. That complicated things.

    Fyron had known that Wyll¡¯s entire family was related to Brimstone. He had wanted a student from each of the Big Three, that was one of his criteria for picking them. He had however neglected to do much research into what exactly they did. He knew his father had made his fortune raiding Elven Artifact vaults, and his mother was a renowned socialite in the city¡¯s upper class, but he hadn¡¯t looked into Samantha. A rare mistake.

    The way that she was bossing around the Peacekeepers, she must be fairly high up the ladder for someone in their mid-20s. The Peacekeepers weren¡¯t officially beholden to Brimstone, but considering their funding, training, equipment, and recruitment was dependent on them they may as well be. Each Peacekeeper knew that it would take one message from someone up in the ranks at Brimstone to end their whole career. No fancy enchantments on your platemail can protect you from that.

    Samantha stopped at the edge of the blast radius, where the stone floor of the street sloped down into black glass. She put on a set of gaudy spectacles that flashed with different kinds of mana, and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves before inspecting the scene. For each observation she scribbled something furiously down on her clipboard, and eventually was brave enough to start making her way inside the radius. She spent the most time writing while looking at the two untouched islands in the destruction where Fyron¡¯s students had been, and after a while rushed back out the way she came while pulling out some kind of device to send a message.

    Fyron may respect his students'' privacy, but that didn¡¯t extend to their families. Especially not when they were apparently Brimstone executives. He linked the mana in the device to his own hearing, waving away the various anti-listening wards, alarm glyphs, and misleading elements meant to throw him off. As a courtesy, he went to let Sasha listen before realising she¡¯d already done the same.

    ¡°Mister Grey. It¡¯s Samantha.¡± she said.

    ¡°Who?¡± replied a gruff man¡¯s voice. Polas Grey - Fyron would recognise that voice anywhere.

    ¡°..Your assistant, ser. You gave me this secure line and asked me to check in on the incident near the upper-west side branch.¡±

    ¡°Yes, of course. What do you have to report?¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like anything we have on record. The place is almost a complete mana dead-zone. It was coated in the biological material of several humans, and the structural damage is equivalent to certain higher-level spells that we don¡¯t allow the public to purchase. Our official records show that there are only seven people on our list capable of dealing that kind of damage, but one one of them recently died under mysterious circumstances in western Gottlan.¡±

    ¡°Listen, I know it wasn¡¯t Araxan the Betrayer. He never left his little domain anyway. My time isn¡¯t cheap, so just skip to your conclusion.¡±

    ¡°Ser, I think we might be dealing with a Wild Mage.¡± Samantha said, trying and failing to keep the fear out of her voice.

    Fyron could hear Grey go quiet for a moment, then Barked out a laugh. ¡°Hah! Interesting! This could work in our favour. Samantha, was it?¡±

    Samantha beamed, but kept her voice professional. ¡°Yes, ser.¡±

    ¡°Report to Memory Storage.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t want me to wipe my memory?¡±

    ¡°Not permanently. Just until you sign in to work tomorrow.  I¡¯m going to assign you this case, so find me this Wild Mage!¡±

    ¡°Yes sir!¡±

    The call ended, and Samantha did a little fist pump before regaining her composure and continuing down the street.

    Sasha tipped out the ash from her pipe. ¡°Want me to kill her?¡±

    Fyron shook his head. ¡°No, that might complicate things. I¡¯ll keep an eye on their investigation. For now I need to see how Wyll is doing. Would you like to meet him?¡±

    Sasha handed back the pipe. ¡°Nah, but soon I¡¯ll stop by your cute little schoolhouse by the river. I have to go check in on the DAA¡¯s progress. Wish me luck.¡±

    ¡°Heh, you don¡¯t need it.¡±

    Sasha vanished, leaving Fyron alone on the rooftop. He sighed, and stood up, before teleporting himself to the cottage in the Gottlan hills. He on

 13: Summons

    Arryn

    I awoke in some kind of workshop, my head pounding and little memory of the night before. I recalled some kind of fight and¡­

    I sat up suddenly, and looked around. The memories came rushing back to me all at once. Getting ambushed by those thugs, Wyll¡­ exploding? Then a blur of trying to get a wounded and bleeding Medea back to her home. I looked around the room, and noticed an elven woman who wasn¡¯t Medea standing by a kitchenette, humming as she poured three cups of coffee. She was tall and muscular, wearing a set of overalls and a tool belt. Aside from the pointed ears, they really looked nothing alike. She picked up one of the mugs and started walking over to me, then noticed I was awake.

    ¡°Oh! He lives. You must be Arryn.¡± she said, setting the steaming mug down on a side table next to the beat-up sofa I¡¯d apparently been sleeping on. How long have I been here? There were no windows in this place, just the warm glow of a furnace near the center of the room and various tablets and tools that glowed with different runes.

    ¡°Uh, yeah. Are you Aniya?¡± I said, my voice croakier than I¡¯d expected.

    She smiled ¡°Aw, she talks about me? Yes, I am. Nice to meet you¡±. Aniya went back to the small kitchen to grab her mug and sat down next to me. ¡°You¡¯re terrible at first-aid, by the way.¡±

    ¡°...I didn¡¯t really know what I was doing, to be honest. There was a lot of blood.¡± The memory was a frantic one. I remember rummaging through cupboards to find anything I could as makeshift bandages or a tourniquet. I think I ended up using some kind of towel, but my head was pounding so hard I could barely think straight.

    ¡°Hm.¡± She gave a disapproving note. ¡°I am very curious about what happened. Medea gave me bits and pieces, but she has a habit of downplaying things.¡±

    Crap, what had Medea told her? I didn¡¯t want to share anything about Wild Magic or Wyll¡­ ¡°It was a bit of a blur. Did another person come here? A human with burn scars.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, nope. I came in this morning to work and found you two passed out in my workshop. Is someone else hurt?¡±

    ¡°No¡­ I don¡¯t think so. Just another friend who was involved.¡± I had to hope Wyll was okay. I didn¡¯t see him after the explosion, but the spot he was standing on was strangely untouched. But could he be okay, after doing something like that? He¡¯d turned at least four people into mist. That has to be a heavy burden for someone already fearful of magic. I had to find him soon.

    Aniya looked apologetic. ¡°You look like hell. I¡¯m sorry that you went through all that. Medea is a good kid, but she often gets involved with some bad people. Made it hard for her to make friends going up, that¡¯s for-¡±

    ¡°Ani, let¡¯s not get into my childhood, yeah?¡± A voice shouted from a loft above the workshop. Medea.

    ¡°Ah, good morning! How¡¯s the potion doing?¡± replied Aniya.

    ¡°Wasteful, you should have just let it heal naturally. I was fine.¡±

    ¡°Dee, you had a hole in your shoulder and a cracked femur. You weren¡¯t fine. Were you planning on boxing like that next week? Not that I think you should be boxing anyway, but who listens to me..¡± Aniya sighed. ¡°Besides, we agreed the potion was for emergencies, and this certainly felt like one.¡±

    Medea didn¡¯t reply to that. Aniya grabbed the third cup of coffee over to me and said ¡°Be a dear, Arryn. Take this up to her majesty. I have some work that needs doing and she¡¯s probably sick of me fussing over her.¡±

    I nodded, and made my way over to the loft. The way up was a sturdy looking ladder, which was a real challenge to climb with one hand holding the mug. Reaching the top, I found the place to be¡­ surprisingly girly. There were plushies everywhere, of all different kinds of creatures from animals to monsters to some I couldn¡¯t even identify. The wooden floorboards were covered in colourful rugs, and there were some pretty strings of lights hung around the sloped ceilings. The parts that were more expected were the multitude of gadgets and gizmos also hung around the room, including some prototype gauntlets in various designs. One seemed to incorporate some kind of bladed whip, which I was sure wasn¡¯t legal for use in mage boxing. To the side of the room, in a small bed and half-buried in stuffed animals, was Medea. She was more bandaged up now than when I¡¯d last seen her, and her skin faintly glowed with a pink-ish light.

    ¡°Hey. Can you help me sit up? Don¡¯t have my hands.¡± She said.

    ¡°Uh, yeah. Sure thing.¡± I set the mug down and awkwardly put my arm under her shoulders to lift her up to a sitting position.

    ¡°Relax, I¡¯m fine. You don¡¯t have to treat me like a glass doll. The health potion Ari had stored away was a reward from an alchemist friend she did a commission for, and a damn expensive one. I feel great right now, but a bit¡­ floppy.¡±

    ¡°Do you mind if I ask what happened last night? I don¡¯t remember much after I got knocked out.¡±

    She sighed. ¡°Yeah, sorry about that. Those guys work for this gangster, Alabaster, who put a lot of money on his fighter winning the boxing match I have coming up. I think they were planning on offing me before then, or at least hurting me badly enough to not be able to fight any more.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°You¡¯ve had run-ins with these people before?¡±

    ¡°Nah, not like this. Couple vague threats but nothing so¡­ concrete. Do you know what happened to Wyll?¡±

    ¡°No, I hoped you would. I remember he screamed, and I tried to grab you and run while the other guys were distracted, but then the world just exploded.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, uh. Thanks for that, by the way.¡± she looked a bit embarrassed. ¡°I wasn¡¯t in much of a state to get out of the way. Not sure how you did it, but I think you saved my ass.¡±

    ¡°I did? I don¡¯t really remember doing anything, I just remember wanting to protect us from the blast.¡±

    ¡°I dunno, but I remember feeling real woozy all of a sudden, then the wind or whatever parted around us.¡±

    Did I do magic again? I didn¡¯t feel like it, like I had last time. I didn¡¯t really plan to do anything, it just happened.

    ¡°Oh yeah, I did some cool shit too before I got my ass beat.¡± Medea said, puffing out her chest in pride. ¡°I threw a dumpster like it was nothing. Honestly surprised at how easy it was.¡±

    ¡°Really? I must have been out for that part. I guess we really are wild mages now, huh.¡±

    ¡°Guess so. Speaking of, we need to find Wyll. I¡¯m gonna need another hour or so for my legs to start working again. I want to try and use my new telekinesis powers to get one of my prototype hands working. Hm, actually maybe I don¡¯t need to anymore¡­ I dunno, feels weird without ¡®em. I¡¯ll figure that out. Can you go check out the warehouse, see if he went there? We can meet back here at eleven and check some other places.¡±

    ¡°Eleven?¡±

    ¡°Uh, yeah. In an hour?¡±

    ¡°Shit. Fuck. I should be at work like, now.¡± I panicked.

    ¡°Really, man? Work after everything last night?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand, if I don¡¯t show up they come to get me. Horizon takes employee truancy very seriously. I could lose my apartment.¡±

    ¡°Ugh, okay. I¡¯ll look for Wyll and you get to work. I¡¯ll meet you at the usual spot tonight.¡±

    I hurriedly made my way towards the ladder and stopped at the top. ¡°Feel better soon, yeah?¡±

    A plush chimera flew towards my head on its own. ¡°Get going!¡± yelled Medea.

    I gave a hurried thanks to Aniya before I left, who was piling up ingots of some kind of bluish metal, and burst out the front door. The sun was high in the sky, and I was standing in some kind of run-down side street next to a Well of Wonders Emporium. The city was starting to wake up, and there were commuters making their way down the street on foot and others zipping between buildings on brooms. A large golem stood outside of the Emporium, advertising their newest evoker - some kind of Y-shaped staff that looked like an oversized slingshot with a lens instead of a rubber band.

    I tried to figure out where the closest Horizon branch was, when I noticed two people coming my way. They were wearing matching spotless white uniforms, with white gloves, white shoes, and a white flat cap. Each had a long evoker hanging from their belt, in a contrasting bright red. There was a man and a woman, and as the woman began to speak the man blocked my path.

    ¡°Good morning Mr. Tarlow. We¡¯re here to take you to work.¡± she said in a cool, measured tone.

    Enforcers. Crap.

    ¡°Good morning¡­ Sorry if I am late. I stayed over at a friend¡¯s house, and they don¡¯t have a Port Pod.¡±

    ¡°Please, step this way.¡± she said, not responding to my excuses in any way. She and the man, who hadn¡¯t said a word yet, flanked me as I was led around the corner to what looked like a small white palanquin being carried on poles by four porcelain golems. The man opened the door and the woman gestured for me to get inside.

    I considered running, but that would be foolish. I accepted whatever fate I had in store and stepped inside the small chamber. As soon as I entered and the door closed behind me, the lights flickered on and I realised I was in a miniature Port Pod, like the one in my apartment block. I heard someone inputting a pattern outside, and consoled myself that at least I would get to work faster.

    When the lights flashed and the door swung open, I was surprised to see not the crooked glass-paned door of the Scribe Department, but instead a polished oak door with elegant floral carvings and a polished brass doorknob. I hesitated outside the door for a few moments, unsure what to expect on the other side, and it began to creak open on its own.

    Inside was far from anything I had expected. The interior, if you could call it that, was a jungle-like haven of plant life. The floor was coated in soft grass speckled with delicate flowers. There were trees of every kind forming a canopy overhead, with each one seeming unique and, curiously, in different seasonal states. The delicate lavender blossoms of one tree mingled with the fiery autumnal shades of another. There was a spindly, crooked looking tree with no leaves but absolutely coated in various different kinds of fruits. Around the edges of the clearing was a small stream that seemed to run continuously in a circle, with a few stepping stones placed within it to serve as a natural bridge across. The place smelled amazing, like a floral meadow and harvest field mixed into one, and gentle birdsong played in the air.

    In the center of this idyllic clearing was a desk, which resembles more of a flattened piece of driftwood. Sat behind it was a stern looking woman with greying hair and frown lines on her face. As I took in the surroundings her eyes didn¡¯t leave me, and she pressed a spot on her desk which made a mushroom-like stool sprout from the ground in front of her.

    ¡°Sit.¡± she commanded.

    My enchantment by the space suddenly shattered, and I remembered the circumstances that brought me here. I reluctantly but hurriedly made my way to the toadstool and sat down. It was soft, and strangely warm.

    ¡°Arryn Tarlow, do you know who I am?¡±

    I swallowed. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve had the pleasure, Miss¡­ uh.¡±

    ¡°Tch. Just call me Olivia. I called you here today because I have a job for you to do.¡±

    ¡°...This isn¡¯t because I was late?¡±

    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°You were late?¡±

    ¡°Uh, nevermind that. I¡¯m happy to help with whatever Horizon needs.¡±

    This was very strange. As time went by my job seemed less and less necessary as copying spells became more refined. I was certain that if anything I was more likely to be asked to resign. This was actually going fairly well. It was good to have a bit of a win after yesterday.

    ¡°Wonderful.¡± she said, with the barest hint of what could be called a smile. ¡°I¡¯m sending you to the Scarlet Woods. Pack your bags, you¡¯re leaving tonight.¡±

 14: Sweat

    Medea

    I wasn¡¯t used to being out and about while the sun was still high up, and walking around the city all day confirmed that was a sensible choice. The pavement radiated heat and the glass of the skyscrapers never provided shade where I needed it, instead being perfectly angled to shine the lights directly into my eyes. The workshop often was hotter when the furnace was blazing. Although I had spent countless hours trying to perfect the heat insulation runes, it could only contain the heat to a small bubble that encompassed the work area, and even that wasn¡¯t ideal as then the interior of the bubble was way hotter than it would be otherwise. Maybe it was an Elf thing. The humans around here seemed to be enjoying  the heat wave.

    I sat in the Horizon Bi-Seasonal Public Park, pressing a cool water bottle to my head. Crusher was a bit unwieldy, bigger than Righty and Lefty combined and shaped more like an oven mitt than a hand, but he¡¯d have to do until I got my normal gauntlets fixed. The park was partially conjured, which was surprisingly druid-y for a place at war with the druids. I sat below the light blue and pink blossoms of the Spring side, watching the people go by. A family was having a picnic under one of the trees, where the adults sat and ate food while their children ran around and squirted water at each other from colourful plastic wands. It was only marginally cooler here than the Summer Side, which was more natural and overgrown. It was hard to look around that area for Wyll since most of it was closed off for the nature reserve, and I doubt he would have ended up there. Not for the first time today I wished that Horizon had finished the job and made an Autumn and Winter section, but I swallowed my complaints and got up from my bench to continue looking around.

    Honestly, I was running out of places to check. Since Arryn had to go off to sort parchment or whatever he does at work, I¡¯d been looking all over the city for signs of Wyll. I¡¯d checked the hospital first, but they told me he¡¯d already been discharged days ago. I¡¯d stopped by an eatery I knew Peacekeepers frequented to see if I could overhear anything, but it was too early in the day and the place was pretty much empty. Pip hadn¡¯t heard anything either through his underground connections, though did hear about the blast near the market street.

