Past the obvious sense of time, there was an assurance to the World Shaman’s aura, a level of confidence that Serenity had felt only in the young and overconfident and those who knew themselves and their place in the universe. Serenity was willing to bet he knew which one Senkovar was.
There was a subtle difference between that and the feeling and the way the aura of someone who would never move up a Tier felt. Serenity had felt that far more often than he’d felt the level of content Senkovar projected through his aura. It could, of course, be a lie; Serenity wasn’t good at lying with his aura but he’d seen it before. He doubted this was a lie, since that would be an odd thing to lie about. It was almost advertising that Senkovar Tiered up slowly and only when he found a Path that truly fit himself.
Serenity was certain his aura painted a different picture, even if he couldn’t be entirely certain what it was. He’d Tiered up far faster this time around, without taking the time to shore up anything. By all rights, his aura should show that, a tall but hollow reed. If it felt like that, however, it would be a lie. Serenity’s attributes were filled out the way they ought to be and he had millenia of experience. It wasn’t experience with his current Path Skills, but it was close enough to help.
Beyond that, he could feel Senkovar’s strongest Affinities, just as Senkovar could surely feel his. It was easier to lie about Affinities, up to a point, but once again Serenity expected he was seeing the truth here. This felt like the sort of Affinity set he’d expect from a shaman, heavily oriented to the physical world. In many ways, it was the opposite of Serenity’s Affinities.
The World Shaman’s strongest Affinity was something Serenity could only call Nature, even though it wasn’t one of the Affinities Serenity was particularly familiar with. It included elements of life and growth and death and decay, but not in a cyclical format; instead, it was more like it accepted them all as part of a greater whole. Those weren’t the only pieces, either. There was something that felt solid, like earth or more likely stone, and something that barely felt there at all with a slight hint of a tang like ozone.
The second Affinity was far weaker than the first and also felt far more familiar to Serenity. He didn’t have to analyze the component pieces to know what; he recognized it immediately as the Arcane affinity, the affinity for magic. It was definitely not as high as Serenity’s, but Serenity had an Aspect for the Arcane affinity. It was obvious that Senkovar didn’t, though Serenity thought he might be close.
There were hints of other Affinities in the World Shaman’s aura, but compared to the first two they were minor. Serenity suspected that Senkovar had once had a larger group of good affinities and had over time combined them into one Nature affinity; that was one of the common methods of handling them if you didn’t follow the standard model.
The only other thing of note about the World Shaman’s aura was its strength. He seemed a bit stronger than Zanzital, the Guildmaster of the Silver Blades Serenity rescued on Asihanya. That meant Senkovar was probably at least Tier Ten but probably not over Tier Twelve. That seemed low to Serenity, given the age present in his aura, but Serenity reminded himself that Senkovar probably Tiered up slowly.
A pure human couldn’t be that slow and live that long without something else extending his lifespan, but Senkovar Et’Tart was clearly not fully human. If Serenity remembered correctly, his great-grandfather had said something about Suras living longer than humans; perhaps Senkovar had quite a bit of Sura blood. It was unlikely to be as large a difference as Serenity’s, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t significant.
Serenity was fairly confident he wasn’t aging at all. It had only been four years since the Tutorial, but he was physically younger than Thomas was at that time; he’d youthened quickly after he returned through time and didn’t seem to have aged at all since in any form except his draconic one. Even as a wyrmling, he was aging very slowly, but for all he knew that was normal for dragons. They were supposed to be extremely long-lived, after all.
“Death, magic, and the edges of both space and time,” the World Shaman said. “Very unusual for a World Speaker. It will likely limit you unless you are able to gain some of the Paths and talk to some Worlds, but Speaking to any is the most difficult part for most people. You will likely be able to talk to Worlds of Death; that certainly explains Tzintkra, and if this World hosted Death-attuned shards for a long time, it may explain Earth.”
Serenity noticed that the World Shaman didn’t say what explained Lyka, Aeon, or Berinath. He suspected that the explanation for Aeon and Lyka was the ritual of Lykandeon’s he interfered with; he’d inundated himself with power flavored like Aeon. That still left Berinath unaccounted for, but perhaps the explanation was as simple as it being Tzintkra’s moon.
On the other hand, Serenity wondered if the World Shaman had missed something. The most important characteristic of all the worlds he’d dealt with was their ley line network; it was in many ways the planet’s circulatory system. It seemed entirely plausible that the fact that his Vital Affinity was to both mana and essence and the fact that he had an Aspect of each were vitally important.
The World Shaman ought to know better than Serenity did, but it was easy to overlook things like that. Every mage tried to have a high Arcane affinity; if you didn’t, you were limited to your own affinities. People without Arcane tended to use Affinity Skills rather than transitioning to full spells. Most mages on Earth right now were using Affinity Skills; it was the same starting point as Vengeance. It was fine at low Tiers and was a good starting point, as long as you eventually moved on or accepted you didn’t have the drive to be a true mage.
