Jarrah returns to ordering me around, “I need you to imagine these disparate entities, these forces you’re entangled with. Feel outwards to them, be wary, and careful, but try to make contact with them as if they’re somehow embedded in your own soul. The first one that speaks to you, inform me immediately. Barring a lack of that, we’ll strive to identify any patron or devil with ties to your soul.”

Huff. I don’t like the sound of either of those things, especially when one might be our enemy itself. How hilarious would it be though if my power actually came from him? Like, if I’m actually stealing his power whenever I use magic? Casting about my senses externally and internally though, I can tell where I have scars from his influence. They didn’t grant me my powers though. No. Within this room, I now know for certain that the radiant energy attempting to disintegrate me at the Bright Lord’s cult Cathedral of Blood was definitely from our foe. Moreover, I’m almost, -almost- certain that our foe and the entity that hounded me my entire life on Can’Z’aas are linked somehow, possibly even part of the same being.

Still, it’s definitely not from him that I draw my original or current powers. Thankfully. Tossing my senses out and about, deep within, and far beyond the heavens, I struggle to reach out to the void, to TQ, to any entity that might exist outside time itself. I’m left gasping for breath, lightheaded and woozy, but no closer to a source for my powers. I draw a ragged breath and blow it out through puffed cheeks. Hell’s bells I didn’t think just looking for an answer could be so tiring. My eyelids are drooping. Come on Reggie, keep it together.

What about magic itself? Could magic itself be my source of magic and power? Just the chaos inherent in its system? Wild, raw, untamed oddity that happened to congregate around me? For some reason, I don’t think that’s the case. It feels more structured, more organized than that. Probably for the best. I really don’t want to accidentally become some sort of agent of chaos. Hff. Blargh. What else was there? Actual factual literal dragons and dragon gods? It, it would be so nice if Tenny were the source of my powers somehow. She was an ancient being, right? Somehow her existence stretched into an ancient past that our planet had never even truly had.

I sniffle and quickly rub my itchy wet eyes. I really, really hope the goddess of the sky unending still exists somehow when we return home. Snff. She was so kind, and excited to share, and bond, and talk. She was patient, and wonderful, and powerful, and silly, and fun. I did reach out to the void in her presence, could that have somehow sent some of her divinity back to me in the past to grant me my own powers? Somehow I doubt it. That doesn’t seem quite right. What about Lord Agni? I was connected with his mind as the entity slammed through me. I’m more and more sure that the entity has existed for all my life and beyond in both directions. Could it have accidentally infused me with a gift from Lord Agni while trying to screw with me? Hm. Maybe. Again, unlikely though. I don’t sense anything from either of them.

Any other dragons of immense power? The dracolich, no, barely an existence, though I did float in its cloud of necrotic energy for a while. But while I was there, I was under an anti sorcery enchantment, so it’s highly unlikely anything passed along my timeline from that. What about Kozzurth? I ingested bits of her on accident, and absorbed her heart. I absorbed the heart of an elder-wyrm while I technically already have part of the core, the beating crystalline heart of another dragon residing within me. That bond with Lil goes back almost to my beginning in some ways. Could her power have infused that bond back to its very beginnings?

Hm, it doesn’t quite reach far enough though. Lil and I didn’t forge our bond til after I’d begun exploring inventory magic. Though I technically didn’t cast anything I’d consider a spell until after meeting Lil. This holds some possible merit. Specifically the limit break against Vampguppy was the first time I was able to magically duplicate things in an external attack spell. Hm. Then Lil was the one that guided me to try out the radiant duplication again, prompting me to learn more about my powers. Lil’s prodding helped me realize that as long as I had certain values of mana, I could evoke effects into the world. That sounds so very much like the right track. I’m still not resonating with anything internally though.

Jarrah said something about remarkable affinity for absence, though he always deflected when I called him out on it. Could absence somehow be drawing power to me? Am I some sort of black hole, or coldspot in the universe, where magic has to rush in through osmosis or heat exchange or some other function? It seems plausible, but somehow that still seems a bit too wild and random. Crap on a cracker. What else?