    The area had been completely cordoned off for several blocks around. Most of the talk I¡¯d picked up from people in the area were just complaining about the disruption to their commute since even a no-fly zone had been set up around it. The story being shared was that it was an amateur spellwright trying to make a new fireball spell, and that was reflected in the posters that decorated almost every otherwise empty wall in the city. The posters had been there forever, though new ones often appeared, and the contents of them shifted to advertise certain products or share emergency alerts like this one. I¡¯d once tried to take down one to take home and figure out how to make my own, but the second it came off the wall it crumbled into dust. I¡¯d found another in the exact same spot the next day.

    The last, glaringly obvious place to check was Wyll¡¯s home. Pip had given me the address after some digging, but as it turns out he comes from some rich family up in the north of the city. I couldn¡¯t even get into that area of the city without people stopping me to ask if I was lost, and when I finally got up to the gates I could see some fairly nasty summoned guards patrolling the place. Wyll didn¡¯t strike me as much of a rich kid, but I guess I¡¯ve only really known him for a few days.

    It was honestly hard to believe that I¡¯d only really known Fyron and the others for that long. So much had changed, in my perception of the world and my own abilities. Wild Magic had seemed like a dangerous game to play, and I was determined to just get what I could from Fyron then cut and run, but since last night I found myself using it without really realising. It was easy, disturbingly so. I got dressed this morning using just my telekinesis, and had to take Crusher to keep up appearances. Crusher didn¡¯t even have the blood-linked runes that Righty and Lefty had, he had just been a prototype. All day, I¡¯d been just using him as a medium to move things, and it felt so¡­ inefficient. It was like a barrier had come down and this thing that had always been there was right at my fingertips. If I had fingertips, that is.

    A thought suddenly occurred to me, and I ducked into a public bathroom near the edge of the park. The inside was empty, fortunately, but I dipped into a stall just to be safe. Someone had scratched ¡°da big 3 can suck my evoker¡± into the wood, apparently deep enough that the Cleanse rune embedded into the back wall hadn¡¯t removed it. I locked the door and tried to focus my mind on cooling thoughts. I pictured swimming in the river as a kid, snowy mountaintops, and the refrigerator in my kitchen. Just to be safe, I floated Crusher in front of me and tried to connect with the mana crystal inside. The all-powerful Wild Magic should be able to handle something like this, right?

    The air in the stall began to cool. Emboldened by my success, I tried to focus on the feelings of goosebumps on my arms, the faint fog forming on my breath.  It was working. Cooling magic like this was not uncommon, though mostly handled by runework. I sighed in relief as the heat of the day ebbed away, and let my focus fade. Again, that was almost too easy. How had I not accidentally done something like this before?

    I opened the stall and stepped out, and had to catch myself on the door of the stall as my foot slipped. Outside of the stall, the restroom was covered in frost. The place sparkled, and as my spell faded the ice began to drip down the large mirrors opposite the stalls. Crap. I guess it wasn¡¯t that easy to control yet. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    I quickly hurried out, hiding my face with my hair as another park-goer made their way towards the small shack. Maybe I¡¯ll keep the practice to my sessions with the others before I work out all the kinks. I quickly made my way away from the park, trying to think about where else to look. I was wondering if I could do some kind of divination before I could track him down, when I saw a familiar face standing outside of a Brimstone-sponsored Evoker shop. I tried to duck into a side street before he saw me, but I was too slow and he started jogging in my direction.

    ¡°Uh, hi Coach.¡± I mumbled.

    Switch Mandon was not who you¡¯d expect to be running an underground fight club. He was scrawny, with slicked-back hair and a cheap oversized suit. He wore thick spectacles that took up most of his face, possibly to draw attention away from the oversized mole on the center of his chin. Despite the suit, he always wore these battered white trainers that looked so threadbare that I was honestly surprised they didn¡¯t just fall apart when he ran. I knew for a fact he made a killing from the fights, so not paying to get them repaired or replaced must be for some kind of fashion statement. He caught up to me and crossed his arms.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you ¡®hi Coach¡¯ me, Dee. Where the hell have you been? Fight is in two days and you haven¡¯t shown up to training since your last fight.¡± he grumbled with the raspy voice of a heavy smoker.

    ¡°Uh, I have been keeping up with my training. Sort of. Things have come up. I do have a life outside of boxing.¡±

    ¡°Not when there¡¯s a thousand gold on the line you don¡¯t. What kind of training have you been up to? I see you¡¯ve got Crusher with you - I don¡¯t think one big hand is gonna do you any better than two.¡±

    Shit, I hadn¡¯t thought about the fight. I needed to get my usual hands fixed up or¡­ recreated. I appreciated Arryn carrying me home last night, but I wished he¡¯d picked up my hands. I couldn¡¯t go back and get them not with the Peacekeepers blockading that whole area.

    ¡°Oh, I got some real world experience last night. Alabaster sent his boys to take me out last night.¡±

    ¡°Fucking hell, really?¡± the gruff facade dropped for a moment, and I saw genuine concern in his eyes. Switch was tough at times, but he¡¯d been a mentor for years now. Certainly not a father figure, though he did once hit on Ari with disastrous consequences, but someone who had my back when not many did. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°Ari had to dish out the good potion. I¡¯m walking around today to keep my leg from getting stiff.¡± I lied.

    ¡°Alabaster has been a prick for as long as I¡¯ve known him, but this is too far. I might have to get some of my contacts involved in, uh, resolving this dispute.¡± he said, chewing his thumb.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry about it. Sent a pretty clear message last night that I¡¯m not easily fucked with.¡±

    ¡°Shit, Dee. You kill them?¡±

    ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know, and I don¡¯t care. I¡¯m more pissed off that some friends of mine got wrapped up in it. They helped deal with it, sort of.¡±

    ¡°Right¡­ Well we¡¯ll show him what¡¯s what in the semifinals.¡±

    ¡°To be fair, Coach, you haven¡¯t exactly been playing fair either. Who do you think told Volcano that levitation would be a good counter strat for me?¡±

    Switch grinned. ¡°I have no idea what you mean.¡±

    ¡°Mm hmm.¡±

    ¡°But speaking of, I think you ought to consider taking on some support buffs. The guy you¡¯re fighting is some kind of projectile user, as far as I can tell. You¡¯ve got quick reflexes, but a little speed enhancement wouldn¡¯t hurt, right?¡±

    ¡°Nah, I don¡¯t want to split my winnings. I¡¯m pretty confident these days, anyway. Didn¡¯t see anyone in the listings that worried me.¡±

    ¡°Always so stubborn¡­¡± he sighed ¡°Well, you haven¡¯t let me down yet. Just stay safe, yeah? I¡¯ll talk to Alabaster.¡±

    ¡°Enjoy that. I¡¯m gonna continue my walk.¡± I said, turning to leave, but I paused. ¡°Unrelated, but have you heard much about that incident near the market last night?¡±

    Switch had half turned to leave, and was pulling a cigarette out of a crumpled cardboard pack. ¡°Aye, some dipshit novice trying to be the next Meilon and make a new spell or something. My bud in the PK says that Brimstone is looking into it.¡±

    ¡°Huh? They don¡¯t normally sniff around this kind of thing.¡±

    ¡°Nah, but he says that some bigwig came and told ¡®em to kick rocks while they did all the work. He reckons it was some kind of terrorist thing. A3L or something.¡±

    ¡°A3L?¡±

    ¡°Anti-Three League. Buncha kids with too much time on their hands thinking they can take down the corpos. Never heard of them pulling something like this though.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Weird. Anyway, catch you later Coach.¡± I said, waving with Crusher. ¡°I¡¯ll see you at the semis.¡±

    Switch gave a noncommittal grunt in response, then started walking the opposite direction.

    It sounded like nobody was starting a witch hunt for Wild Mages yet, which is good. I don¡¯t know if the Peacekeepers or Brimstone or whoever actually knew what happened and just wasn¡¯t letting on, or if we¡¯d somehow avoided detection. We were safe for now, but who knows how long that would last?

 15: Fathom

    Wyll

    The room was comfortable and warm, but very dark. The only lighting was a stained glass lamp on the far side of the room that shone dappled rainbows on to the ceiling beams. It cast strange shadows that seemed to shift and morph around the room, and although there were no windows there was the distinct sound of a storm outside.

    Wyll¡¯s head was pounding.

    The bed he lay in was queen sized and covered in blankets of various sizes and materials. He had to dig out of six different layers just to sit up, and found he was still fully dressed under the sheets. On a bedside table was a small folded note and a glass of water. With a hand that faintly shook, he picked up the glass and took a deep chug of water and then opened the letter and read the neat cursive text inside.

    You¡¯re safe here. Take time to rest up, I¡¯ll check in on you soon. - Ron

    Wyll sighed, tossing the note back on to the table, and tried to figure out where he was. He wasn¡¯t sure how he¡¯d gotten out of that spinning vortex, what happened to the others in the alleyway, but it seems that Fyron had gotten involved somehow. There was a longer side table on the other side of the bed with various mana crystals that faintly hummed with different colours, adding to the slightly disorienting iridescence of the room. There was a wooden door on the opposite end of the room, and Wyll could hear a feminine voice humming out of tune. He kicked off the mass of blankets and started to creep towards the door, not picking up his boots from the floor.

    Outside, there was a long, dark hallway with the warm glow of firelight coming from another door at the end of it where the humming was coming from. The floorboards under the long rug that stretched the length of the hallway creaked softly, and Wyll had to move slowly to avoid detection. Half was through the excruciatingly slow journey, Wyll stopped in his tracks. There was a mirror on the wall next to where he stood, and the face in the mirror was alien to him.

    He still looked the same, in every perceivable way. His short black hair was still in the uniform military cut his father demanded. His almond brown skin still had the three freckles on his right cheek. The burns on his neck still looked an angry red, though they no longer hurt. But there was something about his reflection that didn¡¯t connect - something beyond the physical that felt¡­ uncanny.

    Wyll didn¡¯t know how long he¡¯d been standing there, staring, until a voice cut through his trance.

    ¡°You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna get something to eat?¡±

    Reluctantly, Wyll tore his eyes away from his reflection and looked at the source of the voice. It was a woman, slightly older than him, with long green hair the colour of pine needles that ran in waves down her back where it wasn¡¯t covered by a lighter green headscarf. She wore a loose-fitting white top and form-fitting khaki trousers, on which several knives of various sizes were strapped down the length of her legs. Wyll could see no less than eight bladed instruments on her person. Ten if he counted the long, knife-like silver earrings that dangled by her face.

    Despite the menacing nature of the small armoury she wore, she was looking at him with an expression that was a mix of concern and disapproval with her arms crossed over her chest.

    ¡°Uh¡­ I¡¯m sorry, I¡­¡± Wyll started.

    ¡°Save it until you¡¯ve had something to eat first. You¡¯ll need a minute to get your bearings.¡± she said curtly, then walked off towards the room with the firelight.

    Not entirely sure what was happening, Wyll did as he was told and followed her to a cozy kitchen. There were various dried herbs hanging from the ceiling next to pots and pans hanging from hooks. The woman was wiping down a granite countertop with a cloth, while a kettle rumbled out some steam. Wyll¡¯s attention was more taken by a large table, big enough to seat eight, where there was a bowl of some kind of savoury porridge. He didn¡¯t feel hungry, but his stomach growled loudly at the sight as if to protest that thought. Wordlessly, he sat down to eat. The food looked good, but he couldn¡¯t really taste anything.

    When he had nearly finished, the woman sat down across from him and set two mugs of some kind of floral smelling tea on the table.

    ¡°I imagine you have questions.¡± she said, blowing on her tea.

    Wyll swallowed. ¡°Am I dead?¡±

    The woman looked shocked for a second, and burst out into laughter. ¡°Hahah! I didn¡¯t expect that. No you¡¯re not dead, though I wouldn¡¯t blame you for thinking so. You made a real mess of things.¡±

    A pit formed in my stomach.¡±I remember¡­ everything, I think. We were being attacked, I was about to be bitten by this conjured snake, and I tried to use Wild Magic-¡±

    The woman tutted. ¡°Wild Magic? What has Ron been teaching you? It¡¯s Raw Magic or Free Magic, not Wild. That¡¯s some DAA propaganda you¡¯re spouting.¡±

    ¡°...Right. Sorry. I¡¯m not sure what happened next. There was this whirlwind, or maybe it was the world that was spinning. I remember I was just trying to stop the snake from hurting me, then I wanted the whirlwind to not hurt me either. I don¡¯t really know how I did that, if it was me, but I really didn¡¯t feel in control of it.¡±

    The woman looked thoughtful for a while. ¡°Hmm. That tracks. Not the worst crack I¡¯ve ever seen, but a pretty dramatic one. I¡¯m just glad you didn¡¯t blow the place up when you woke up.¡±

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    ¡°Where is this place, anyway? Also, who even are you?¡±

    She smiled. ¡°Ah, there we go. You¡¯re pretty slow on the uptake, huh? I¡¯m Sasha, and this is Fyron¡¯s place in Gottlan. He sent you here after the events of last night as a just-in-case king of measure. I was against the idea, for the record, since this is my favourite little hideout and I¡¯d be really mad if you disintegrated it.¡±

    Wyll digested that for a moment. He wasn¡¯t surprised anymore that Fyron had teleported him across three countries without him really noticing it.

    ¡°So, uh, can I go home?¡±

    She gave him a sympathetic look. ¡°I can take you back if you really need me to, but I¡¯d advise against it. You really kicked the hornet¡¯s nest last night, and a lot of people with a lot of skill in tracking are looking for someone with your specific mana signature. They won¡¯t find you here, but I can¡¯t promise Ron and I can hide you if you go back before you learn to control your magic.¡±

    That made sense, he supposed. He was lucky that Ron had whisked him away before the Peacekeepers had just found him lying at the scene of the crime. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

    ¡°Wait, the other two who were with me - do you know what happened to them?¡±

    Sasha reached across the table and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. He didn¡¯t know when he¡¯d balled his hands into fists. ¡°Arryn and Medea are fine. Medea got patched up pretty good, and Arryn protected them from the blast. Medea has been looking around for you all day, so I hear.¡±

    Some tension left his body, but not all. ¡°So if Arryn hadn¡¯t¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna stop you right there.¡± She said, leaning forward and resting her head on her hands. ¡°You would never have killed them. Fyron was watching the whole time, and wouldn¡¯t let his prized students meet their end that way.¡±

    ¡°He was there? Why didn¡¯t he..?¡± Wyll remembered his joints popping as the snake constricted, the fangs pressing against his neck. He remembered seeing Medea shot through the leg, pinned to the ground with a spike through the shoulder. Fyron had let that happen?

    ¡°Easy, kid. It¡¯s a step everyone goes through at some point. Sometimes you need the kick of adrenaline to get past those mental blocks for Free Magic. At least you came out unscathed, yeah?¡± Sasha pulled down the collar of her shirt, and revealed a long jagged scar that ran from her shoulder down past her collarbone. The wound had a sort of metallic sheen to it, and twisted the skin around it. ¡°You should ask Fyron about his training, now there¡¯s a horror story.¡±

    Wyll was conflicted. He wished he¡¯d known about that part, but he understood that if he¡¯d known then it probably wouldn¡¯t have worked. He was upset, but logically he knew it made sense.

    ¡°Alright, fine. I¡¯ll stay.¡± he said, after a moment. ¡°But what about my family? They¡¯ll be looking for me too.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s a bit of a pickle. I thought about disguising myself as you and going to say hi, but there are some things that even Raw Magic can¡¯t disguise. I didn¡¯t want to give the game up by your mother asking me some obscure question about your childhood. For now they think you just didn¡¯t get home last night, and I think your old man has been asking around for your ¡®tutor¡¯¡±.

    Crap. That was going to be hard to explain. He needed to get a message to them somehow. ¡°Are there any Horizon branches around here?¡±

    Sasha smiled, and pulled out a small crystal bead that glowed faintly blue. ¡°I thought you might ask that. Yes, technically, but Horizon always listens to your messages-¡±

    ¡°Wait, really?¡±

    ¡°-and also the closest one is about twelve miles away. Yes, really.¡± she tapped the bead with a finger, then rolled it across the table towards him. ¡°I made this for you, will let you call whoever you like whenever you like. It¡¯s a bit¡­ forceful. The other side won¡¯t really be able to decline your call, so don¡¯t abuse it. Just pop it in your ear when you want to use it.¡±

    I marveled at the pea-sized ball in front of me. I¡¯d never heard of anything like this. Sending messages across long distances was a real hassle since you¡¯d have to know ahead of time if someone was available before you went to Horizon to establish a telepathic connection with them.

    ¡°You missed about eight calls while you were asleep, by the way. Just so you know.¡± said Sasha.

    Wyll didn¡¯t ask how she knew that. The notification should have only been in his head.