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At Tier ten to twelve, though, the World Shaman really ought to be using actual spells if he was a mage. Really, the fact that he had an Arcane high enough to be his second-highest Affinity probably meant that he was at least trying. A few people had naturally high Arcane affinities, but most people had to develop them with practice.
Vengeance’s Arcane affinity had been good but not phenomenal as Serenity recalled. His only phenomenal Affinity was Death, which was a large part of why he’d started down the physical road originally. Serenity didn’t regret it; being able to fight with his body had certainly saved his life more than once.
“You don’t have anything to say?” The World Shaman seemed puzzled by Serenity’s silence.
Serenity shrugged. “What is there to say? My best Affinity is Death, by quite a distance. It’s also the one I’m the most familiar with. The others are high, but not as high as Death.” Nothing could be as high as having an Incarnate. “I’m not certain it’s as limiting as you think it is; Death is everywhere. Anything can die. Even without that, any planet with a portal has mana, usually a lot of it. Wouldn’t the Arcane affinity matter?”
The World Shaman shook his head. “It has to truly connect to who you are, and the Arcane affinity doesn’t do that. The affinity is more about skill in manipulating mana than about making it part of yourself; it’s a unique affinity.”
Serenity frowned. “Didn’t you see my Vital Affinity?”
“Not through your blur. I could tell it was neither Life nor Death, nor any of the Affinities close to mine, but that is all.” Senkovar didn’t seem bothered by that, which struck Serenity as a little strange. He always wanted answers.
For example, his blur? What was Senkovar talking about?
It took Serenity a moment to remember a passive Skill he’d acquired and promptly ignored.
Dhampir’s Default
When a Dhampir is casually examined, he or she appears to be a normal member of the living population.
It didn’t promise to hide his Vital Affinity, but that was the oddest thing about his particular variant, so it seemed possible that it was helping. On the other hand, maybe Senkovar just didn’t know what he was looking at? “If it looked like my Vital Affinity is magic, Arcane, that’s not a blurring Skill. That’s my actual Affinity.”
The World Shaman didn’t say anything for a long moment, then his eyes turned green again. When they returned to their normal color, Serenity thought he heard the word “Asura” muttered under the World Shaman’s breath, but he couldn’t be certain. It wasn’t the word his great-grandfather had used for his people, even if it was very similar.
It was the same as the name of his newest species transformation, the one he’d picked up as an evolution from Greater Demon of Righteous Retribution. The demon form that carried his horns, the same horns that he shared with Senkovar Et’Tart. Serenity wasn’t certain he hadn’t imagined the mutter; he could have misheard and filled in the details with something that made sense.
It definitely made sense.
For a moment, Serenity considered letting it lie to keep asking questions about dealing with Worlds, but this seemed more important. He could fumble his own way through dealing with Worlds; the Worlds could teach him, if nothing else. A World Shaman likely knew things he’d find helpful, but only an Et’Tart could answer his questions about that side of his heritage. “Did you just say Asura?”
The World Shaman gave a deep nod that included his shoulders. It wasn’t quite a bow, but it was more than simple acknowledgement. “You look like an Asura, and to have a Vital Affinity with magic…” the shaman shook his head. “That’s something out of myth. You even remind me of…”
He didn’t finish his sentence. Senkovar looked every moment of the age Serenity had felt on his aura as he sat there and stared in Serenity’s direction with his eyes slightly unfocused.
Several minutes passed in silence before Serenity prompted him. “Remind you of?”
Senkovar shook his head as if he needed to clear it. “Your location spirit, Aki, said something about a name. I said it was a Clan matter, but I need to know: what was she talking about?”
Serenity supposed this was his chance to not say anything. It was realistically too late; it’d been too late when he agreed to invite Lord Cymryn’s companions to Earth. “My great-grandfather’s name was Timothy Dale Rothmer. He took his wife’s last name when they married; I don’t know what his name was before that, but he did mention Clan Et’Tart and that’s your name.”
“Someone with the blood of the Asuras who disappeared, old enough to be your great-grandfather … there are not many, and the last I can think of was Dalmoti. That seems close enough to Timothy Dale. You met him?” Senkovar seemed surprised by that, yet hopeful.
Serenity shook his head. He didn’t like disappointing the other man, who probably hoped to find his Clanmate alive and well. “Only an echo. He died before I was born.”
That was odd, now that he thought about it. His father was nearing seventy and people routinely guessed his age as closer to fifty. He’d also had no trouble handling the schedule and physical demands of exploring A’Atla; that wasn’t something a normal seventy-year-old could say. His father, Serenity’s grandfather, died in his nineties. That didn’t seem odd, but he was still completely there both mentally and physically, managing things more like a man in his sixties than someone only a few years from his first century when he was sideswiped by a drunk driver.
It made Serenity wonder just how long ago Timothy Dale Rothmer left Suratiz.