Time itself. Possibly my very own future self. This feels closer. What a hilarious logic loop it would be if I’m my own patron of temporal magic because I sent my own panicked personality ghost into my own past past the point before I had even begun existing. Something is starting to spark within me. This is the closest yet. That’s messed up. Just how circular is the tale of Reggie Shellcracker? There’s a piece to the puzzle that’s missing though. TQ? Luni? Time? Time across some sort of space? What sort of space? Empty space? Void space? Something somewhat unrelated to this quest for my source of magic is suddenly drawing my attention. What is it? Heavy space?

Wait. Weight. Gravity. Worlds. The weight of all three worlds. Ugh, ow. Oof. Holycrap, ow, ow, my guts. They’re twisting, cramping, squeezing something up through the inside of me. What, what’s happening? Glrp. I’m gushing fountains of blood again. Jarrah is commanding me, demanding something. My, my brain. What was I. Ow. Something’s wrong. Something. I had a thought. It’s, it’s fading. Lullaby is, is cleaning up after me, sending concerned, comforting waves. I can’t control my body, I’m falling. My head hits what should be a hard floor, but Lullaby somehow instructs the tree to create a moss pillow where my head will impact, just before it does. He saves me from another concussion. Thank you, friend.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

All of my muscles go slack, it feels like even my brain slackens. My eyelids droop and I’m left drooling on the moss pillow. Several sharp raps on the head from Jarrah with his wand-like stick slowly begin to rouse me. He looks annoyed yet interested. What was going on? Did I practice too many runes? Is he mad?

Though he should be able to read my mind, for some reason Jarrah demands, “Out with it, which one was that!?”

Groggily I beg, “Which. Which what was what? What was my. I didn’t. I swear I didn’t go over my rune limit yet. I’ve only done a few per weapon or object. I swear. I promise I’m not trying to shortcut.”

Jarrah grumps, “What in the devil’s felspit are you on about now? Which source set you reeling? Which patron?”

I flex my jaw as I slowly attempt to sit up. I questioningly mumble, “Source? Patron? What was. Who. What?”

Jarrah’s fury overtakes his face, casting a fire into his wild-eyed gaze. In a mere instant though his gaze softens. He comments, “I see. It would seem we are done for today, and that you need further rest. Don’t worry about it. Feel free to practice a few hundred more runes this eve if it suits you. If you begin to grow weary, let your body and mind recover. That is all for today. You’ve left me much to think about. Do take care of yourself now, vexing child.”

I’d want to complain, but it’s nearing when we’d normally be done for the day anyway. I simply thank Jarrah for the reprieve and take my leave. I’m surprised to find Flint, of all people, waiting for me one step below the landing to Jarrah’s chamber. I flex my facial muscles, especially my jaw, and rattle my skull a bit, making certain I’m not seeing things. I raise an eyebrow his way.

Flint shakes his head incredulously as he turns to meet my gaze dead on to apologize, “I’m, again, sorry about the events that unfolded. I do have some possibly, potentially useful information though. I’d known what they were using in a vague sense, but it wasn’t until today that I found out what they were. The last few charges of the glob wands from the dragon wars. I assume when you changed your form, you actually took on draconic properties?”

I facepalm before nodding in frustrated embarrassment. I laugh at the stupidity of it all. I went to my draconic form because it’s so much more resilient than any of my other surviving Reggie forms, hoping to pass out less while training in magic, and it turns out that that particular form nearly cost me my life. Friggin’ hell. A bit hilarious though. So, on anyone else, they’re some kind of sticky deterrent, on dragons, they probably release some extra agent to stiffen their muscles. Or maybe the foam is magically set to only penetrate or infiltrate or be absorbed by dragon’s scales. Dragons are normally huge, so it probably doesn’t paralyze them completely since it might amount to little more than a thumb knuckle, possibly expanded as large as a fist against their great girth. But I was absolutely covered in the stuff by the end, and tiny by comparison.