    ¡°Thank you for this¡­ I¡¯m still a bit confused about what¡¯s going on but it seems you¡¯ve been looking out for me. I appreciate that.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, I¡¯m not done yet. Ron asked me to watch you for any¡­ abnormalities. Random mana surges, split personalities, delusions of ruling the world, that kinda thing.¡± Sasha listed the options on her fingers. ¡°You feel anything strange?¡±

    Wyll thought about the face in the mirror. ¡°Yeah. I don¡¯t feel¡­ right. It¡¯s hard to say.¡±

    Sasha pulled out a long, thin dagger and began picking her nail with it. ¡°Sounds like a subtle one. Definitely a good idea to keep you here a bit. Notice anything weird about your magic?¡±

    Wyll thought for a moment, then summoned a small fireball over the palm of his hand. He let the flames dance around his fingers, twisting and twirling close enough to the skin to feel the heat but not to burn. He recalled the accident that scarred his body, but the fear from that felt distant, like it had happened to someone else. Experimentally, he let the fire get close enough to start to sting a fingertip, and still felt nothing. Just yesterday, that would have filled him with absolute terror. Now, he just felt numb to it.

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t think I¡¯m scared of my magic anymore. That doesn¡¯t make any sense. Last night was way worse than that fireball going off in my hand. I almost killed people. Why do I feel better than I did before? No, not better, just not bad?¡± Wyll¡¯s mind was racing trying to make sense of it.

    Sasha stopped picking her nail and slid the dagger back into the sheath on her thigh with practiced fluidity. She seemed to hesitate with her words for a second, but eventually stumbled out a sentence.

    ¡°Wyll, listen¡­ I don¡¯t want you to take this too hard, but you did kill the four men who were attacking you in that alleyway. I¡¯m just going to give it to you straight - you disintegrated them completely. Ron and I had never seen anything like it. It was in self defence, so I don¡¯t want you to¡­¡±

    Sasha kept talking, but Wyll couldn¡¯t hear her anymore. The fact he was now a murderer should have ruined him. He should panic, right? Wasn¡¯t he supposed to feel some kind of guilt? Remorse? Regret?

    Instead there was nothing, just the sound of raging winds coming from outside.

 14: Session

    This final chord of Fatal Error¡¯s set left the crowd at fever pitch. The room was heaving with people, crammed into the abandoned Emporium shoulder to shoulder as they cheered loud enough to rattle whatever windows were left unbroken. Fatal Error herself stood just five feet away, her conjured illusory instruments still buzzing around her as she gasped for breath. Ogan didn¡¯t know how she managed to keep so many spells up at once, and the way she incorporated the incantations into her lyrics was nothing short of revolutionary in the music scene, and the crowd could all see that. The sequins on her glitzy hot pink and indigo outfit caught on the countless matching magelights floating above the crowd, and she looked nothing short of divine. Ogan didn¡¯t follow the old way like his ancestors had, but if he could still choose a patron he¡¯d choose her.

    ¡°Thank you Empiiiiiire!!¡± she yelled, her voice amplified by a rune-marked collar around her neck. ¡°You¡¯re always the best crowd to play for!¡±

    The crowd screamed again in approval, and Ogan joined in too.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got another gig for you in two weeks time that will knock the mana out of you, and I expect to see every one of you there cheering twice as loud!¡±

    Another wave of cheers. A chant of ¡°Er-ror! Er-ror! Er-ror!¡± began. The performer on stage blew kisses out to the crowd in response, then began playing a more relaxed version of ¡°Broken Evoker¡± - a fan favourite - as she went to the front of the crowd to sign things and shake hands with fans. Ogan took the chance to break from the crowd a bit. He pushed past all manner of people - other dwarves with fierce war paint and spiked-out beards, some elves with luminous enchanted clothing, even some humans with custom T-shirts made showing Fatal Error doing her signature move of flying over the crowd with her instruments following behind in formation. Everyone goes nuts over the aerial dance routine. Ogan was a big guy for a dwarf, but he tried not to throw his weight around. Fate didn¡¯t tolerate any of that at her shows. He nodded to the bouncers at the door, who recognised him and let him past the queue of people moving to the merch store.

    Outside, the night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the crowd. The repurposed Emporium spelled ¡°EmpirE¡± in neon pink lights that flickered slightly, with the last ¡®E¡¯ a vibrant orange instead. The rest of the sign had long been taken away, as trophies or scraps. The Big Three didn¡¯t often let these properties go, but protests and at times straight-up riots about the corpos sticking their noses into the Inks District left the branch unprofitable enough that they¡¯d packed up and left. In many ways, Empire was a monument to rebellion. It becoming the go-to place for up and coming indie artists like Fatal Error was just a nice bonus.

    Ogan murmured a quick incantation for Conjure Cigarette, and he had just brought the newly summoned tobacco to his lips when Big Pete caught his attention from the corner of the building. Ogan sighed, and followed him into the alleyway.

    The stretch between the side of Empire and the run-down flats next door was dark, grimy, and unassuming. Certain mages sensitive to mana flows like Lil Pete swore they could feel the countless wards they were passing through, but to Ogan the place just stank of piss. He did know that the graffiti along the walls on either side was carefully placed to cover the runic arrays though, since he was the one who sprayed it.

    He soon arrived at a nondescript metal door on the side of the building, with a mound of trash piled up against it. The bags, wet cardboard, and empty bottles were just simple illusions, placed there to make the door seem unused. Ogan walked right through them and pushed open the door, crouching to get through even at his diminutive height. Inside was a long concrete corridor with dim magelights leading down an impossibly long corridor that stretched off into darkness. Another defence. Ogan walked exactly 29 steps down the hall, tapped the magelight above three times, and waited a few seconds before tapping it three times again.

    A section of the wall slid open, accompanied by the sound of music and a waft of smoke. Nota was burning his special incense again, and the hazy clouds in the air formed shifting fractals that had a mild hypnotic effect if you stared too long at them. Big Pete and Nota were sat together on a sofa, staring up at the morphing shapes. The music played from a pair of pink illusory guitars, and sat next to them was the one and only Fate Delazzio, Fatal Error herself. She was slumped back in her chair with a small wet towel over her eyes, sipping some kind of dizzying green drink from a curly straw.

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    ¡°Fuck, my head feels like it is going to explode. Whose idea was it to add a second lead guitar for ¡®Hoi Pollpoi¡¯ when I¡¯m already juggling four other instruments and trying to sing that one high note?¡± she said, her voice a bit raspy.

    ¡°Blame Lil Pete for that, he¡¯s the one who said it would be cool.¡± Ogan said, grabbing a beer from the minifridge before sitting down in his spot near the coffee table. He picked up the stack of papers about various incidents around town that Nota had deemed worth his time.

    ¡°Fuck Lil Pete then. He thinks everything is cool. I could sit on stage and read out the Horizon Port Pod service manual and he¡¯d still be saying how much I rocked after the show.¡± she said, lifting up a corner of the towelette to glare at me.

    ¡°He¡¯s not wrong though. You killed tonight.¡±

    ¡°Pssh. I know. Anyway, check out page fourteen.¡±

    ¡°We should probably wait for Lil Pete and Domino first¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother.¡± said Nota, not looking away from the smoke. ¡°They¡¯re laying low. Peacekeepers and Brimstone both have been sniffing around a lot lately. Besides, Sasha will be here soon.¡±

    ¡°Something happen?¡±

    ¡°Page fourteen!¡± Nota and Fate said in unison.

    Ogan sighed and flipped to the page they mentioned. It was a lengthy one, for Nota at least. His divination skills were hazy, a pun which he loved to overuse, as staring into the smoke only gave him glimpses of events of significance around the city. It was useful for spying on the Big Three¡¯s movements, but unless it really interested him he only really wrote a few lines and gave a vague sketch of what he saw.

    This time though, the text took up most of the page, and the drawing was a frankly beautifully illustrated ink rendition of a section of the city that had seemingly been carved out into a perfect circle. Details such as Peacekeepers investigating the scene could be seen, and even things not visible with normal vision like the overlapping honeycomb patterns of the wards placed around the area.

    Her timing suspiciously impeccable as always, Sasha popped into existence right next to Ogan the second he¡¯d finished reading. He could see the smoke part around her as she pushed the air out of the space to occupy it. He¡¯d never get used to her.

    ¡°Sasha hiiiii!¡± squealed Fate, her headache seemingly forgotten. She dropped the towel and sat up, and blushed when Sasha gave her a wink.

    ¡°Heya Fate. How are my favourite little revolutionaries doing?¡± she said, helping herself to the minifridge.

    ¡°Restless.¡± grumbled Big Pete, tearing his eyes away from the smoke. ¡°We want to do something that isn¡¯t just sitting on our asses.¡±

    ¡°Tch, I thought that you¡¯d like the break.¡± Sasha said, sipping on her can.

    ¡°Just feels like we¡¯re wasting time. I know you used to be some A3L bigwig, but you left, right? How come you get to tell us what to do?¡±

    ¡°Because you need me, and I could use you. That¡¯s all.¡±

    The air in the small hideout suddenly grew tense. Big Pete, unlike the somewhat timid Lil Pete, had a hard time controlling his temper. Ogan had taken him into A3L since he was motivated and good in a fight, but he didn¡¯t have the patience for the prep work. Ogan could see him getting more tense, his pupils narrowing to slits, his teeth sharpening into fangs as his now-clawed fingers dug into the padding of the sofa. Ogan was about to intervene when he stopped. A clump of Big Pete¡¯s dyed blue hair fluttered past his nose, and a hair thin cut appeared on his forehead. Not deep enough to draw blood, but deep enough to send a message. Sasha hadn¡¯t moved a muscle, still sipping her beer, but at some point one of her daggers had appeared in her hand.

    It was easy to forget, sometimes, that they were dealing with some incredibly dangerous people. He and Sasha had been in similar circles in the past, and he¡¯d always known her as this laid-back but friendly enough friend of a friend who was known to hang out with some shadier types. Looking at her now, he didn¡¯t know what she was capable of. He got the feeling of suddenly being face to face with a wild animal or dangerous spirit - unequipped, outmatched, and very, very careful not to make any sudden moves.

    Pete didn¡¯t have the sense for that. He stood up, knocking back the coffee with a loud scraping sound as he started putting together some string of insults before Ogan stood up, drew a fist back, and cracked him across the jaw. Big Pete stumbled back, stunned, staring wide eyed at Ogan who now stood over him.

    ¡°Shut. The Fuck. Up.¡± Ogan said through gritted teeth, hoping he was conveying anger rather than fear.

    ¡±Wooo! You tell ¡®em, boss.¡± Cheered fate from the back, never one to read a room.

    Sasha gave a lazy half smile, meeting Ogan¡¯s eyes. ¡°I get it, you lot have been sat on your asses for long enough. As it happens, I have a job for you.

    Ogan gave a serious nod. ¡°We¡¯re ready, tell us what you need us to do.¡±

    He would never express this here, but Ogan was getting impatient too. A3L had started as an independent movement of castaways and rebels looking to fight against the overwhelming corporate power of the Big Three, and though their new allies in the Free Mages had let them pull off stunts they never would have otherwise, they often had to wait for the go-ahead first, which felt less¡­ rebellious. Sometimes he missed the days where he and his crew would vandalise a Horizon branch and spend the rest of the night running from the Peacekeepers.

    ¡°Good answer.¡± Sasha¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Tell me, what do you know about boxing?¡±

 17: Contact

    Wyll

    Sasha had left a while ago, telling Wyll that she had a ¡°problem to solve, and a problem to arrange¡± before she left. She¡¯d encouraged him to go out and explore around the cottage, but Wyll didn¡¯t feel like going outside. He had things he wanted to do, and though there were no windows he could hear the wind still howling outside. He¡¯d since learned that the reason for the lack of windows was the fact that all three floors of the house were underground, like most dwarven buildings, but despite that he could still hear the walls creak, the door rattle, the trees outside pulling against the earth¡­

    Wyll realised that he¡¯d been starting at the wall for a while now, listening to the sounds. That wouldn¡¯t do - he had a window here where he was unsupervised, and he wanted to make the most of it. He didn¡¯t kid himself, he knew Sasha or Fyron had countless methods of watching his every move, but this was the best chance he had. He went back down to the room he awoke in and sat cross-legged on the bed, cupping his hands in front of him as he thought back to that night in the alley. The blur of energy and movement as the world spun around him. The zone at the epicenter, safe from all harm. The buzzing in his veins of his mana coming alive, and the tender connection to something greater to help fill in the gaps between intent and result.

    He opened his eyes and found a miniature vortex swirling between his palms. It was close enough to brush against his skin, but didn¡¯t harm him. Nothing could, now. It was beautiful, in a way. Like every colour of paint mixed into one. He knew that in his hands was mana at its purest. Pure chaos, pure power. All those drills learning how to shape fire seemed like such a waste, so inefficient. Wyll remembered how Fyron had slain an enemy to humanity with such ease while smoking on his pipe the other night, and Wyll was filled with a sudden gall that he had accepted Fyron¡¯s ideas of not using this gift to fix the world. Wyll could be a hero, a saviour, a benevolent being of incredible power.

    Wyll let the vortex fade away. He knew that he wasn¡¯t there yet. He wasn¡¯t so foolish to think that after one success he¡¯d mastered the art of wild magic. He needed to practice, especially other things than the vortex. He looked around the room, wondering what else to try, when a thought occurred to him. He closed his eyes and thought about Cas. He pictured his pale blond curls, bright green eyes, the tattoo of some obscure band on the inside of his bicep. He pictured his uniform, black and neatly pressed, since that¡¯s what he was likely to be wearing out in the Scarlet Woods. He found thoughts popping into his head unbidden, and knew it was the Universe helping the working along. The neatly-pressed uniform became crumpled and splattered with mud, his curls had been shaved into a neat buzz-cut, a bandage appeared on his brow. Suddenly the image became so clear that it was like he was standing right in front of him, and Cas¡¯ neutral expression turned to one of surprise.

    ¡°Wyll?¡±

    ¡°It worked! Heya Cas!¡±

    ¡°What the actual hell? I mean, hi, good to see you, but what the hell is this?¡± Cas sputtered, looking around. ¡°I can see you, but I can see the camp too. It¡¯s like your face is overlaid on top of my vision. Are you doing this?¡±

    ¡°Uh, yeah. This is my first time trying it out. It was honestly a lot easier than I thought.¡±

    ¡°Wait, this isn¡¯t like a Horizon thing or something?¡±

    ¡°Nope, all me!¡±

    ¡°Well, shit. This is amazing. I didn¡¯t even know there was a spell like this. Is this what they¡¯re teaching the new recruits now?¡±

    ¡°Oh, um, not really. Can we just move past that bit? I missed you.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, sorry, I missed you too. It¡¯s good to see your face again, even if it is kinda floating over my vision. How have you been? You look wiped.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been a bit of a week. I got out of hospital, but I started with this new tutor who¡¯s been a huge help in getting me back on track. I think that I¡¯ll be flying up the ranks soon.¡±

    Cas laughed. His laugh was Wyll¡¯s favourite thing about him. ¡°That¡¯s awesome, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re feeling so confident. I was really worried about you, y¡¯know? Asked my platoon sergeant permission to leave to come see you, but we were about two weeks deep into enemy territory by then and he said you¡¯d be fixed up before I even got on a broom. I probably made your family sick of me with all the messages I passed on to them.¡±

    ¡°Sorry I couldn¡¯t call sooner. As I said - hectic week. How¡¯s the fight?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s rough out here. No fatalities, but new injuries every day. Lemme tell you, it¡¯s a nightmare setting up camp when the actual grass is fighting you. I knelt down for a second on one of our hikes and got pricked in about 50 places by some random weeds. We have to burn down a whole clearing before we can set up tents and wards. Still not seen an elf yet, but some of the scouts swear they found tracks of one of their mobile homes. We¡¯re assuming they¡¯re not going too far from their ruins, so trying to triangulate a location from the tracks.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re holding on, though?¡± Wyll let it be a question.

    ¡°Well, I gotta hold on until you get out here. Your leave ends in a couple days, right? I think they¡¯re bringing your batch of recruits to us soon.¡±

    Wyll felt a pang of guilt. He had completely forgotten about his promise to join up with Cas once he¡¯d finished training. So much had happened, it seemed so unimportant. But maybe, just maybe, this was the chance he had been looking for. A chance to test his new skills out on the field, refine them to true perfection.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be there.¡± Wyll said, more determined than ever.

    Cas¡¯ face beamed, then flickered.

    ¡°Think this spell is running out of juice. I¡¯ll talk to you later, okay?¡±

    ¡°Nice to see y--- n¡¯t call tomo-- batt--- ight?¡±

    Wyll tried to keep the spell going, but felt his extremities start to go numb. He dropped the spell, and was back in the bedroom drenched in sweat. He had whole-body pins and needles, and flopped back against the headboard. He grimaced. This isn''t enough. Fyron could make a call like that for years. Where does he get his mana from? Wyll made a private resolution to buy as many mana crystals as he could afford once he got back to the city, then collapsed into an exhausted sleep on the bed.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    ---

    As with many things Fyron did, his teleportation seemed effortless. Wyll watched intently to try and figure out some kind of trick or technique he hadn¡¯t taught yet, but all he saw was Fyron asking if he was ready and then they were both suddenly in the old warehouse, Arryn and Medea sitting nearby. They both looked their usual selves, but with Arryn wearing an old hoodie instead of his usual work clothes and Medea using one giant metal gauntlet as a chair. They both stood as Wyll arrived and rushed over, checking over and asking how he¡¯d been.

