Chapter 33

Leshi Forest I (Skills)

Mags found Malacoda napping in the courtyard behind their tower, stretched across a stone bench, bathing in the golden glow of the midday sun like a cat. He was shirtless and had what appeared to be his Company cloak bundled beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. A faint smile tugged at Mags’ lips. This man is absolutely ridiculous.

The courtyard felt peaceful, the air warm and heavy with the scent of blooming flowers. Birds chittered in the trees overhead, and for a moment, it was easy to forget where she was.

As she approached, Malacoda’s ears twitched, and then he sneezed—a loud sneeze that echoed off the stone walls of the courtyard. His red eyes blinked open, groggy but alert, and before Mags could say a word, he sniffled and glanced her way.

“Of all the people in Bijel Garden, it’s always you I smell before I see,” he muttered, still half-asleep.

“It’s the scent of responsibility. You’re my Soulsinging tutor—or are supposed to be, at least.”

Malacoda turned his gaze towards the sky and scratched his chin. “We gave you the day off, remember. That means it’s my day off too . . . Now, take your stench of responsibility elsewhere and do whatever it is country bumpkins do in their free time.”

Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the stone bench. Mags crossed her arms, her brow raised. “Well, I’m leaving soon in any case. My question will be quick.”

Malacoda stretched lazily, his arms extending briefly before retracting as he yawned. “Fine. Go ahead. The Great Malacoda will hear your plea, pupil.”

Mags rubbed the back of her neck, glancing at the neat silver script she recalled using Yggdrasil’s interface.

[Passive Skill: Aura Vision]

[Level: E-4]

“I got a notification about something called Aura Vision,” she began. “It says it’s a passive skill, but I don’t know what that means.”

Malacoda’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Are you worried? It’s one of the most common skills you’ll pick up as a Soulsinger. Passive skills are just that—passive. They’re always working in the background, enhancing your abilities without you needing to do anything special. You can focus on them, bring them to the forefront, but often times they’re there and not too different from breathing.”

Mags nodded slowly, processing the information. “So is it like the physical enhancement ability we’ve been working on?”

Malacoda rolled his shoulders and stood, stretching his sleek, muscular body before hopping off the bench with a graceful stride. He began pacing around her, eyes glinting with a teacher’s focus. So now you’re motivated to do your job?...

“No. Physical enhancement is an Active Skill—you need to actively channel aether into your body. There is Aspect Enhancement, which isn’t active once the process is complete, but that’s a little off topic. I’ll let the losers at Brightwash walk you through that one.” He paused, tapping a finger on his chin. He sucked his teeth before continuing.

“Aura Vision is a passive skill that allows you to see the flow of aether—imagine being able to visualize the energy that moves around us and within us. At its most basic level, you can see concentration of aether in the atmosphere, someone’s aura—if they aren’t properly suppressing it—and in time, as the skill levels up, you might be able to glimpse more. Mana channels, for instance—the pathways through which magic flows within a person. And if you get really good at it, you can see into someone’s soul.”

Mags blinked, startled. “Into their soul?”

A lazy grin spread across Malacoda’s face, lopsided from the scars across his face. “Yes, though it takes considerable mastery to get there. Don’t worry about that just yet.”

“How do I level it up?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

“By using it, of course,” Malacoda replied matter-of-factly. “Like most Skills, it strengthens the more you rely on it. The more aether you encounter, the more you’ll grow accustomed to its nuances, and Aura Vision will evolve naturally.”

Mags found herself fascinated. “What about Spells? Are those Active Skills?”

Malacoda’s gaze softened with a rare hint of patience. “Spells are a little more specific. For example, I have the Active Skill ‘Water Manipulation.’ I can manipulate water, if you couldn’t guess what that Skill does . . . Anyways, I have Spells that rely upon that Skill to cast.”

The prospect of that kind of power sent a thrill through her. But there was always a catch, wasn’t there? Mags sighed. “So, I just need to keep practicing?”

Malacoda grinned, eyes twinkling. “Oh, absolutely. And this is the perfect time for what I would call ‘independent study.’ Didn’t you say you were leaving?”

Mags’ expression sobered at the reminder. The task ahead loomed large, and the memory of Celestine’s cool, commanding voice still echoed in her mind. “Yeah. But thanks for the crash course. I needed that.”

Malacoda gave her a sly wink. “Just don’t get yourself killed before I get the chance to fight you. Really fight you. Once you can go full Angel again.”

She chuckled. “I’ll try not to.” Though the thought of ‘going full Angel’ made her stomach lurch.

Malacoda reclaimed his spot on the bench, stretching out luxuriously, catlike. “Good. Now off you go. And don’t forget: practice using [Aura Vision] in addition to the Physical Enhancement Skill we’ve been working on. The more you see, the better prepared you’ll be.”

With one last glance at her mentor, Mags turned toward the tower. She needed to swing by her room before she and Calcabrina departed on their task.

image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]

Mags hurried back to her quarters. The late afternoon sun was casting long shadows across the halls of the temple, and her footsteps echoed softly against the stone floors. She pushed open the heavy oak door to her room, immediately scanning the small space for her essentials.

