Chapter 38
Tutors VI
A day later, Mags attuned to her first item.
The world folded in on itself, and a soft hum pulsed through Mags’ fingertips as she clasped the metallic sphere of the Aether-bound Pocket. Her aura surged into it, tingling against her skin like the prickle of too-strong tea. A moment later, she felt a connection click into place, as if a small lock had slid free within her own mind. The sphere pulsed once in response, and she knew it was finally hers to command. The text from Yggdrasil followed a heartbeat later.
[Attunement Complete: Aether-bound Pocket]
[Available Attunement Slots: 3/3]
[Assign to Open Attunement Slot?]
Yes, she commanded.
. . .
[Aether-bound Pocket, Grade B-3, successfully attuned!]
[Items Attuned: 1]
[Available Attunement Slots: 2/3]
Mags eyes focused on the words ‘Grade B-3.’ That information hadn’t been provided earlier . . . It seems that attuning to an item allows Yggdrasil to provide more information than it can when simply Inspecting it. That was an interesting piece of information. She mentally tucked it away for later.
Finally, the Pocket was truly hers. She took a deep breath and activated it, focusing her mind on the command. A window flickered to life in her vision, floating just above her palm, lines of neat script.
[Aether-bound Pocket]
[Access Inventory?]
. . .
[Inventory: Small Stone Cube x10, Flask x1, Steel Shortsword x1, Torch x1, Bedroll x1, Tarp x1, Used Pieces of Parchment x5]
[Available Inventory Space Remaining: 98.5%]
Mags rolled her eyes, plucking out the stone cubes with a simple mental command and tossing them to the ground one after the other. Her lips twitched in relief when they landed with dull, heavy thuds and didn’t explode into concussive blasts of force. Just stones. Probably should have been more careful withdrawing those, just in case.
She dropped the flask, bedroll, tarp and shortsword with little more than a glance—the flask’s faint, pungent scent told her all she needed to know, and the shortsword wouldn’t be useful when she already had Mithra. She then withdrew the torch, squinting as a lit flame flickered to life at one end. A still-lit torch hovered before her in the air for a second and almost dropped, but she snatched it in time.
She swore and quickly snuffed it against the ground, but couldn’t shake the wonder of what she’d seen. The Pocket had preserved a lit torch. What else might it keep untouched by time? Could she store food, medicine, water? The possibilities swirled in her mind, possibilities that spoke of survival in places where life often clung by a thread. She imagined Soulsingers spending days in a Deep. Keeping food preserved in a practically weightless device like a Pocket . . . Seems almost like cheating! She thought.
Does the preservation work on living creatures too? A shiver crawled down her spine. The aether-tec was both exciting and unsettling. She would need to experiment with the limits of its capabilities.
Next, she withdrew the used parchment. Each piece was smudged and crinkled, used enough that she almost dismissed them as scratch paper, but curiosity held her still as she studied the charcoal sketches. A gaunt, wiry man, familiar from his awkward, leaning stance—Calcabrina’s antlers had caught him in the gut. Yes, she recognized him. She shuffled to the next, her brow furrowing as the lines revealed a shape that took longer to place. It was the tiger-man, shown in his human form, a tall and scarred figure with tired eyes beneath a mane of rough hair. A strange tightness rose in her throat as she realized the obvious truth staring back at her: these weren’t just faceless attackers, but people with lives of their own. Drawings of people the former owner of the Pocket found dear. Enemies, yes, but each of them with stories she’d never know, with people who loved them.
With the parchments held carefully in her hand, she sought out the first priestess she came across. It was Isidora, one of the blindfolded priestesses of Rusalka. Mags had met her before, and her reception hadn’t exactly been warm.
“Isidora,” she greeted, nodding respectfully. Isidora’s head followed her voice but her frown spoke louder than words.
“Sacrilege,” she replied, the disdain of judgment thick in her voice. “You and Calcabrina are fortunate to have faced no greater consequences. Had it been up to me, I’d not have let you off so easily.”
Mags swallowed down a sharp retort. Good thing you’re not the Shrine Maiden then. “The men we fought in the forest—did anyone do anything with their bodies?”
Isidora’s mouth drew into a thin line. “They were retrieved and laid to rest near the Hand of Weles, at the base of the mountain. A mark of respect for souls who walked dark paths, if they are even worthy of that.”