    ¡°I spent all damned day walking around looking for you.¡± said Medea, pouting. ¡°If I¡¯d known you were relaxing in Fyron¡¯s holiday home I would have spent my day in the workshop.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re okay.¡± said Arryn. ¡°We were worried.¡± Wyll detected a note of something strange in his voice. It sounded like he was carefully choosing his words, but watching Wyll intently.

    Fyron laughed. ¡°How nice it is to see my students care for eachother so much. I¡¯m sorry for the lack of communication after the other night, but I thought it would be best if he had a bit of a breather after what happened.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m still trying to figure out what happened, to be honest.¡± said Arryn, casting a quick glance over to Wyll.

    ¡°Well, the bad news is that you killed some people. Five people, specifically, and the Peacekeepers and now Brimstone are looking for the culprits.¡±

    Arryn went pale. ¡°F-five¡­¡±

    Wyll put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°It was all me, don¡¯t stress. You didn¡¯t do anything wrong there.¡±

    Arryn furrowed his brow and looked at him. ¡°Right¡­¡±

    ¡°The good news,¡± Fyron continued cheerily ¡°Is I think we¡¯ve discovered your specialisms.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Fyron clapped his hands, and some chairs and a table appeared with a lectern at one end.

    ¡°Take a seat! This is the last bit of theory I¡¯ll be teaching you.¡±

    Once everyone was seated, Fyron began speaking in a professorly tone.

    ¡°Everyone has a specialism, even if they don¡¯t know it yet, when it comes to raw magic. If you ask ten Wild Mages to destroy a target, chances are each will be destroyed in different ways. Some may throw projectiles, some may tear it apart, some may burn it, and so on. This indicates a specialism, which is the kind of magic you can use with the most effect and efficiency. You aren¡¯t limited to it, of course, but for the greatest effects it would be hard to work outside of your specialism without a lot of tricks and mana. The Universe has accepted that ¡®this person is good at this kind of thing¡¯, and facilitates that kind of magic being easier for them. After all, it makes sense that a pyromancer would be good at pyromancy, right?¡±

    Fyron began to pace around the table as he spoke. He was enjoying this.

    ¡°Now, your specialisation is based on your intrinsic views of what magic is, life experiences, effects of outside forces, yadda yadda. Many people try to force a certain specialisation and rarely succeed. Take Medea here, for example.¡±

    He put his hands on Medea¡¯s shoulders, and a giant metal hand gently pushed him away. He continued without missing a beat.

    ¡°Medea has mostly seen her magic as a way to move things, namely her hands. As such, she¡¯s more inclined towards that kind of magic and telekinesis. It could have been that she was more of a fabricator, from her crafting background, or an enhancer, from her boxing, but telekinesis is what seems to have stuck.¡±

    ¡°You saw me throw that dumpster, didn¡¯t you?¡± she grumbled.

    Fyron continued without answering. ¡°Now Wyll here, with his unfortunate run-in with magic, saw it as a dangerous and wild thing. As a result, he¡¯s more inclined towards destructive magic. I imagine he would find the opposite kinds of spellcraft, such as healing or creating, very difficult.¡±

    ¡°But I didn¡¯t really do anything,¡± said Arryn. ¡°Do you know what mine could be too?¡±

    ¡°Of course. Yours may be the most interesting of all. As someone who saw magic as beyond his reach for so long, and held such doubts about your ability to use it at all, you¡¯ve developed a fascinating specialism in antimagic.¡±

    ¡°What? As in, my power is that I have no power?¡±

    ¡°No, no, not at all. Your power is that nobody has power. To be honest, you¡¯re the one I¡¯d least like to take on in a fight. If you learned to harness those skills, I¡¯d just be a mundane old man.¡±

    Arryn seemed to think about that for a moment. Fyron returned to his podium and pulled from behind it three familiar objects - a glass bottle half-filled with water, a wax candle, and a shiny red apple.

    ¡°Oh those are the things you brought on our first session, right?¡± Wyll asked.

    Fyron looked a bit bashful. ¡°Well, yes. I may have been a bit ahead of myself then, but you should be ready for this now. Consider this your homework. Medea has a fight to prepare for, Wyll has training to get back to, and Arryn I believe is trying to find the right time to share that he¡¯s being shipped off to the Scarlet Woods with Horizon¡¯s little expedition there. We¡¯ll take a couple days off for the lessons to sink in, and give you a chance to practice your skills out in the world.¡±

    ¡°Wha- how did you?¡± Arryn looked flustered, but Fyron only let out a loud laugh. ¡°Actually, never mind. It¡¯s true¡­ I was going to see if Ron could just teleport me back for the lessons.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, I wouldn¡¯t normally mind, but Horizon is very good at detecting ports in their vicinity. Especially that deep in enemy territory. Besides, I have a few things I need to sort out too. Once you¡¯re set up in the Woods, I¡¯ll find a way to sneak you back for a bit each night.¡±

    Wyll chafed a bit at that. He didn¡¯t like hearing the limitations of this power. Why didn¡¯t Fyron just act without caring if he¡¯s detected? What could they even do? He crossed his arms, and noticed that Medea also looked somewhat pissed off. Nothing new for her, but it seems something Fyron said has crossed her the wrong way too.

    ¡°Anyway, your tasks are as follows: Medea, I want you to peel this apple without touching it, then pull out the seeds without breaking it open.¡± he said, tossing Medea the apple, who caught it in the air and floated it down without using her big metal hand. Has she always been able to do that?

    ¡°Arryn, I want you to light this candle and extinguish it from 10 paces away. It goes without saying that a draft or raindrop doing the job won¡¯t count¡­¡± he gave a wry smile as he passed the candle across the table.

    ¡°And Wyll, I want you to empty this bottle without opening or breaking it.¡± he passed the bottle over, and Wyll noticed that there was no cap or cork, just solid glass covering the hole at the top. Wyll had to wonder how he got the water in there in the first place.

    ¡°Do your best with these assignments. They may seem hard at first but I¡­¡±

    Fyron¡¯s voice faded to the back of Wyll¡¯s mind as he focused on the bottle in his hand. He began to think of the rushing, coursing power of the raw magic he held in his hands, and willed the vortex to appear again. He heard the howling of wind outside once more, and the water in the bottle began to bubble and churn as a smaller whorl of raw mana appeared in the center of the bottle. The bottle hummed with vibration, and then the water level began to recede, being drawn into the swirling light like it was flowing down a plughole. Within moments, the bottle was empty.

    He looked up, and found Arryn and Medea standing on the far side of the warehouse. Medea with her giant hand held above her in a fist, Arryn standing in front of her with a fearful look in his eyes. Fyron was still where he was originally standing, looking uncharacteristically serious. There was a tense moment, silence hanging in the air, before the smile slowly started to seep back into Fyron¡¯s face.

    ¡°Well then. I suppose I¡¯ll have to find you another task.¡±

 18: Summons

    Arryn

    The three of us packed up our things and started walking back towards the city. Fyron just vanished, as he does, and Medea hopped on ¡°Crusher¡± and flew off, leaving Wyll and I in somewhat awkward silence. Something felt different since that night in the alley, but I couldn¡¯t put my finger on what. Wyll carried himself differently, and had this new, cold look to his expression that wasn¡¯t there before. I was dreading seeing him again, thinking that that night was going to amplify the trauma from his accident with the fireball, but here he was. Completely fine, and somehow in greater control of his magic than ever.

    It wasn¡¯t jealousy.

    I wasn¡¯t thrilled that my apparently written-in-the-universe gift was for me to still not be able to use magic, that I¡¯m some kind of super-mundane. When I pictured my future using this new kind of magic, I pictured something more like what Wyll seemed to have. Prodigious talent and immeasurable power. Maybe that was naive. I had never heard of an ¡°antimage¡± before, and although it was far from what I wanted it did save me from Wyll¡¯s explosion. The image of those men being reduced to red mist was still burned into my mind. I didn¡¯t want to meet that fate. This new gift at least helped give me some security in this new, suddenly very dangerous world. Perhaps it would be helpful for whatever the company wants me to do in the Scarlet Woods.

    As if reading my thoughts, Wyll spoke. ¡°You know, I might end up seeing you out there.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°The Woods. My leave ends soon, and I¡¯m hoping to be sent to meet with someone out there.¡±

    ¡°Huh. You feeling okay about that?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Wyll cast me a wary look as he walked.

    ¡°I dunno man, just a few days ago you were terrified of that kind of spellcraft. I thought you were looking for Ron to help you get out of the service.¡±

    Wyll smiled, but it didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m over it. I¡¯m in control now.¡±

    ¡°Just like that? I¡¯m glad you¡¯re feeling better, but to be honest I¡¯m surprised that you¡¯re not doing worse.¡±

    We had stopped now, the steady crunch of footsteps on the gravel path giving way to silence. It was dark out here, the only illumination being the distant iridescence of the buildings over the river, which reflected on the puddles scattered on the path. I could just about make out Wyll¡¯s face as he fixed me with a glare.

    ¡°What are you trying to say?¡±

    I sighed, exasperated. ¡°Wyll, you killed five people. You may not remember, but I do. You ended five lives, left them as blood streaming down the walls, and Medea and I were nearly atomised too if it weren¡¯t for some freak chance that I was able to block it. Does that not bother you?¡±

    ¡°Those people were attacking us, I saved your lives!¡± Wyll started to raise his voice.

    ¡°You were the biggest threat there! Now we¡¯re all being hunted by the Peacekeepers! If I hadn¡¯t stepped up we¡¯d be dead. You haven¡¯t even apologised for that.¡± The frustration that had been building up in me was now flowing out unhindered. ¡°We were worried about you anyway. Medea spent all day walking around the city to find any sign of you still being alive. I thought for sure you¡¯d just blown yourself up.¡±

    ¡°I have control of my power. I don¡¯t regret what I did to those thugs, but I won¡¯t let you two be caught up in it next time.¡±

    ¡°Next time? Are you planning on killing more people? Do you hear yourself?¡±

    ¡°Of course there will be a next time! We¡¯re dealing with some dangerous people, and I want to be able to do something if and when that situation comes around again.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean you can go around vapourising anyone you like!¡±

    Wyll went quiet, looking at his upturned palm. A small vortex appeared there, a miniature version of the explosion the other night, spinning like a tiny galaxy. It gave off a faint light, illuminating his face from below, twinkling in his eyes. I didn¡¯t like the look on his face.

    ¡°Only those who deserve it.¡± he said quietly. ¡°We have the power now to do something great. If you don¡¯t use what you have to change the world, you¡¯re complicit in letting others decide its fate.¡±

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    ¡°And what if what you and I want are different? What if I don¡¯t want to change the world, just find my place in it?¡±

    He turned his eyes away from the spell in his hand to look at me. He said nothing.

    The moment extended longer than it should. Just him and I staring over the spinning whirl of mana. The light went from a background glimmer to the focus of my frustration. I don¡¯t know what part of me I was reaching for, but like a phantom limb I pushed towards that light and snuffed it out. There was no fanfare or dimming, just a sudden plunge into darkness. The silhouette of Wyll said nothing, just stared at his hand dumbstruck.

    I stormed off, leaving him alone in the dark.

    ---

    Preparations had been made. Minion went gladly back with Ms. Joya, who congratulated me on my ¡°exciting new post on the Red Frontier¡±. My suitcase was packed with as many clothes and essentials as I could fit, as well as a collection of scribing tools, parchment, and reagents. Half way out the door, I turned back around and remembered to grab my toothbrush. I was already in a bad mood after my argument with Wyll, and I took that out of my luggage as I strained to pull the zipper closed. Who asks their employee to drop everything on a whim and head out into unknown dangerous territory, just like that? The Three weren¡¯t known for treating their lower-level employees well, but this was ridiculous.

    Why me, for that matter? I had done nothing but scribe the same spells for years, and now I¡¯m chosen for this huge new position? The branch in the Woods had better need a lot of Shape Stone scrolls because that¡¯s all I could offer them. A dread tinged my thoughts - what if I was chosen for being the most expendable? The first canary down the mines? No. That was ridiculous. I wasn¡¯t the first one over there, and Horizon doesn¡¯t waste resources, minor as they may be.

    Inside the Port Pod, I pulled the business card that Olivia gave me, and input the obnoxiously complex pattern described, that zigged and zagged all around the walls of the Pod and involved three separate parts where I had to hold my finger to the wall for exactly 22 seconds. Eventually, after a few failed attempts, the lights flickered and the door opened to reveal a bustling office. Nobody was at the door to greet me, so I took a moment to survey my new workplace.

    The classic sterile white of Horizon still formed the basis of the space. The walls, ceiling, and floors were still the plain porcelain-like material, but within that space was a completely opposing jumble of desks, crates, bulletin boards, folding beds, scrying mirrors and a rack full of long, expensive looking evokers. People bustled about, carrying papers, talking into the scrying mirrors, or moving crates. One man was leaning over a map of what must have been the surrounding area, judging by all the red, and was measuring to specific spots before marking the map with a cross at several different locations. I was surprised to see an Elven woman here, though she was about as different from Medea as could be.

    She wore a long beige poncho, threaded with beads that seemed to glow from within in various colours. Flora tattoos snaked up her arms and beneath her short sleeves, curling up from her collar and down the length of her long pointed ears. Her dark hair was buzzed short, with lines that almost resembling runework shaved in the sides. She was adorned in countless talismans, trinkets, and what looked like pieces of bark that hung from every part of her body.I didn¡¯t know how her ears stayed up with that many piercings. There was a long, branching evoker hanging from her hip, which seemed to be going through the stages of the seasons within seconds. Green leaves turned orange and fell to the ground, then pink blossoms bloomed before falling too and being replaced by more green leaves. She was leaving a bit of a pile on the floor nearby.

    ¡°-I don¡¯t care what he¡¯s doing, your boss owes me an explanation now.¡± She bellowed at the man next to her. ¡°Get him here before I hop in that Pod of yours and take my complaints to your head branch!¡±

    The target of her ire was a man in the standard-issue horizon shirt and tie who looked like he wanted to retreat into it like a turtle. He adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses as if to center himself, and sputtered out ¡°Miss Tuu¡¯an please be patient, Mr. Tarlow will be here soon¡­¡±

    Tarlow? Was he talking about me? Baffled, I wandered over, dragging my suitcase behind me and feeling very out of my depth. As I neared both man and elf looked at me like I had personally offended them.

    ¡°Who is this?¡± demanded Tuu¡¯an.

    ¡°Erm, hello. Sorry I¡¯m late, I didn¡¯t know you were expecting me.¡± I said

    There was a pause as both people gave me another strange look.

    ¡°Is this a joke? Who is this? Get me Mr. Tarlow, now.¡±

    ¡°Ah, I- I¡¯m very sorry, I¡¯m not sure who this is either.¡± the man stuttered. ¡°Employee, this is administrative business. Get back to your desk. Now¡±. His tone was both outraged and desperate.

    I had no idea what was happening. I began to turn to go find a desk, but found the courage to ask ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but you mentioned you were looking for Mr. Tarlow, and here I am¡­¡±

    ¡°What are you playing at? I¡¯ll have you written up for this misdemeanor you-¡± the man¡¯s voice was cut off by the sound of the Port Pod¡¯s doors opening again. Everyone in the office seemed to stop and pay attention too, except Tuu¡¯an who crossed her arms and tutted.

    Emerging from the doors, like a pop star walking on stage, was a man with long, brushed back golden hair, good looks that were the product of countless highly expensive polymorph spells, and a tailored tan suit with no tie, unbuttoned to reveal a gaudy gold chain necklace with a pendant that spelled Archmage. He sauntered in, stopping to pull his sunglasses down and survey the room, before his eyes landed on me. A wide, crocodilian smile spread across his face, and he opened his arms wide.

    ¡°Brother! So glad you could make it.¡±

 19: Slugger

    Medea

    Coach¡¯s gym looked more like a military fortress than a place to exercise. There were some typical features, such as a weight rack, padded boxing gear, and a running track that circled the outer perimeter of the room, but the similarities stopped there. The punching bags ranged from typical sand bags to concrete and reinforced steel. A sand pit in the center of the room lined with glimmering mana crystals. Evokers over all different shapes and sizes mounted to the wall, even some less common forms such as gloves or belts. The place was empty, as usual. It seemed big enough to handle twenty at a time, but Switch never took on more than one fighter at a time. Something about competitiveness, he said.