Her satchel sat on the edge of the bed, already half-packed with a few basic supplies—bandages, a waterskin, and a handful of dried rations. Not enough for a long journey, but it would work for their assigned task. Mags swept the remaining items into the satchel with practiced efficiency, checking to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything crucial. Her mind raced, but she forced herself to slow down, to think clearly.

She kicked off her slippers and found her good pair of boots, which she hastily pulled onto her feet.

Then, she knelt by the chest at the foot of her bed, flipping open the lid. Her eyes immediately fell on Mithra, the half-blade resting atop her belongings. The ancient Ivaldi-wrought weapon gleamed even in the dim light of her quarters, the polished jet surface of its blade practically eating the light around it.

Whoever had packed her things for this trip had, thankfully, included the blade. She exhaled a quiet breath of relief. There was no telling how useful Mithra might be in the Leshi, but Mags never felt fully prepared without it. Mithra had saved her life on more than one occasion and she had no idea what trouble waited for them out there.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Her fingers brushed the thick leather belt lying beside the blade, the handiwork of Cagna and Dragnazzo. She smirked, remembering how she had pestered them for the custom belt to replace the one she’d lost in Solstice, and how, despite their exaggerated grumbling, they had completed the fine work outrageously fast. The leather was supple and strong, and the sheath attached to it had been made to fit Mithra perfectly. It rested horizontally along her lower back when she wore it—just as she liked. Out of the way, but within easy reach.

Mags stood, slipping the belt around her waist and securing the buckle with a decisive snap. Mithra fit into its sheath like a missing piece, its weight familiar and comforting against her back. She adjusted the straps, giving the blade a testing shift. It moved easily, fluidly, just as it should.

Satisfied, she swung the satchel over her shoulder and took one last look around the room. There wasn’t anything else she needed. Everything essential was either on her person or within easy reach.

image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]

Mags and Calcabrina moved swiftly down the ancient stone steps leading out of Bijel Garden, the enormous Hand of Weles looming over them like a silent sentinel as they struck out into the Leshi. Its fingers, carved from dark stone, reached toward the sky, casting long, foreboding shadows across the Sanguine Trees.

Calcabrina was a few steps ahead, her pace quick and determined. Mags jogged to keep up, eyes scanning the dense treeline as they made their way northward, toward where the rogue airship was reported to have crash-landed. The Leshi Forest was eerily quiet, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. No birds called, no insects hummed—just the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. The salty scent of the sea breeze was quickly replaced by earthy aromas as they pressed deeper into the forest.

It didn’t take long before they started seeing signs of the crash.

The first was the splintered trunk of a massive Sanguine Tree, its once-majestic branches now scattered across the forest floor like broken limbs. Mags frowned, stepping over a particularly large piece of debris. She exchanged a glance with Calcabrina, who simply nodded and kept moving forward. More trees had been felled in a wide swath, their branches tangled and bent as though something large had plowed through them. It was easy to follow the path of destruction.

Then, just beyond a cluster of uprooted saplings, they found it.

The airship lay on its side in a shallow ravine, partially buried beneath a canopy of broken branches. It wasn’t a large vessel—no more than thirty feet long, with a sleek, angular hull made of darkwood and reinforced with what looked like bronze. Its design was modest, built for speed rather than endurance, and likely capable of holding no more than four or five men.

The ship was still tethered to its skyfin.

The thing floated effortlessly in the air, its body resembling a massive goldfish, but far more otherworldly. Its shimmering scales caught the red-tinted light cascading down through the blood-colored canopy, gleaming a soft, iridescent gold. The skyfin’s fins moved through the air as if it were underwater, undulating gently, silent and graceful. It hovered just above the ship, tethered to it by a long cord of braided silver, the creature almost unnervingly calm in the stillness of the wreck.

Mags gawked. It was still fascinating to see the creatures at so close a distance. And they were so varied that each new variant of skyfin gave her something to admire.

Calcabrina’s eyes narrowed as she assessed the scene. She gestured for Mags to follow as she cautiously approached the ship. “Strange. The ship looks intact, and the skyfin’s not injured. No obvious signs of it being a crash due to mechanical failure or distress. This?” She shook her head. “This was intentional. Though it takes gall to try and land an airship here. And taking off will be tricky.”

Mags circled around the opposite side of the ship, her boots crunching against the undergrowth as she scanned for signs of movement. “You sure about that?” she asked, crouching to peer into the open hatch of the airship. It was dark inside, but she could just make out a narrow compartment with a few scattered crates and supplies. Empty.

Calcabrina nodded grimly. “Nothing’s broken. No sign of distress. Whoever was flying this thing landed on purpose. I suppose the question is why did they come to Rusalka. It isn’t quite the holiday destination I’d decide on.”

Mags stood up, dusting her hands off. “And where did they go? Whoever was in the ship.”

Calcabrina’s brow furrowed, her sharp eyes surveying the area. She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Time to put my Bonesinging to use.” She gave a half-smile, her expression softening slightly. “This is actually what I’m really good at—not fighting. Tracking is my forte.”