Mags nodded, offering a quiet thanks and leaving before Isidora could level more judgment in her direction. She made her way down the thousand steps. The great stone hand of Weles loomed large as she descended, each massive finger extended as if reaching skyward, eternally guarding the mountain’s roots.
At the base, Mags found the fresh graves, each plot of turned soil casting a humble mark against the green. She knelt by one of the plots, digging a small hole in the loose soil with her fingers. It wasn’t deep, just enough to hold the drawings. She carefully laid them down and covered them with a dusting of dirt, feeling a strange calm settle over her as she did. She didn’t regret what had happened in the Leshi—they had been dangerous, driven men who’d left her no choice—but she couldn’t quite bury the memory of their faces, either. They were, like her, souls caught in a world that twisted people into weapons, and whether or not what they had attempted to do was right or wrong, they’d been worthy of at least a moment’s respect.
“May you find peace,” she whispered, brushing the last of the dirt over the drawings. The wind stirred, catching a few loose strands of her hair, and she thought she heard a faint hum in the air, like the dying echo of a song.
image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]
The Pocket gleamed like a jewel in Mags’ palm, small as a marble now, and she marveled at the way it hummed in tune with her aura. She gave it a gentle nudge with her mind, letting a trickle of energy pulse into it. The sphere immediately lifted from her hand, bobbing along at shoulder height, hovering like an attentive little pet. With a bit more intent, she willed it to hide, and though it didn't quite disappear, it shimmered, blurring slightly like a hazy mirage. Light bounced off it in strange directions, enough that it might pass unnoticed from a distance.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Good work,” she muttered approvingly. The Pocket only left her side when she gave it permission, and each time it returned to her with a faint metallic hum, almost like the purr of a contented cat.
The next few hours found her experimenting with the storage capabilities of her new prize. She stuffed all sorts of odds and ends inside it. She watched in fascination as each item vanished into the faint shimmer of aether, seemingly untouched by weight limits or clutter. The Pocket’s interior was an endless space, or near enough that she couldn’t imagine reaching its limits anytime soon.
Curious about just how endless, she considered her bed. She squinted at the squat, wooden frame, draped in rumpled blankets. It would be absurd. But. . . the question had to be asked. She first attempted to store it as it was, bedpost legs solidly on the ground. She focused her intent on it, like she had every prior object. Nothing happened.
She walked up to the bed and placed a hand on the wrinkled sheets. She tried again.
Nothing.
“Interesting.” Then, she squatted down and, grabbing onto the bottom of the frame, lifted, using her improved strength to pick the entire bed, frame, mattress and all, off the ground, though not by much. While still holding the bed, she focused her intent on storing it in her Inventory.
The entire bed popped out of existence, vanishing with a soft whoosh.
[Available Inventory Space Remaining: 96%]
“Well, now,” she muttered, “there’s something.” That number was with a large amount of other items already stored in the Pocket. Pulling the bed back out of the Pocket proved just as effortless as withdrawing anything else. She watched as it popped back into reality, frame, mattress, and all, almost right where it had previously been.
A grin tugged at her lips as she noted that the bed had barely made a dent in the Pocket’s storage capacity. This was a new frontier of possibility.
Her curiosity led her next to a rather unwilling volunteer. Spotting one of the feral cats that roamed the temple grounds, Mags held her hand out, coaxing it gently. With a suspicious glance, the cat approached, and in a swift move, she caught it.
The feline let out a growl, wriggling frantically in her grip, clawing at her arms as she tried to store it in the Pocket.
[Error: Ineligible Target]
She released the cat, which shot her an indignant look before darting back into the bushes. “Thanks for the help,” she called after it, shaking her head with a bemused chuckle. So the Pocket had hard limits on what it could and could not store. Good to know.
And then there was Mithra. She hesitated only briefly, cradling the familiar sword in her hands. She admired the weapon’s jet black blade before focusing her intent on the command. With a thought she willed Mithra to be placed in the Pocket, watching as it disappeared into the same dimensional haze.
[Available Inventory Space Remaining: 50%]
Mags eyes widened in surprise.
Then, the realization struck her with the force of a revelation. Mithra wasn’t just physical metal and enchantments—it was a creation from the Ivaldi, brimming with layers of ancient power. She remembered what Yggdrasil had told her when it first inspected the Pocket. If the Pocket accounted for “metaphysical weight” too, then Mithra’s essence might carry more force than any ordinary weapon or object, even if it was physically heavier than Mithra.