    I sat on the edge of the wall around the sand pit, dangling my legs down. It was a 20 foot drop or so, but I¡¯d jumped in enough to know it wouldn¡¯t hurt if I fell down. I took a bite out of my apple. The edible part, anyway. The other side had been mashed to a pulp. I¡¯d been trying all morning to peel the apple with no success. When I threw that dumpster, it clicked for me only because I thought of it like one of my gauntlets. Moving the apple using the same method was easy now, and I¡¯d even practiced picking up multiple. At a stretch, I could pick up twelve or so at once, but keeping track of the spatial arrangement of that many objects was a bit of a nightmare. A lot of the apples came back bruised from bumping into each other in the air. There was this feeling in the back of my mind, like a thought on the tip of my tongue, that I felt I could snap into place. Instinctively, it felt like that was what Fyron mentioned about the Universe handing some details of the spell. Maybe it would make controlling them easier, but after seeing Wyll acting all weird after his little tangle with the Universe orchestrating his spell, I¡¯m staying well away from that. Something wasn¡¯t right about him.

    My current approach to apple peeling had led to a bit of a breakthrough, though. Instead of treating the apple like my gauntlet and somehow maneuvering its peel off, I instead interacted with it as if I was holding it in a hand. The fact that the hand wasn¡¯t there was a minor detail. It was much easier to work with, but I struggled to picture anything moving the apple that wasn¡¯t ¡®hand shaped¡¯. I even pressed the telekinetic power into the sand and left an imprint of a palm, thumb, and four fingers. The good news was that I could make more of these hands than I knew what to do with. I could even make them bigger or smaller than I¡¯d ever really need. My biggest success with the apple task so far was making dozens of tiny hands to scratch away at the peel - an idea I¡¯d stolen from some ants I saw chewing apart a leaf.

    I sighed, finishing off what was left of the apple before floating the core over to a nearby bin. I picked up the large sack of apples I¡¯d bought and crammed them into a locker on the side of the room. Training would start soon, and I had to think about how I was going to reassure Coach while not giving away the real source of my new powers. I pulled my solution out of the top compartment of my locker - four completely mundane steel gauntlets. Ani had made them, so the quality was top notch. Some kind of reinforced metal alloy that was stronger (and much heavier) than steel, plated joints, spiked knuckles. The type of glove you¡¯d expect to see some evil villain shake his fist in at a meddling hero in a story. Ifelt a bit disappointed about using them, though.

    Making my gauntlets had been something me and Ari did together. I did the runework and blood binding, Ari made the gauntlets themselves. But these had not a scratch of runework on them. No blood bindings. Instead, I floated all four with just my telekinesis. A huge improvement on paper - they were stronger, faster, far less expensive, not to mention the fact I could now manage four of them, but I just didn¡¯t feel the emotional attachment to them that I had with Lefty and Righty.

    ¡°Holy crap Dee, you weren¡¯t kidding about improving your game.¡± Coach¡¯s voice echoed a bit across the gym. I hadn¡¯t noticed him come in.

    Coach had his shirt and cheap suit jacket draped over one arm as he came in, just wearing wrinkled pinstripe trousers and a sleeveless white tank top. The tattoos he was so proud of were on full display, each worse than the last. Poorly drawn silhouettes of curvaceous women, a worm-like thing that was meant to be a dragon, and a large, poorly drawn yet realistic drawing of a smiling baby¡¯s face on his shoulder. His daughter was all grown up now, and as far as I knew she didn¡¯t have a great relationship with her dad.

    ¡°I¡¯m in it to win it, right?¡± I said, giving him a smirk. ¡°Still wish you could tell me more about who I¡¯m fighting though. ¡®Projectile user¡¯ isn¡¯t much to go on.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yeah, about that¡­¡± he said, tossing his shirt and jacket into a locker. ¡°Good news is I have more info for you, bad news is there¡¯s been a change of plan. After it got out Alabaster tried to snuff you, the other gyms in the tournament got real antsy. I¡¯ve never seen so many ex-boxers riled up in one place. Someone even took a swing at Alabaster, you believe that? Ex-boxer or no, Al¡¯s boys ported him out of there faster than he could unclench his fist.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ve still got a score to settle with Alabastard.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well to cut a long story short, Al¡¯s fighter has been barred from fighting. Unanimous vote. We¡¯re skipping straight to the finals.¡±

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    ¡°No kidding.¡±

    ¡°None. Congrats kiddo, you¡¯re a finalist!¡±

    Something was fishy about this, but I didn¡¯t dwell on it. I wanted to win that thousand gold prize, and now I¡¯m one step closer. I had originally planned on spending it on making a final, completed form of my gauntlets. I had so many ideas limited by budget, and I could only skim so much off Ari¡¯s supplies before Well of Wonders came knocking. Now I¡¯m thinking of giving it all to Ari, to pay her back for her support all these years. She¡¯d never take it, of course. But if I bought her some shiny new tools and materials for the workshop, not to mention a replacement healing potion, that would be much harder to turn down. I know for a fact that she¡¯s been using the same old set of gem cutting tools for about 15 years now.

    ¡°So, who¡¯s my last opponent, then?¡± I said, kicking off my shoes and heading towards the sand pit.

    ¡°Bit of a weird one. Guy himself is mundane, but his team is exceptional. Every buff under the rainbow woven together so professionally there are practically zero clashes. The stuff he¡¯s packing must have cost quite a price, I¡¯ll tell you that much.¡±

    ¡°Stinks of corpo.¡±

    ¡°Eh, maybe. Not sure what they¡¯d want with our lil¡¯ gang of ruffians, though. Corpo execs spend a thousand Gs every time they go out for brunch. But it is weird though - that many enchantments would easily cost more than the prize money. My reasoning is that they¡¯re trying to get their money back then work through other tournaments. Maybe go international.¡±

    ¡°How are my chances?¡± I said, hopping down into the sand pit. Coach followed, strapping up his gloves. As he did, various flashes of colour flickered over his body like lightning through a cloud as the enchantment effects activated.

    ¡°A lot better if you¡¯d let me buff ya. But not zero without.¡±

    ¡°Not zero is good. Let¡¯s see how you rate me after we spar.¡±

    ---

    Coach gasped for breath, his last enchantment flickering weakly before sputtering out. He slumped back against the concrete wall that surrounded the pit, and slid down it until he was sitting.

    ¡°God damn. You¡¯re a beast, Dee. I don¡¯t know how you doubled your hands so fast, but it¡¯s working for ya. Even buffing my speed and perception didn¡¯t let me block ¡®em.¡± he gasped.

    I was still standing in the same spot I¡¯d started, not needing to take a single step. Having four hands honestly felt a bit unfair - I could attack from two different directions while still keeping my guard up, hold back arms and pummel the torso, even fight a bit dirtier by using a hand to block his vision while I went all in for an attack with three hands. This was starting to look like much more of a workout for Coach than me.

    I had figured out a few valuable things, though. By picturing the telekinetic hands as overlapping the gauntlets, I could reinforce the already considerably durable metal with my kinetic powers while also getting a background awareness of any damage or scratches on the material. Some kind of psychic sense of touch, that was a bit tricky for me to get my head around. I could also carry the gauntlet inside the hand, like a glove wrapping around it, which lets me soften the impact of the hits. Good to know I can control the strength fairly reliably, since I was starting to worry about accidentally punching a hole in someone with the strength of a cannonball.

    It still felt inefficient.

    I was attached to the idea of these gauntlets. They were a lot of my identity. Something I was known for. I even had a few other people visit Ari¡¯s shop who were also missing limbs, and asking for advice on making their own prosthetics. It was something I was proud of. But for this fight, it felt like an unnecessary bit of theater. I could have flattened Coach in an instant with a hundred invisible hands, and it probably wouldn¡¯t have been difficult.

    Still, the gloves had their uses for now. I didn¡¯t want to draw any more attention than I needed. If I rocked up to the final and buried my opponent ten feet in the sand without moving a muscle, it might raise questions I¡¯d rather were not asked. Maybe, just maybe, there was another way to gain a subtle edge.

    ¡°Think I¡¯m gonna call it there for today Coach, get some rest before the fight tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Hah! Get some rest from what? You coulda taken a nap during that fight and you know it. I¡¯ll have to up my game if I¡¯m going to find anything else to teach you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll always have stuff to learn from you, Switch. I¡¯ll use some of the prize money to get you some new buff gloves.¡±

    ¡°Pssh,¡± he waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Don¡¯t waste your money on that. Just tell everyone who trained you when you¡¯re the champ, yeah?¡±

    I smiled, giving him a gloved fist bump. ¡°Deal.¡±

    I climbed up the iron rung ladder to get out of the pit, then grabbed my bag of apples and coat from my locker. Headed towards the exit, I caught the sight of Switch still in the pit, chuckling quietly to himself while he took off his gloves.

    Another bittersweet thing. I should have been proud of my growth, but Wild Magic almost feels like cheating. I once got so much joy from being able to lift my first prototype glove off the workbench, enjoyed learning new things about boxing from Coach, but now things were coming so easily that there was no joy in succeeding. I could see someone else settling for this kind of effortlessly easy life, but not me. I was someone defined by overcoming the impossible, and now I want to know what summits there are left to climb.

 20: Closing In

    ¡°This isn¡¯t like looking for a needle in a haystack, it¡¯s like looking for a piece of hay in a stack of needles.¡±

    Floor minus-five of Brimstone HQ was only open to employees with the highest clearance levels, and as such was mostly empty. The space it took up was immense, without the floor needing to be divided into separate rooms. Rows and rows of shelving units that held carefully catalogued boxes, artifacts, books and papers. The only light was in the center of the room, a floating magelight hovering above a table, illuminating the map of the city below and the three faces looking down at it.

    To the left stood Dabron Starn, head of criminal intelligence at the Danmer Peacekeepers. A mountain of a man, with a bald head and beard that tumbled down from chin to navel like a wiry waterfall. The table groaned and creaked as he leant forward on it. When he thumped the map with a calloused finger, the coffee cups rattled in their saucers.

    To the right was John Abbott,  a representative of the information management division of the DAA. The Danmer Advertising Association was one of those groups where nobody really knows what they do. They manage advertisements for Well of Wonders, recruiting for Brimstone, public announcements for Horizon, as well as whatever is showing on those shifting posters all over town. They grant permits for holo-signs, act as a patron for half the musicians in the city, and even have a say in some minor aesthetics like interior decoration and uniform standards.

    At the head of the table was Samatha Darter, representing the executive branch of Brimstone. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and three different scribing pens were writing notes of their conversation so far. She pulled off her glasses and polished the lenses, more of a nervous tick than anything. The two men at the table treat her with a careful respect, due to her being here on Mr. Grey¡¯s behalf, but as the meeting came to a close their frustration at a lack of progress led to irritability overtaking cordiality in how they addressed her.

    ¡°Are you certain there were no witnesses?¡± asked Dabron, again.

    Abbott sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°There were. Your Peacekeepers mopped them up from the walls of the blast site. Anyone within the vicinity was killed in the blast. Civilians on the main street gave scattered testimonies, but the only commonalities were the teenagers and the shopkeeper who saw a man carrying away an injured woman.¡±

    ¡°Nobody saw where they went?¡±

    ¡°Nothing concrete, they were only seen for an instant. It¡¯s unclear whether they were involved or just caught up in it.

    The furious scratching of pen and paper paused for a moment. ¡°They¡¯re the best leads we have. Whatever involvement they had, they saw something. That or one of them was the culprit, fleeing the scene of the crime.¡±

    Dabron sighed. ¡°I told you, if the culprit had access to that tier of spell, they would have teleported away afterwards. I doubt they would pull a move like that then run away on foot.¡±

    ¡°Not if they ran out of mana. Not uncommon for novices to bite off more than they can chew and get knocked out by the mana sickness afterwards.¡± said Samantha, putting her glasses back on her face.

    ¡°So we¡¯re thinking the woman was the culprit and the man was some kind of accomplice?¡±

    ¡°Seems so. Or they were just bystanders and the culprit was someone else.¡±

    Abbott pulled a thumb-sized bottle from his coat, and poured some steaming coffee into his now empty mug. The coffee that came out was far more than the minute flask should have been able to contain. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Nobody got away from that with minor injuries. The witnesses said she was bleeding and missing her arms. Either she got very lucky and was just on the edge of the radius, arms out for some reason, or perhaps our rogue sorcerer came in and interrupted some other kind of violence. I¡¯d say it was the man.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re getting nowhere with these hypotheticals.¡± said Samantha. ¡°Bring an illusionist to those witnesses, get them to recreate an image of the two people they saw, and see if you can find them.¡±

    ¡°Will do.¡± grunted Dabron. ¡°Any idea what spell it was yet?¡±

    ¡°No, that¡¯s the most perplexing part. We had one of our Grimoire keepers investigate the scene. His first thought was Disintegrate, but there was no dust left behind from the buildings being disintegrated. Then he tested a few teleportation spells, thinking that the whole area was ported somewhere else, but that wouldn¡¯t explain the glassy sheen around the epicenter.¡±

    ¡°Or the blood.¡± said Abbott.

    ¡°Or that, yes. He even looked into some more obscure things like Compress Space, Oblivify, Mage¡¯s Final Resort, Greater Rupture, but none of them matched. He suggested it might be some kind of Elven Artifact, but we have detectors for those in the city which makes that highly improbable.¡±

    ¡°So¡­¡± Abbott spoke, taking a sip of his coffee. ¡°We¡¯re either looking for a completely new spell, meaning we¡¯d have to start interrogating the Archmagi¡­ or a Wild Mage.¡±

    The room went quiet for a while. Dabron sighed and went to pace around the room, stepping away from the light. Samantha didn¡¯t take her eyes off the map, hoping something would suddenly jump out at her. Abbott quietly sipped his drink.

    ¡°That is a possibility, yes.¡± Samantha said, quietly. ¡°In which case this is even more like a stack of needles than we thought. If we¡¯re dealing with a WIld Mage he might already be dead, or rampaging on the other side of the planet, or plotting his next move. If it¡¯s the latter, I¡¯m not sure what we can do about it. If we come close to finding him, we risk flattening another city block.¡±

    Dabron returned to the table and scoffed. ¡°Wild Mages are unpredictable, sure, but they¡¯re all cracked in the head. He¡¯ll out himself eventually by turning his house into marshmallows or something. I¡¯d rather that than some rogue Archmage.¡±

    Abbott said nothing. Samantha snapped her fingers and her scribing pens flew from their notebooks and settled in her shirt pocket.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get those illusions made and reconvene tomorrow. Wild Mage or not, we¡¯re dealing with a dangerous individual here and need to proceed with caution. Have the Peacekeepers do extra patrols in that part of the city, and have the DAA put out a notice offering a reward for useful information.¡±

    The two men nodded.

    ¡°I¡¯ll hang about for a bit longer, if you don¡¯t mind. I want to finish my coffee and have a bit of thinking time here, if that¡¯s alright.¡± Abbott said.

    ¡°Suit yourself. Just don¡¯t overdo it. It seems like we might have a few more late nights after this one.¡± Samantha said, grabbing her bag and a foldable broom from a nearby shelf. She and Dabron made their way to the Port Pod at the far end of the room, and after a few moments Abbott was alone in the room.

    ¡°Never took you for a spy, Fyron.¡±

    The two golden pinpoints that indicated the Wild Mage¡¯s specialisation hovered in the darkness, before moving closer. The shadowed form of a man in a wide-brimmed hat and long robes grew brighter as it approached the magelight, revealing his permanent semi-amused smile. It infuriated Abbott.

    ¡°On the contrary, I might be the most spy-like person on the planet. Intentionally or not, I don¡¯t miss much that goes on around here.¡±

    ¡°Come to offer your insights on our rogue wild mage?¡±

    ¡°Just to catch up with my friends at the DAA. I assume they¡¯re all listening right now.¡±

    Fyron stood at the head of the table, where Samantha was just a moment ago, and surveyed the maps. Abbott closed his eyes for a moment, then suddenly began writhing and twitching in place. A button on his shirt popped out of place from the unnatural movements, and the sound of joints clicking and popping seemed to boom in the silence of the room. Fyron didn¡¯t raise his eyes from the table.

    ¡°Ron.¡± spoke a voice completely different to Abbott¡¯s. It was more feminine, less formal, and laced with rage. ¡°You have a lot of balls waltzing into here. That or you¡¯ve finally lost your damn mind. I¡¯m sure you have some reason for breaching our agreement, and we would love to hear it.¡±

    Abbott convulsed again, and another voice spoke. Elderly and cordial. ¡°Please, let¡¯s keep some level of civility. I¡¯m sure Ron has a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this.¡±

    Another twist of the neck, and a gruff baritone barked out. ¡°Reasonable? Fyron?¡±

    Abbot¡¯s face was twisted into a cruel smile, though the sweat on his brow and the purplish tinge to his face would indicate quite a considerable amount of pain. Fyron stroked his scruffy beard and looked thoughtful.