As I’m about to ask if I have to worry about any more of them, Flint answers for me, “Those should be the last ones in existence, I don’t think the original enchanters are around any longer, and I don’t know of anyone with the ability to recharge such powerful implements. They need more than just time and mana, they need alchemy and unguents and reagents and more things I barely comprehend. If there are any of the implements still left in the world with even a single charge, I’ve no way of knowing about them. I’m no spy, I only play one for the Enclave, for my students.”

I wear half a frown as I nod appreciatively at Flint. I almost feel bad that he’s got such a creepy default resting gaze, and that everyone judges him for it. But by his own admission, he’s caught up in ogling people, so it’s not exactly a hundred percent innocent. I attempt a friendly pat on his shoulder, and he flinches. I look at my hand, and notice it’s covered in blood. When did that happen? My brain is so fuzzy. What did Jarrah and I accomplish today? Something about weapons, or items. Did I accidentally stab myself? I pat myself down for signs of a wound, but other than incredibly, painfully broken ribs, I seem mostly fine. Even those are on the mend. Huff. More using up the energy from Kozzurth’s heart that’s barely keeping me alive. I’ll probably start passing out again more frequently again now. Season’s end, year at best to find at least two more hearts, or the source of my malady and its cure. Does summer end at the beginning or end of August here?

I gasp a shuddering breath, and loose it as a sigh that becomes a yawn. Flint gazes upon me with concern, before his gaze slowly becomes his faraway lost-in-thought ogling. Brrr. Yeah. Almost feel bad for him having that, almost. Not quite though. Let’s try one of each of the five runes of this spell for now while walking down to the gymnasium. Seems Flint is staying to report something to Jarrah. I nod politely at him to take my leave of him.

Okay, rune one, perfect, wonderful. Rune two, solid, fantastic. Rune three, nice, very good. Rune four, please please please. Yes! I puff a sighing breath and then wait with bated breath as I attempt to craft the fifth rune of this most basic of spells. Crap! Huff. Alright. Four’ish days, four’ish runes mastered. ^&*k I wish I had started with some sort of soul spell, if there is one. Gorrammit, can I spare the time to try to read through all the books to see which, if any, contain different spells? They hurt my head to read, and parsing each and every single spell, even with linguistic runic translation magic, seems like it takes hours. Whether it does or not, I’m not quite certain, but it certainly feels like it.

At the landing to the gymnasium, I see an odd sight, and Lullaby sends caution to my brain in waves. There is an incredibly muscular, tall, gorgeous woman in impressive, resplendent armor gazing in on the gymnasium with disdain. At her back is a weapon that looks like a mix of a poleaxe and a warhammer, some kind of long-poled battleaxe. Its head appears to be made of crimson carnelian, or perhaps blood ruby. Hells that is an impressive, imposing, terrifying weapon. I sense alert, angry vibes wafting off of it. That must be Dirge, Requiem for the Wounded. I’m now almost positive she’s meant to end the lives of anyone wounded either by her, or those already wounded that she strikes.

I accidentally puff a breath that’s nearly a low whistle of fearful appreciation for the danger inherent in this woman and her weapon. It draws her attention and gaze my way. We’re caught in a deadlock, staring off at one another for quite some time. Dirge, Lullaby, myself, and this royal-guard appearing woman. I’m suddenly afraid for Teuila, of all things at this very moment. Teuila is beyond insanely strong, more than almost anything or any one we’ve ever come across, until now. The waves of power, intensity, forcefulness, strength, animosity, murderous intent that flow from this woman and her weapon are palpable, thick, overpowering. I actually find several of my muscle groups vibrating, quivering. My tinnitus rings loud through my head as a warning bell, firing up my headache into overdrive. Glp.

I guess we get to meet your sister after all, huh Lullaby?