She withdrew Mithra with another thought. The blade was pulled back into her hand, feeling its familiar heft, and nodded to herself.
The Hag’s Eye had similarly disproportional metaphysical weight. Once she had both the Hag’s Eye and Mithra stored in the Pocket, she was left with 22% remaining Inventory Space. Satisfied with her experimentation with the Pocket, Mags nodded to herself and stored both Artifacts, together with a number of other basics.
image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]
ATTRIBUTES
USER LEVEL: E-2
Physical Attributes:
Strength E-4 increased to E-5 Dexterity E-3 Endurance E-5 increased to E-6 Vitality E-6
Physical Sub-Level: E-4 increased to E-5
Mental Attributes:
Intelligence E-2 Reactivity E-2 Perception E-1 Willpower E-2
Mental Sub-Level: E-1
Spiritual Attributes:
Power E-1 Reserves E-0 (Effective Attribute Value: E-3) Versatility E-1 Control E-2
Spiritual Sub-Level: E-1
Mags stared at the summary of her Attributes. She adjusted her grip on Mithra, her fingers a little sore from the latest round of drills. Even her breathing came smoother now, more measured, her body bending to the rhythm of her training in a way she never thought it would. She glanced at Malacoda through the transparent silver text. Her time at Bijel Garden was quickly coming to an end, and she knew he eagerly awaited testing her full capabilities.
“You’re looking stronger every day,” he said, voice gruff with approval. “You’re moving faster too, and it shows in how you handle Mithra.”
Mags nodded, appreciating the praise, but a small crease formed on her brow. “My physical skills are improving, sure. But I’ve been stuck at the same levels with the rest of my Attributes. My Mental Attributes, my Spiritual . . . they haven’t moved in some time. And even my Physical Attributes have only marginally increased.” She squatted down, wiping sweat from her brow. “Does that mean I’m just not suited for actual Soulsinging?”
Was her dull soul still holding her back, even with the power of an Angel inside her?
Malacoda chuckled, the sound rolling low and deep. “No, no. It’s normal. Mental and spiritual growth is slow, and the higher you go, the harder it gets. Yggdrasil’s rewards don’t come freely; it takes time and struggle to reach those levels. Your physical progress is already ahead of where most Soulsingers are at your level.”
She nodded, letting his words settle over her, though the question still lingered in her mind. “It’s just. . .” she started, gathering her thoughts, “Yggdrasil’s system feels so complex, so . . . deliberate. Everyone has their own unique set of Skills and Spells granted by Yggdrasil. I’m told what my capabilities are, and I’m given specific powers. It’s almost like no matter how hard I work, my path is pre-determined. It’s so frustrating!”
Malacoda raised an eyebrow, looking at her thoughtfully before he spoke. “Yggdrasil might guide us, but it doesn’t do all the choosing. Soulsinging is as personal as the souls that wield it. You’re shaping your own path, Mags.” He paused, looking away for a moment as though he were choosing his words carefully. “I told you before. Attribute reflect reality, they don’t alter it. A Soulsinger can improve their Attributes by putting them to use—good ole’ hard work! But Yggdrasil can change that reality just as easily. The System presents options to each Soulsinger at various points in their growth, and those choices reshape what I think of as a Soulsinger’s blueprint: your body, your mind, even your soul. I’m sure the scholars up at Brightwash have a better explanation. The Attributes and skills you see are just a mirror of what’s already there, and you refine that with every decision, every level.”
Mags absorbed his words, a new light sparking in her eyes. “So, when I level up, I’ll be given a choice of how to develop my powers? And Yggdrasil will make changes to me?. . .”
“That’s right,” Malacoda replied, a rare, soft smile crossing his face. “And you’re close, Mags. When you reach your next User Level, you’ll see exactly what I mean. Yggdrasil will prompt you with choices and you’ll decide what the next step on your path looks like. It’s a little different for everyone, but in time, you’ll understand how it shapes you.” He paused, patting her on the shoulder. “Until then, focus on what’s in front of you.”
She nodded, staring down at Mithra in her hand, her grip tightening.
And with that, a new determination settled in her chest. She wouldn’t just train her body. She’d train her mind, her spirit, too, until she was ready for whatever Yggdrasil would place before her.