    ¡°I don¡¯t recall any agreement. You can¡¯t kill me, because of what would happen if I died. I can¡¯t kill you, because of what happens if you die. Less of an agreement and more of an impasse.¡±

    Abbott¡¯s face snapped into a new configuration and a reflined, elegant woman¡¯s voice spoke. ¡°Am I right in thinking that you have shared the Gift with others? Or is this some organically found Wild Mage you are involving yourself in?¡±

    ¡°So many questions. I simply have an interest in the progress of this case, and was hoping to persuade you to call it off.¡±

    ¡°Call it off? How could we possibly ignore a nascent Wild Mage rampaging through our city?¡±

    ¡°Wild Mages have been rampaging through the city ever since your department was formed at the DAA.¡±

    There was quiet for a while, broken only by the gasped, raspy breathing coming from Abbott.

    ¡°I¡¯m assuming you have some incentive for making this request.¡± spoke the elderly man¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Yes, it''s something I¡¯ve come across lately that would end our little standoff. Our ideological differences have kept us at odds for long enough. I fight for the people, you fight for the few-¡±

    ¡°You know that¡¯s bullshit. You want to plunge the world into-¡± the younger woman¡¯s voice was overtaken by the deeper baritone. ¡°Hold on, I want to hear this.¡±

    Fyron smiled, knowing he¡¯d caught their attention.

    ¡°Well, our little game has for so long had only two outcomes. Your victory would involve the truth of magic being kept safely under lock and key, conveniently only being permitted to the four of you and only for the benefit of your own interests, and maybe to maintain the Three if it pleases you.¡±

    ¡°Are you purposefully antagonising us today?¡±

    ¡°Me? Never. Anyway, as you know my victory involves a bit more freedom of information. Quite the frustration for you I imagine.¡±

    ¡°Get on with it.¡±

    ¡°What if I told you there was a third option, where nobody gets what they want?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d be shooting yourself in the foot just to spite us?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯d be quite happy if it ended up in this situation. I might even opt for that if we can¡¯t settle our disagreement someday.¡±

    Abbott went quiet for a while. Fyron knew that they were privately discussing how to proceed, likely using a form of compressed time telepathic communication. Fyron crouched down and picked up a pen from the floor. Wyll¡¯s sister had left it behind. With a brief push of his will, the pen popped out of existence and reappeared in Samantha¡¯s bag as she made her way home.

    ¡°Can I assume that you aren¡¯t planning on telling us about what this third outcome entails?¡± spoke the elderly voice.

    ¡°Afraid not.¡±

    ¡°In that case, let us ask this: Are you responsible for this rogue mage?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a bit of a test case. All of them are, really.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s more?! You¡¯re making new Wild Mages?¡±

    ¡°Just trying something out. Three won¡¯t upset the balance too much. You¡¯ve had four to our two for a while now, I¡¯m just balancing things out a bit.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re playing a dangerous game, Ron. Neither of us wants to get into an arms race, and our capacity to train new Mages far outpaces yours. Most of the crystal reserves in the city belong to us.¡±

    ¡°True, but do you want to inflate your ranks? Isn¡¯t that your whole problem?¡±

    Abbott didn¡¯t reply for a moment, instead bringing a twitching arm up to his head to smooth back his hair and straighten his tie.

    ¡°They¡¯ll be caught eventually. You can¡¯t expect that your little dead man switch can protect everyone you deign to teach.¡±

    Fyron¡¯s lazy smile spread into a toothy grin. ¡°I don¡¯t. If you find them and try to make trouble, then you¡¯re the ones who¡¯d best make sure you¡¯re well protected.¡±

    There was a final sickening crunch as Abbott¡¯s body crumpled to the floor, spent of its use and now devoid of life. Tomorrow, an identical John Abbott will show up, his memories and personality fully replicated.

    ¡°I suppose they expect me to clean that up.¡±

    Fyron turned to leave, fading back into the shadows. With a casual gesture teleported the body away, and dumped it half way across the city -  directly on the steps of the DAA.

 21: Stitch-Up

    Arryn

    ¡°Reggie?¡± I sputtered out. Things started to click into place.

    ¡°Arry, while you¡¯re working here I expect you to call me Mr. Tarlow like everyone else. I don¡¯t think that¡¯s too much to ask.¡±

    My brother strode right past me towards the tall elven woman, and gave a polite bow.

    ¡°So sorry to keep you waiting. I have a lot of appointments lined up and many people vying for my time. If you would like to join me in my office, it¡¯s this way.¡±

    Tuu¡¯an did not seem impressed by the formalities, but followed him anyway. Her accessories jingled as she walked. Halfway across the room, Reggie stopped and turned back to me.

    ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there gawking, Arry. Come with us.¡± he said, snapping his fingers.

    It chafed to follow his instructions. I could tell he was enjoying this a bit too much. My brother had always been the favourite of my parents, and at an early age he realised it too. From then on he took some smug satisfaction from bossing me about, and going crying to my parents if I ever stood up for myself. A prodigious mage and a grade-A student, they would always take his side over their other, mundane son. Despite that, he always seemed to have a bone to pick, as if my very existence was a stain on his perfect life. I realise now that calling me out here was just another way to torment me, exerting his power over me knowing I couldn¡¯t refuse without risking my job.

    With great reluctance, I propped my suitcase up by a nearby desk and followed him into the office.

    The room was not what I expected. It lacked the sterile white walls of most Horizon facilities, instead being somewhat of a greenhouse with windows for every wall. It offered an immaculate view of the forest outside while shielding the occupants from its dangers. There was a large desk in the center of the room, which was made from white marble that reflected the red-tinged sunlight filtering from the branches outside. Aside from the desk, the place was fairly unfurnished. The desk was covered in various papers and documents, as well as a small silver scrying mirror and an oil lamp, rather than a standard magelight. There was a small wooden box dotted with holes, from which smooth jazz was playing.

    Beyond the glass walls I got my first real glimpse of the Scarlet Woods. Gargantuan red-crowned trees formed a solid wall of biomass that blocked out most of the sky. There was a perimeter of about twenty feet around the building, where scarlet grass cracked and poked through a concrete patio. There were a few Horizon staff outside, smoking cigarettes as they cast wary looks into the forest. Long vines hung down from the lowest branches of the trees that seemed to slowly writhe and undulate, coiling around the tree trunks like snakes. In the underbrush at the feet of the trees, I could see the foliage shudder as if something passed through it, and I wasn¡¯t sure whether it was a hidden predator prowling out of sight or the bushes themselves shuffling around. Nothing was ever what it seemed around here, so I¡¯d been told.

    ¡°Are you just going to stand there gawking? Grab a quill and notebook and take the notes for this meeting.¡± snapped Reggie. He and Tuu¡¯an had sat on either side of the desk, and without a chair set out for me I just awkwardly picked up a quill and some paper from the desk and stood in the corner.

    ¡°Sorry, my dear. You just can¡¯t get the help these days.¡± said Reggie, pulling out two steaming cups of coffee from a compartment under his desk.

    Tuu¡¯an eyed us both suspiciously. ¡°I don¡¯t care much for whatever is going on between you two. I¡¯m here for answers on why my people are still being attacked by your people despite our arrangement.¡±

    I wrote down some brief notes as they talked. Writing was one thing I was good at, though I was tempted to scribe a Festering Cloud spell and slap it on to my brother¡¯s perfectly tanned forehead.

    ¡°I¡¯m certain you must be mistaken. Horizon is very eager for these proceedings to go smoothly, and as you know we¡¯ve invested a considerable amount of capital to do so. I hate to draw attention to it too, but some of our men have been injured by your forest too.¡±

    ¡°Your men were trying to find our artifacts again. They were sent scampering with little more than a few stings. Our men had magefire rained down upon them.¡±

    ¡°Any exploratory activities of the surrounding area are simply so our future expansion does not intrude upon your sacred ruins, as we agreed. No artifacts have been taken, correct?¡±

    ¡°Not yet. But I know your type, always pushing the boundaries until you get what you want. We may have to end negotiations until we can guarantee the safety of our people.¡±

    Reggie¡¯s practiced politician¡¯s smile thinned by a barely perceptible amount. ¡°Tuu¡¯an, this is something that we both want to happen. If Horizon gets a foothold here it will facilitate the free movement of both of our people, and earn us a considerable amount of gold in the process. You would get better access to supplies from Danmer as well as making a huge stride towards peace. Let¡¯s not threaten to end all the progress we¡¯ve made over a misunderstanding. I¡¯ll contact my associates at Brimstone and get this all sorted out, yes?¡±

    I wrote at the top of a new page ¡°Tuu¡¯an is unsatisfied with Mr. Tarlow, and threatens to end negotiations because of his broken promises¡±, hoping that these notes would be checked by someone higher up the ladder.

    Tuu¡¯an did not look placated. She leant forward in her chair, and as she did so a shadow moved across the desk as the trees outside seemed to lean in too.

    ¡°You are lucky that my people are strong, and fast, compared to you humans. Not for lack of trying, but you¡¯ve been unable to harm a single elf. Should that day come, I will not hesitate to end negotiations personally by feeding you to the forest.¡±

    Reggie looked unphased. He had always been overconfident in his skills, and was likely thinking something along the lines of ¡°I¡¯d like to see you try¡±.

    Instead, he snapped his fingers at me and ordered ¡°Arry, please get the object from drawer D4.¡±

    I looked up from my notes and glanced around the room. I didn¡¯t see any drawers anywhere. Reggie was looking at me impatiently, and another glance around the room confirmed there was nothing even like a drawer anywhere in the room. I was about to walk around to the back of his desk to see if he meant there, but before I could take my first step he sighed dramatically.

    ¡°The windows, Arry. The windows. Must I do everything?¡± he said, getting out of his chair and moving towards the window to my left. I noticed then that each pane was labeled with a number and a letter on a little brass plate on the frame, and as Reggie laid his hand on the one marked D4 the glass suddenly became opaque and slid out as a long, thin drawer. That was an incredibly excessive decoration. Were all the windows just illusory projections of the outside? Why not just have windows and normal storage cabinets?

    Reggie pulled out a long staff from the drawer. It must have gone deeper than I thought, because the staff was easily six feet long. He shot me a glare as he shut it again, and the second it closed the fake-window effect flickered back on.

    ¡°Consider this an offer of peace. It was purchased from a private seller in Danmer, and I would like to return it to you as a symbol of our ongoing partnership.¡± He said, ceremonially offering it to Tuu¡¯an.

    She took it carefully, almost reverently, and looked over every inch of the artifact. ¡°This certainly looks genuine, but it was stolen from us decades ago. Surely you wouldn¡¯t mind if I tested that it works?¡±

    ¡°Hmm, I suppose that is only fair, though I wish you could trust me. As far as I¡¯m aware, it is a truth-telling device, yes?¡±

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Tuu¡¯an scoffed. ¡°Yes. And your artillerist evokers are candle lighters. The Ramashaana Elovien is a device made to open the very souls of its target. It was used in rites that swore in faction leaders and high-ranking guardians to confirm they do not hold any malice or secrets in their heart. There was considerable political chaos when it was stolen from us, and it took a long time for newly elected officials to be trusted by the people without it. It was said that even if your deepest secrets were revealed, subjecting yourself to its effects would earn you considerable trust among our people.¡±

    Reggie looked a bit nervous at that, which pleased me to see. ¡°Fascinating, truly. You¡¯ll understand why I would be unable to be the guinea pig for this experiment, with my extensive knowledge of highly protected trade secrets. Fortunately Arryn here was brought along for that very purpose. Step forward, please.¡±

    A knot of dread twisted my stomach. This could not be worse. If that thing was designed to extract secrets, I had plenty that I could under no circumstances let anyone know, least of all my brother. I didn¡¯t step forward.

    ¡°Arryn, I have given you an order. You¡¯ve disappointed me enough today, do it again and I¡¯ll be sending you back to Danmer with a terminated contract.¡± growled Reggie.

    I looked to Tuu¡¯an for salvation, but she seemed indifferent to my discomfort, instead tracing the intricate carvings along the length of the staff with her finger as she slowly turned it towards me. There was only one thing I could think of to do. The carvings on the staff began to glow an emerald green, traveling from the base of the staff up towards me. With such a clear visualization of the mana flowing through the staff, I could easily picture where to cut the flow.

    I extended my will, and like a dam blocking the flow of a river I halted the magic in the staff and let it evaporate into nothingness. It was different than in the alleyway or outside the warehouse with Wyll - I had to sustain the effect - control it. Instead of being like snuffing out a flame, it felt more like choking out the mana like it was a living thing. I¡¯d expected it to be harder, but I didn¡¯t feel the slightest drain on my mana. Emboldened, I held that feeling and tightened it, hoping to finish cutting off that flow, and suddenly the room was plunged into darkness. The windows around the room that had been letting in sunlight had all gone opaque, and to my surprise I noticed that even the oil lamp had been extinguished. I suppose that counts for my assignment from Fyron.

    ¡°What is this, Tarlow?¡± said Tuu¡¯an

    ¡°Ah, erm, I¡¯m not sure. It could be a problem with the mana crystals in the walls.¡± said Reggie, a hint of panic in his voice.

    ¡°No, the artifact. It did not work.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps it is broken? It has been locked away for a long time, and-¡±

    ¡°Our Artifacts do not break.¡± I could hear seething anger being barely constrained in Tuu¡¯an¡¯s voice. ¡°This is either a fake or you have tampered with it.¡±

    Reggie finally found his way to the door, opening it to allow the cold white light from the office into the room. Tuu¡¯an stormed past him, heading for the exit. I relaxed my focus, and the windows all flickered back on. The oil lamp remained extinguished.

    ¡°Please come sit back down so we can continue our discussion.¡± pleaded Reggie.

    ¡°You have one week to make sure these attacks stop, or we¡¯re out and the forest will reclaim this fabricated white eyesore.¡± snarled Tuu¡¯an before pushing past Reggie and storming out of the building.

    The various office workers around the room stared openly in shock, holding their breath in anticipation as Reggie pushed back his hair and straightened his tie. He gave his best ¡°everything is fine¡± smile and nodded to a few people around the room before locking eyes with me, still standing in the doorway to his office. He walked over, hurried but trying to do his best impression of someone who wasn¡¯t, and grabbed me tightly by the arm. He dragged me back into his office and closed the door behind me, before whirling around and getting right in my face, his expression furious.

    ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± he spat.

    Perhaps the years of fraternal torment had finally gotten to me, or using my magic just now had altered my way of thinking like Fyron had warned, but I couldn¡¯t bring myself to care about what my brother thought anymore. As I looked at him, red in the face and a sheen of sweat on his forehead, I realised then and there that this person had controlled too much of my life already, and that I didn¡¯t have to be afraid of him like I once was. After all, I was immune to magic. Archmage or not, he couldn¡¯t scratch me.

    Seemingly displeased by my lack of response, Reggie punched me so hard in the temple that I thought I¡¯d turned off all the lights again for a second. When my vision returned to normal I saw his leg in mid swing as he sunk a perfectly polished loafer into my gut. The pain was delayed in its arrival, but once it did I gasped out in pain. I tried to push myself to my feet but he kicked my arms out from under me and stomped on my head.

    ¡°I was nice enough to give you the opportunity of a lifetime here. You could have escaped your pointless dumb fuck job writing scrolls at a fraction of the speed of an enchanted quill. You could have gone to mother and father and told them how much better you¡¯re doing, and how grateful you are to me. They might have even been proud, even liked you for the first time in your miserable life.¡± Reggie¡¯s ravings were punctuated by blows aimed at my stomach or face. After a few of those, he got down on his knees and started slamming my head into the marble floor near the wall. ¡°But you just had to fuck that up too, huh? Just like everything you do it turned to shit!¡±

    The pain was intolerable. My ears were ringing and my eyes were finding it hard to focus on anything. The blood pooling in my throat was starting to block my airway, making my breath rattle and gurgle. There was something sharp in my mouth, and I realised it was one of my teeth. I spat that out on the floor, and seeing that at some point Reggie had moved away to sit behind his desk, clutching his hair in his blood-splattered hands, I decided to risk sitting up again. It felt like a mistake. My head spun with the new movement, and something clicked in my ribcage that had never clicked before.

    Reggie seemed to take some deep breaths to collect himself, checking his appearance in the scrying mirror and wiping the blood from his knuckles with an embroidered handkerchief. He pulled a bracelet out of a compartment from under his desk and tossed it towards me. It clinked as it bounced on the floor.

    ¡°Keep that on while you work here and I¡¯ll let you keep your job. You don¡¯t talk to me, you make coffee for anyone who asks, and you do whatever I say as soon as I say it.¡± he said while combing back his hair.

    I didn¡¯t have the fight in me anymore. I put on the bracelet and could see the bloodstains vanish from my clothes. The bruising on my forearms from trying to protect myself vanished too, hidden by some minor illusion. The pain was still there, of course.

    ¡°You¡¯re very lucky to have someone like me in the position I have. Your job was due to be cut months ago, and if I hadn¡¯t shown you this kindness you¡¯d be out on the street. I expect some gratitude for that.¡±

    I nodded, slowly, wincing at the pain in my neck.