Mags tilted her head. Calcabrina’s transformation was a spectacle she hadn’t quite adjusted to seeing just yet. The young woman shifted her weight, her form rippling as she tapped into her abilities. Her limbs elongated, her skin shimmered as fur sprouted along her arms and legs, her form growing larger until she resembled a strange, elegant mix between a stag and a lion.

Mags asked, hands on her hips as she studied Calcabrina’s beast form. “I actually always meant to ask . . . what is this form you take?”

“I’m a Shifter,” Calcabrina said, her voice layered with that familiar, deeper undertone, the same one she used when transformed. “I can turn into Kirin, specifically.” She sniffed the air, the faint glow of aether drawing toward her. “Exceptional tracking Skills.” The large, bestial eye seemed to give a wink.

Mags squinted, focusing on Calcabrina just as Malacoda had explained. She could see it now—the faint shimmer of aether, like glowing dust, surrounding Calcabrina as she activated her Skill. The longer she focused, the clearer it became, almost as though she could feel the aether moving, pulsing around her. It took concentration, but she was starting to see it.

“Odd, I’m getting two trails,” Calcabrina murmured, her nose twitching as she scanned the area. “One is stronger. The other is . . . faint.” She gestured with her head toward the northern end of the clearing, where the trees grew thicker and more tangled. “We should follow that one.”

Mags glanced at the skyfin, then back at Calcabrina’s imposing form. “How exactly are we supposed to be stealthy with you looking like that?” The massive bestial form would be hard to miss.

Calcabrina gave a huff that was almost a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.” She lowered her head, the air around them shimmering subtly. “I have two stealth Skills, too—Sound Mute and What’s That. Sound Mute will dampen the noise we make. What’s That will create an attention shroud around us, mentally pulling the attention of people who look towards us in another direction. If we move carefully, they won’t know we’re coming.”

Mags raised an eyebrow, impressed. The [What’s That] Skill reminded her of the Deep she had explored with Sabo and Bidelia. In the dungeon, there were passage ways that were similarly cloaked in magic that subtly affected what one’s mind paid attention to. Only a Navigator’s talents could pierce it. “Alright then, lead the way.”

And with that, the two set off into the thick of the forest, the shadows of the Leshi closing in around them as they followed the trail of whoever had been in that airship. Mags kept her senses sharp, her hand resting on Mithra, ready for anything that might come their way.

The forest was unnaturally silent as they moved, their footsteps absorbed by Calcabrina’s [Sound Mute] Skill. Mags would’ve sworn they were gliding rather than stepping on dead leaves and brittle twigs. She glanced sideways at Calcabrina, her friend’s Kirin form somehow both graceful and imposing, her silvery hide somehow blending into the shadowed greenery. Calcabrina’s nostrils flared as she followed the faint scent trail, her head dipping low every so often as she tuned into whatever subtle signals the forest offered her. Mags tried to keep her focus on the faint traces of aether she could see being drawn into her friend.

After several minutes of weaving through thick branches and dodging thorny underbrush, the dense canopy gave way to a clearing. The trees opened up, revealing a wide space ringed by thick trunks. In the middle of the clearing stood two men.

Mags froze, instinctively pressing herself against a tree, motioning for Calcabrina to do the same. The Kirin crouched low to the ground.

The men looked Olenish—tall, dark-skinned, with the rough edges of mercenaries who had seen one bad job too many. The one closest to them was painfully thin, his skin drawn tight across his bones, and his cheekbones jutting so sharply that Mags wondered how he hadn’t cut himself just by smiling. The other was the exact opposite, thick and round-bellied, reminding her so much of Radmilo from the Blackfire Company that her hands curled into fists just from the memory. She took a fleeting moment to silently curse them. I hope they lived long enough to have been massacred by the empire, she thought. Radmilo and Kruno, and their gang of cronies, didn’t deserve the quick death Angels brought.

She forced herself to breathe slowly, noticing that both men looked worn and haggard. Their clothes were tattered, hair wild, and eyes dull from who knew what they’d seen or done. Behind the rotund man floated a small metallic sphere, about the size of her fist, humming faintly as it levitated at shoulder height. The man held a bloody shortsword in his fat, sausage-like fingers, blood still fresh, so dark it looked almost black as it dripped slowly from the blade’s edge. And then Mags’ eyes followed the dark trail downward to the body lying at his feet.

It was a woman, squat and plump, dressed in layers of skirts that looked like they would be found on any grandmother in the Olenish countryside, but were now soaked in crimson. She’d been decapitated. A surge of nausea hit Mags, but she forced herself to swallow it down. Her eyes then found what had to be the body’s head—an old woman’s haggard face, grayed thinning hair still pinned into a loose bun, eyes half-lidded, slack. The man held the head in his other hand, fingers clenched around a fistful of hair.

That’s when the old lady’s jaundiced eyes rolled, slowly, like dice on a table. Her gaze stopped dead on the shadows where Mags and Calcabrina hid.

The head’s lips worked, twisting with effort before the mouth opened. A shrill, craggily voice burst from the head’s open mouth. “You! Are you the ones she sent? Well, quit standing there and help me!”