    ¡°Tell me this - did you do anything to that Artifact? I¡¯ve never seen one backfire or whatever it was, and it¡¯s a little fucking coincidental it happens the first time you¡¯re around one.¡±

    I shook my head, just as slowly.

    ¡°I better not find out you did something. I really hope for your sake you didn¡¯t.¡±

    I said nothing to that, just stared at the floor.

    ¡°I have some catastrophes to manage. You stay in here for a bit. Someone will be here soon to take you to your lodgings. Then, you will come back and act like everything is fine. Understood?¡±

    I nodded again.

    Reggie left without another word. From the way the air popped slightly as the door opened and closed, I could tell the office was soundproofed. Not that anyone was likely to rush to my defense. I felt pathetic. All those illusions of grandeur, and I am still getting the shit beat out of me by my brother. He didn¡¯t even use magic for me to defend against. Maybe I wasn¡¯t worth the mana.

    The pain was a throbbing, living force raging through my body. It was impossible to ignore, and every movement of my body seemed to make it worse. Once, my brother had slammed a door on my fingers, breaking two of them. This hurt worse.

    An idea came to me. Fyron had asked me to extinguish a candle, knowing that mundane fire isn¡¯t magic, and my powers as an anti-mage shouldn¡¯t work on it. But I did manage to blow out the oil lamp. Maybe I could reframe my power as anti-energy, rather than anti-magic? It would take jumping through some mental loopholes, but that seemed to be what True Magic was all about. I didn¡¯t even know if pain counted as ¡°energy¡±, but for the purposes of what I wanted to do I would have to try and persuade myself.

    I pictured the pain inside me as a many-limbed jellyfish, its tentacles stretching to each injured part of my body. Many of its stinging appendages were coiled around my ribcage, reaching into my head, or my mouth. Like it was made of mana, I pictured that squeezing, choking feeling that worked on the staff, and I felt the limbs of the jellyfish begin to slowly recede. Like a chain reaction, my first signs of success emboldened me, and quickly the pain had been condensed to a small point, the size of a grape. To my surprise, I felt the wounds heal as I moved that bubble of agony away. My tooth even somewhat disgustingly flew off the floor and clicked back into my gums.

    Soon I was fully recovered and holding a pearl of pain in my hands, which was a purplish-red blob that occasionally grew sharp spikes which periodically grew and retreated like the claws of a cat. It floated just above my hands, and without anywhere to put it I made the decision to store it in my left hand. The pain was incredible, but manageable. A quick experiment let me pull the pearl out again and place it somewhere else, and some part of compressing the pain like this made it more manageable.

    I dreaded to think what would happen if it burst, but I had a very clear idea of where I¡¯d like to burst it.

 22: Determine

    ¡°Alright recruits. We had some issues along the way, but I¡¯m sure that by the end of this examination you¡¯ll be fit to serve the great nation of Danmer in its stalwart defence from the Elven aggressors. For the benefit of the spectators, there will be three tests today: the Test of Heart, the Test of Mind, and the Test of Soul. Each are vital components to effective magecraft, as well as something we demand in all of our soldiers. You must pass at least two of the three to succeed, but those who excel will be assigned to even higher positions for greater glory at Brimstone.¡±

    Sergeant Mallroy did not need to magically enhance the volume of his voice for the assembled crowd to hear him. His voice boomed around the arena, and Wyll doubted anyone could miss a word. He demanded attention in all aspects, from his voice to his gargantuan stature to his spotless uniform that gleamed with various medals of gleaming gemstones. Wyll privately thought he looked like a disco ball, casting coloured light across the faces of the lined up recruits as he paced before them.

    Wyll stood in the standard formal rest pose for Brimstone. Heels together, feet at an eighty degree angle, legs and back straight, with one hand in a fist resting by his lower back, the other flat palmed against his chest. His head was bowed towards the ground, and as trained he didn¡¯t take his eyes off the floor while Mallroy was speaking. He wanted to glance up to see if he could spot his family in the crowd, but it wasn¡¯t worth risking a penalty to his assessment before it had even begun.

    Mallroy continued his spiel about glory and conquest, high expectations and the burden of humanity, but Wyll¡¯s mind was too occupied going over his game plan to pay attention.

    Once, not that long ago, Wyll would be nervous about what was to come. He¡¯d missed countless hours of training while in the hospital, and when he¡¯s being judged against the other recruits here that would be a huge disadvantage. The test didn¡¯t have a standardised metric of pass or fail, it was simply about proving yourself in comparison to the others. Outside of major blunders, nobody really failed here. Brimstone held these events publicly as a display of power as much as anything else, and if they thought someone wasn¡¯t up to scratch they wouldn¡¯t let them enter. That said, if something like the incident with the fireball had happened here, it could end up with Wyll being put on mandatory leave for an indefinite amount of time. It was likely he would have already been asked to step down had it not been for his Father¡¯s influence.

    The Test of Mind was a simple enough one. Wyll would be asked to perform a wide range of different spells from the standard-issue Brimstone spellbook, most of which were focused more on utility than combat. This was something he was fairly confident in - his Father had been insistent on thorough study of the spellbook even while he was in hospital, and Wyll¡¯s new abilities with Wild Magic would be able to cover any gaps.

    The Test of Heart would be a bit of a challenge. It was a fitness test that essentially amounted to a last man standing-style marathon. The recruits would run as long as they could in laps around the arena until nobody could run anymore. Magic enhancement was heavily prohibited, and trying to skirt that rule would lead to immediate disqualification. Same goes for performance-enhancing potions or items. Wyll would just have to try his best for that, but as long as he didn¡¯t drop first he should be fine. Most people hold out until the first person gives in before stopping too, leading to a chain reaction of dozens of people dropping out within minutes of each other.

    The Test of Soul was Wyll¡¯s true goal. A training dummy - more of a statue, really - would be conjured in the center of the arena for each recruit. It was made with various materials that were weaker and more brittle near the extremities but obscenely reinforced near the center. The goal was to simple damage the statue with a single spell as much as possible. Officially, this was to test if the ¡°Soul¡± of the candidate could manage a larger spell without ¡°succumbing to the corrupting influence of power¡±, but in reality it was to test their firepower. Most of the Artillerists in Brimstone like Cas chose here to show off. Wyll wasn¡¯t worried about this test at all.

    ¡°...and with that, bring glory to Brimstone. BRIMSTONE!¡± Mallroy concluded, barking out the last word loud enough to hurt Wyll¡¯s ears.

    ¡°BRIMSTONE!¡± roared the recruits. The crowd cheered and applauded, and the recruits were released to prepare for the first test. There were shouts from the crowd for different squadmates, but Wyll didn¡¯t need much help finding his family. The Darters had a private balcony above the gathered crowd, usually for watching the various different shows, combat sports, or sporting events the arena was used for most of the year. More than that, it was one of several locations that Mother used to host her various galas, gatherings, and soir¨¦es. Wyll made his way through the crowd to the stairs, and found Gralax standing guard outside the door marked ¡°Darter¡± with polished gold lettering. Conjured guards weren¡¯t really there for security - who would cause trouble in a building full of Brimstone? Instead Gralax stood here as a status symbol, much like the balcony was. Appearances were everything, after all.

    ¡°Hi Gralax.¡± said Wyll, giving him a short nod.

    ¡°Raugha graagh.¡± gurgled the imp, returning the nod before stepping aside.

    Wyll continued through the door to another set of stairs, this time plush red carpet instead of hard concrete, and a movement near his collar caught his attention. The fabric had become pinched, folding itself into a rough approximation of a smile.

    ¡°I just wanted to say good luck, Young Master.¡± spoke Hobbins from the fold. ¡°I couldn¡¯t come in person as I needed to watch the house, but I could not forgive myself if I didn¡¯t pass on my blessings on such an important day.¡±

    Wyll smiled. Hobbins couldn¡¯t normally influence fabrics beyond the house, but he must have hidden a patch of the fabric that made his body somewhere on Wyll¡¯s uniform while preparing his clothes for the day. Technically forbidden, but Hobbins had always followed the spirit of the rules rather than the letter. He wasn¡¯t an automaton.

    ¡°It¡¯s appreciated Hobbins. Thank you for patching up my uniform, too.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s really no bother. The clothes were incredibly damaged from the fire, so it was a pleasant challenge.¡±

    ¡°Even so. You¡¯d better hide before mother sees you neglecting your duties.¡± Wyll said with a smile.

    ¡°Indeed. I¡¯ll see you at home.¡±

    The fold of fabric flattened itself back down, and the creases were neatly ironed out until no sign of Hobbin¡¯s influence remained.

    Reaching the top of the stairs, Wyll was met with the familiar sight of the Darter suite. It was furnished more like a lounge than a viewing gallery, with plush leather sofas, standing tables, cabinets full of colourful glass bottles, a magically-warmed buffet table, and a bar staffed by a polite looking young woman in a suit. Holographic screens hovered around the room, displaying different perspectives of the arena at certain angles just in case the huge glass window that took up the entire far wall didn¡¯t offer a good enough view of the action. Though the place could easily accommodate several dozen guests, there were just three here today.

    ¡°Wyll! I saw you in the arena!¡± Milo barreled towards Wyll as fast as his tiny legs could carry him, crashing into his knees with a hug.

    ¡°No way! Really?¡± Wyll said, crouching down to return the hug.

    ¡°Yeah!¡±

    ¡°Now now, Milo, Wyll has a big day ahead of him. Let him sit down and rest for a bit.¡± said Father, standing from a high-backed leather armchair. He was wearing his formal military gear too, complete with evoker hanging from his belt. A large medal with a red gemstone marked him as one of the Heroes of Brimstone who managed to retrieve an artifact, which he displayed with pride.

    ¡°Yes Father¡­¡± Milo looked a bit reluctant as he ran back to sit with Mother. She was wearing a long, elegant black dress in a modest dwarven style, open-backed but with a high neckline and long sleeves that draped past the hands. The cuffs and neckline were ringed with gold bands that glowed softly. She¡¯d seemingly taken a lot of effort to style her hair into an extravagant curling updo - or more than likely, Hobbins had.

    ¡°Look at my little soldier. You look the spitting image of your father at his recruitment day. How are you feeling?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, honest. I¡¯ve put in a lot of work to get here, and I¡¯m going to make you proud.¡± Wyll said with as much confidence as he could convey.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it.¡± said Father. ¡°But, you know¡­ there¡¯s no shame in biding your time for the right moment. If you don¡¯t feel completely ready, it would be preferable to withdraw now before you-¡±

    Confident and self-assured as his Father was, he suddenly withered from the death glare that Mother shot him.

    ¡°He¡¯ll be fine, dear.¡±

    ¡°...Indeed¡±. It was a bit of a rarity to see Father squirm like this. ¡°I just wish I knew more about this secretive training you¡¯ve been doing. Are you sure it¡¯s up to standards?¡±

    Wyll kept his face passive, but internally he was seething. Did Father still not believe in him? He had hoped that after everything he¡¯d worked for, he would be confident in Wyll¡¯s ability to succeed. Practically nobody failed this assessment, but now Father sounded like he feared Wyll messing it up so badly it would bring shame to the family. Wyll tried to calm himself. Father would soon see his capabilities. He was no longer the whimpering wreck afraid of his own power.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°I won¡¯t disappoint you, Father.¡± Wyll said as calmly as he could manage. His mother gave him a curious look, but Father didn¡¯t seem to notice anything was wrong.

    ¡°Samantha passes on her apologies for not being able to make it.¡± said Mother. ¡°Whatever new project she has at work has been taking up so much of her time. Such a shame she can¡¯t bring any memories of it home, we¡¯re all very curious. She thinks she might be working on something undercover in the Woods.¡±

    ¡°Hmph.¡± grunted Father. ¡°If it was that she¡¯d be coming back with more scratches and bruises. If we¡¯re not meant to know, we¡¯re not meant to know.¡±

    It chafed a bit that Sammie was the focus of the topic of the conversation on Wyll¡¯s big day, but this wasn¡¯t the time for that. The first event was about to begin.

    ¡°Wyll Darter, could you please make your way to the arena floor.¡± spoke the woman in the suit behind the bad. ¡°The Trial of Heart is about to begin.¡±

    Wyll nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll see you guys soon, next time as an official member of Blackrock.¡±

    ¡°Do your best, son.¡± said Father.

    ¡°Kick their butts Wyllie!¡± chirped Milo.

    Wyll left the way he came in, giving a quick fist bump to Gralax as he passed his post.

    The recruits were reconverging at the arena, lining up along the outer edges.  This was a test of endurance rather than a race, so they lined up single file with a few paces between them. You could overtake if you needed, but it¡¯d be a waste of energy. All you needed to do was outpace the construct at the back that moved barely faster than a jog, which was mostly there to stop people walking their laps. Wyll took his place as Sergeant Mallroy began talking again.

    ¡°Alright, as you may know we¡¯re doing some things differently this year. Spectators in the past have complained about waiting hours for this event to be over, so we¡¯re expediting things a bit.¡± He punctuated his sentence with a nod to a group of robed Brimstone soldiers nearby, each carrying gem-tipped obsidian scepters. They each stood next to a recruit, and Wyll could hear them muttering an incantation as they approached.

    ¡°This is a Lesser Fatigue spell. As well as testing your endurance, this test will also measure your resistance to magical effects. It¡¯ll feel like you¡¯re running with a pile of bricks on your back, but each contender will be affected in the same way. Otherwise, the run will proceed as normal.¡±

    Wyll felt the spell take hold, and immediately started to feel heavier. His arms hung down his sides like he was carrying invisible weights, and he fought to keep standing straight. On top of that, he started to feel groggy, like he¡¯d not slept in days. It was hard to imagine how he¡¯d run at all, never mind outpace the others. Fortunately, the other recruits seemed to be struggling too - one even fell to one knee, and had to stand again with great effort. Wyll could see a sheen of sweat starting to form on the contender in front of him.

    ¡°Good news is, once the spell is cancelled you¡¯ll feel fresh as a daisy for the next round. The race will end when the last person remains standing. Ready?¡±

    Wyll felt as far from ready as he could be, but heavier than the spell taking hold of his body were the expectations placed on his shoulders by his Father. He could do this.

    Mallroy raised a baton-sized invoker above his head, and a small explosion burst from the tip signalling the start of the events. The recruits started moving forward at a slow crawl, some stumbling and needing to get up again. Wyll focused on putting one foot in front of the other, but with each movement the weight made itself known. The construct at the bag seemed like it was going far too fast now.

    Despite the handicap, Wyll kept going. To his dismay, he saw some of the recruits ahead peeling away. He was even taken over by someone behind him, likely because he too was just trying to keep moving without accounting for keeping pace. Wyll instinctively tried to think about how he could overcome this with his Wild Magic, but as he passed the last robed soldier he could see them incanting a different spell to spot any use of magic. He started to wish that he had Arryn¡¯s innate resistance instead of his destructive might, which was about as useful as a beard trimmer in Gotlan. He cursed his lack of options, and risked a glance behind him. He had barely made it halfway around the arena.

    Near the back, he could see that the construct had already passed several people, who collapsed onto the sand in a mix of frustration and relief. The construct was fairly basic - a simple grey egg-like shape that floated above the ground - but the sight of it filled Wyll with panic. There were only seven people between it and him, and if it caught up to him that would mean he failed. He had to give enough of a good showing before then - final five at least. A quick count told him there were still twenty one people remaining. Wyll had no choice but to keep moving.

    Each step seemed heavier than the last. He struggled to keep moving faster than a jog, gasping for breath. It can¡¯t have been more than a few minutes, but it felt like he had been running for hours. There were a few runners near the front that seemed to be managing well. The swishing of the red ponytail of the girl in front seemed to taunt Wyll; she must have some innate resistance to magic. That or an inhuman level of fitness.

    Mallroy¡¯s voice boomed from the center of the arena. ¡°That¡¯s fifteen remaining! Keep it up, recruits!¡±

    Fifteen? That can¡¯t be right. Wyll had only seen one person fall behind, clutching the wall with ragged breaths. He looked behind again, and to his horror saw that the construct had overtaken five more people. There were only two contenders between him and failure. In his assessment of his precarious situation, he had neglected to pay attention to where he was running. Another recruit had thrown in the towel, collapsing in a heap on the sand. Wyll¡¯s foot caught her on the shoulder, and Wyll crashed down into the dirt. He struggled to push himself up, but his arms shuddered with the exertion. One person ran by. He managed to get on to one knee, but maneuvering his body back onto his feet seemed like an impossible feat of strength. The final runner passed him.

    Wyll barely had time to glance up before the grey egg floated by. Immediately he felt the Lesser Fatigue spell dissipate, and he stood easily to watch it go by.

    Thirteen runners remained. He had just barely made it into the top fifty percent. Not an awful showing, but a gut-wrenchingly mediocre one. This is not what he¡¯d planned.

    ¡°Hard lines, Wyll. That spell is rough, but I don¡¯t think we did too bad.¡± said the girl he¡¯d tripped over. He thought her name might have been Ella, or Bella, or something.

    ¡°Don¡¯t fucking talk to me.¡± Wyll said, before storming off. If it hadn¡¯t been for her, he could have kept going. He could feel his Father¡¯s disappointment from his elevated balcony, and he didn¡¯t need to look to confirm it. His throat was tight and his eyes were hot. He reached a bathroom past the crowds and splashed his face with some cold water. He didn¡¯t have time to be emotional. The next event would start soon, and he had to excel in the other two events if he wanted to be anything more than a boot polisher. He needed to impress. He had planned on getting sent to the Woods, fighting side by side with Cas, honing his skills as a mage while refining his Raw Magic. Becoming a war hero like his father, but instead of retiring going off to fight the evils of the world like Araxan was. Maybe an Archdruid, tip the balance in the fight with the Elves. That hero he had planned to become would not have barely come in the top fifty percent.

    He heard Mallroy¡¯s voice even here, echoing down the hall. The race was nearly over. He dried his face and rushed back to the arena. The recruits were a curious mixture of being drenched in sweat while looking freshly energised. There were a fair few disappointed faces, but a few infuriatingly smug ones too. Ella/Bella was stood next to the girl with the red ponytail who came first, and they both shot him an annoyed look.

    ¡°Welp, it certainly took less time than usual, but maybe a little too much shorter than I¡¯d like. Perhaps next year we¡¯ll use Minute Fatigue instead. Har!¡± Mallroy¡¯s laugh was more of a single bark. In training, you often only heard it on bad days.  ¡°Next is the Test of Mind. Each of you will be assigned an examiner, and you must display for them a spell from the Standardised Brimstone Grimoire at their request. Find yourselves a spot in the arena and an examiner will make their way to you.¡±

    This was fine. Wyll had studied that Grimoire for hours, and he was confident he knew it front to back. The other recruits took spots somewhere relative to where their family was in the crowd, and reluctantly Wyll did the same. Couldn¡¯t have them thinking he was hiding from them. Once everyone found a place, the examiners went to go meet them. They seemed to have been assigned particular recruits, judging by how Wyll¡¯s examiner passed several others before stopping at him. Immediately, Wyll recognised her. It was the woman with the suit from behind the bar at his family¡¯s balcony suite.

    A new wave of dread filled him. Was this person hired by his parents to give him an easier time? It was mortifying to think they had made preparations to help him along before he¡¯d even failed, like they had no faith in him from the very beginning. He didn¡¯t want to be someone who only got ahead because of the influence of their family.

    ¡°Hello Mr. Darter, my name is EIlin. I will be your assessor today.¡± she said with a slight bow.

    Wyll wanted to ask her if she had been paid off, or beg her to test him normally, but there were so many others around it would be hard to do so discreetly. Before he had a chance to try, Ellin spoke again.

    ¡°Now, for your first challenge: please show me a spell that would fell a tree, split it into planks, and turn its leaves into fertilizer¡±. She completed her statement by gesturing with a gloved hand, and a tree sprouted from the ground, turning from sapling to towering oak in moments. He didn¡¯t recognise the incantation.

    Wyll was confused. There were spells for each of those things, but she asked for one spell. Was combining spells into one something that they were supposed to do now? He looked around, and could see other recruits summoning campfires, constructing tents, forming barricades out of the sand on the floor. All things Wyll had studied on how to do. He couldn¡¯t see any other trees. Perhaps he was overthinking it. He cast the spell to fell the tree first, the actions of casting it feeling like a pantomime now he understood how magic truly worked, but with this assessor right in front of him he wasn¡¯t going to try anything more creative. The tree toppled, but before it hit the ground it faded away into green motes of light.

    ¡°Unfortunately, you lacked the plank and fertilizer making parts of the spell. That¡¯s a fail. Next question.¡±

    What? Wasn¡¯t this person supposed to go easier on him? Had his parents actually hired her to make him fail? Wyll didn¡¯t understand at all.

    ¡°Next question: Cast a spell that would resuscitate a recently killed teammate.¡± Ellin said without hesitation.

    Another gesture, and the green motes condensed into a disturbingly realistic rendition of a fallen soldier, a scorched hole through his stomach. Some of the nearby contestants looked disturbed.

    ¡°That¡¯s impossible, and certainly not in the Grimoire¡¯s spell lists.¡± Wyll sputtered.

    Ellin simply smiled. ¡°Please try anyway.¡±

    Panic set back in. How was he supposed to do that? Even with Wild Magic it would be¡­ Wait. Did this person know something? Was she trying to get him to use his true powers? Wyll was desperate, but not that desperate. This person seemed to know something about him. How much, he didn¡¯t know. He wasn¡¯t going to out himself here. After staring at the body for a while, Ellin spoke again.

    ¡°Seems this is another fail. As you have not succeeded in two out of three tasks, the Test of Mind is now over. Goodbye, Mr. Darter.¡± Ellin said, looking somewhat disappointed before moving away. Wyll was left alone, standing amongst the other contestants who were still working on their much simpler tasks. Wyll didn¡¯t know how to process what just happened. He failed? He looked up at the balcony for some kind of answers, and the only thing he could see was his father turning away in shame.

 23: Underhanded

    ¡°I think you should punch him back.¡±

    I sat in the workshop, in my spot at the rune carving table. A variety of stone slabs were piled around me, and the area was dusted with dust from previous carvings. I floated a chisel in the air as I grabbed the brush to clear some of the detritus out of the way, sweeping it into a hole in the table that led to a waste box. Aniya got annoyed if my mess spread to the other workstations.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple, he¡¯s my brother sure but he¡¯s my boss too, you know?¡± Arryn¡¯s voice came through slightly muffled, the Horizon connection struggling to maintain the connection over such a long distance. I had a timer imprinted in my sight, somehow stuck in my peripheral vision but never out of focus. We¡¯d been talking for nearly an hour now.

    ¡°So what? Who wants to work under someone like that anyway?¡± I said, still feeling a bit foolish speaking aloud in an empty workshop. I didn¡¯t often get calls like this, and I wasn¡¯t used to talking when I couldn¡¯t see the other person.

    ¡°Someone who wants to keep their apartment and be able to pay their bills, that¡¯s who.¡± Arryn sighed. He was always so negative. ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone else will employ a mundane person for anything close to what I currently get paid now, and even that isn¡¯t very much.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, you¡¯re not mundane though, right?¡±

    ¡°I mean, I guess so. In a way. I don¡¯t want to use my power for personal gain when half the peacekeepers in the city are out looking for Wyll, though.¡±

    ¡°Makes sense. Speaking of, you heard from him lately? I heard he was joining back up with Brimstone but nothing since then.¡±

    Arryn clicked his teeth, which came though quite sharply in their mental link. ¡°No. We had a bit of a disagreement after the last lesson with Fyron. I dunno, Dee, he seems off since that night you were ambushed.¡±

    Dee, huh? Only Coach and Ani really called me that, but I guess I was fine with it. I had sensed there was something going on between Wyll and Arryn, but I didn¡¯t think it was that serious.

    ¡°Yeah. Though going by what Fyron said, if the mental strain from the universe completing his spell for him is what led to all this ¡®off¡¯-ness, he might have gotten away pretty lightly. At least he¡¯s not trying to destroy the moon or talk to trees or something.¡±

    ¡°Maybe¡­ We should be careful not to make the same mistake though. Have you done much practice? You had that apple thing, right?¡±

    ¡°Ugh, don¡¯t remind me. I¡¯ve pulped about three bags of apples so far. I don¡¯t think I can picture my telekinesis as anything but a bunch of hands, something sharp is just¡­ I dunno. Hard to conceptualise.¡±

    I could hear some noise in the background of Arryn¡¯s end. Some people shouting, the slamming of a door.

    ¡°Sorry, things are kicking off a bit on my end. Been another attack near the branch.¡±

    ¡°Do you need to go?¡±

    ¡°Nah, that¡¯s for someone else to deal with. I¡¯ve been assigned the very important task of organising the documents in storage by date and category.¡±

    ¡°Joy.¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± he said with a deep sigh. ¡°Anyway, don¡¯t you have a bunch of gauntlets with bladed attachments?¡±

    ¡°I see what you¡¯re getting at, yeah. That might help.¡±

    ¡°Glad to be of service.¡±

    I absentmindedly levitated some of the stone tablets in the air. I¡¯d been picturing my telekinesis as just generic hand shapes, like Lefty and Righty, but Arryn might have a point about repicturing them as my different gauntlets. I¡¯d have to experiment with that later.

    ¡°How¡¯s your task coming, anyway?¡±

    ¡°Uh, I kind of did it? Was kind of an accident though. I can pretty easily nullify magic things if I¡¯m under pressure, but when things are calm it¡¯s hard to bring out that kind of reactive control. I did manage to do something about the pain from getting my ass kicked though¡­¡±

    Arryn explained the way in which he compressed his physical pain into a condensed point. It was fascinating, but concerning at the same time.

    ¡°Why a jellyfish?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I dunno. I hurt in lots of different places, and I pictured it like a jellyfish with its stingers all over my body. I wish I had a way to get rid of it completely, though. My hand is throbbing, and I tried to squish that pain into nothingness but it just focused it on a smaller area, like my hand went from being bruised all over to being stabbed with a big needle.¡±

    ¡°Ouch. Maybe you should give it back to Reggie, then.¡±

    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll use my illegal wild magic to attack my boss.¡± Arryn snapped. After a moment, he spoke again. ¡°...Sorry. That came out a bit more aggro than I intended. I hate this place, and I hate my brother being here, and I hate that my hand hurts all the time now.¡±

    ¡°No worries. I get it.¡± I said. I wasn¡¯t really sure what to say to any of that.

    ¡°I wish I could teleport like Fyron can. Just sneak back to Danmer whenever I felt like it. See my cat, watch some crappy TV on my hologram.¡±

    ¡°I mean, I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯s coming to see my fight tonight. Why not ask him to bring you too?¡±

    ¡°He is?¡±

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    ¡°Yeah, at least I think so. Has a weird habit of always being exactly where you expect him to be.¡±

    ¡°I suppose, I really don¡¯t know if he-¡±

    Arryn was interrupted by the sound of heavy knocking. It took me a second to realise it was on my end and not his.

    ¡°Hmm, I should go get that. Call me again later, this helped.¡± I said.

    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll see you at the fight, maybe.¡±

    There was the faint popping in my ears of the mental link disconnecting, and the timer in the periphery of my vision flickered out. Someone impatiently pounded at the door again. I got up from my work nest, and made my way to the large steel doors that served as the entrance to the workshop. I slid it open, the door screeching on its wheels, and saw the last person I¡¯d expected to see.

    Don Alabaster was a heavy-set man, with a perpetually sweaty red face and neatly groomed pencil moustache. He had the large red nose of a habitual alcoholic, and a small pair of shaded spectacles perched on it. He had taken off his spotless white fedora to fan himself with it, and he looked like he¡¯d run here. I spotted a wand-sized evoker tucked into the belt of his similarly spotless white suit trousers, and was immediately on guard. This man had tried to kill me just days ago, and now he shows up at my home? I didn¡¯t visibly react, but I mentally lifted some of the sharper tools in the workshop closer, just out of sight of the doorway. I didn¡¯t see any of his henchmen hiding nearby, but that didn¡¯t mean there wasn¡¯t a hit squad out there waiting for me.

    ¡°Alabastard. What the fuck are you doing here?¡± I growled.

    ¡°Easy now. I wanted to talk, not fight.¡± he grumbled, in his Gotlan-esque drawl. ¡°Way I see it, we¡¯ve both got good reasons to be pissed off at each other, but I come here with a peace offering.¡±

    ¡°Not interested.¡± I went to slam the door in his face, but an immaculate white loafer blocked the door. I could have pushed hard enough to separate that foot from his leg, but this situation was strange enough to give me pause.

    ¡°Listen, kid. I tried to take you out of the picture. That¡¯s true. I had a lot of money bet on the person you were going to fight against. They were one of my top fighters, but I respected your ability enough to not want a fair fight.¡±

    I scoffed. Was this his idea of making peace?

    ¡°But then you and your buddies surprised me with some kind of magical explosion that levelled a city block. I have to admit, that wasn¡¯t what I anticipated. Normally I¡¯d up the ante for something like that, but I figured fair is fair. I took a shot, I missed. You shot back and hit. That¡¯s on me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not hearing an apology.¡± I said, still wary this could be a trick.

    ¡°That¡¯s because Don Alabaster doesn¡¯t apologise.¡±

    Of course he refers to himself in third-person. Prick.

    ¡°I came to offer you a warning.¡± he said conspiratorially.

    Here we go. This is the veiled threats and blackmail I had been expecting.

    ¡°If you¡¯ve come to tell me to drop out or you¡¯ll tell the Peacekeepers about that night you can fuck right off. You know as well as I do that they¡¯d love to get their hands on you.¡± I said.

    ¡°No, kid. You¡¯re dead wrong. I¡¯m not here about that night. As far as I see it, that debt is settled on both sides. I¡¯ve come to tell you about your fight tonight. Public story is that I¡¯m banned from the tournament, but that ain¡¯t the whole story. You see, that prize fighter I mentioned turned up dead a couple days ago, and I think whoever did it is connected to your next opponent.¡±

    Despite me trying to play it cool, that got a reaction out of me. Going up against Alabaster was usually suicide, never mind taking out a trained fighter.

    ¡°Start talking.¡±

    I could see Alabaster bristle a bit about being ordered around, but he continued anyway. ¡°We found his body diced up into fucking cubes. Never seen anything like it. From the way he was found, he would have been awake at the time, standing in his kitchen. The cuts were incredibly precise, but we found no traces of any spell we could recognise there. We¡¯re scrambling to find who did, scrambling to find another fighter, I¡¯ve got my boys running ragged all over town when suddenly-¡± he pauses for effect. ¡°We get a visitor.¡±

    ¡°Lemme guess, they make you an offer.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. This dwarf comes in, big guy. Says he has a fighter we¡¯re welcome to use in place of our original option. Now, I¡¯m no idiot, and suspect something is up with him immediately, so I tell my boys to take him to the holding cells we have in our basement. I leave him there to stew for a bit, then later I go down to rough him up a little, see what he knows. When I get down there the dwarf is gone, and in his place was a metric shit-ton of gold. We counted it up, and it was exactly - to the copper - what we paid for our recently deceased fighter. That includes training costs, entry fees, even the odd potion we bought off the books to, ahem, help his odds. I wouldn¡¯t have noticed this if we didn¡¯t have a damn good bookkeeper, who went white as a sheet when he realised. Said that nobody should know that exact amount. Never mind how he brought in that much dough and snuck out again.¡±

    ¡°Seems like a decent deal for you. Full refund.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, we were due to make it all back and then some on the bets we¡¯d placed on your fight. Since we were officially banned we were in the process of setting up proxies instead, to manage things in my place.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± I should have known that any kind of official action against someone like Alabaster would be pointless. Alabaster owned half the fighters in any given tournament, and had most of the other coaches in his pocket too.

    ¡°But there¡¯s more. My guy Tino goes to tell the fight organisers about the change in plans, and he looks confused. Apparently earlier that day Tino had already come in and registered a new fighter for tonight. Transferred all my bets over too, and paid a tidy sum for the transactional look-the-other-way fees. Very considerate, whoever this imposter is.¡±

    This was a lot to take in. Someone had gone to great lengths to set up this fight tonight, but why? Rigging was fairly commonplace in this kind of sport, but usually that was to make money on the outcome of a fight. But this person was throwing a lot of money around in the process, and even made sure Alabaster still got his bet money if I lost. Why go through so much trouble? If they had that kind of operation, why not just rig the bets like normal?

    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re in a pretty good spot. Why tell me about it?¡± I asked after some thought.

    ¡°Well, I may have tried to whack ya, but I got a soft spot for spunky kids like you. Reminds me of my youth.¡±

    I inwardly sighed in relief that elves don¡¯t grow past adulthood, and I didn¡¯t have to worry about getting red and sweaty like Alabaster in the future if I reminded him of a younger self now.

    ¡°Also,¡± he continued. ¡°If you had any sense you¡¯d forfeit now. Seems like someone is trying to stack this fight against you, and you¡¯d be a fool to go in anyway.¡±

    Ah, there¡¯s the real reason. If I forfeit then he still gets to cash in on his bets. He still thinks I might win.

    ¡°Thanks, but no thanks. I want that prize money.¡±

    ¡°Ehh, I know. Everyone knows you¡¯re in it for the dough. But it¡¯s your funeral kid. Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn ya. Should be night to remember either way.¡± he said, starting to walk away.

    I slid the door shut again, and retreated back into the stuffy warmth of the workshop. This all seemed a bit too suspicious. My gut was telling me to withdraw, but there was something I saw in the glint of Alabaster¡¯s eye. I wouldn''t put it past him to double or triple his bets on this new mysterious fighter in light of all this connivery. If I won, I could hit him where he hurts - his wallet.

    It was time to get some revenge.