Selvin sat with his eyes closed, legs crossed, upon the hard earth, meditating on the nature of his power.

And finally… he came to the gaping pit within him and his soul, within the physical manifestation of his power- his Shroud.

The Nameless Attribute. Where his other Attributes were like flows of wind, water, or fire in his Shroud, endlessly churning with barely-suppressed energy- the Nameless was a gaping pit. A lacking where there were others. It made of what could’ve been a whole, woven shroud a… a flawed thing. It was always to be missing something.

What was he to do with that? His father staunchly refused to tell him, to even begin to guide him, down the path that both he and his son possessed. His father’s Nameless Attribute had burned differently from Selvin’s- not at a higher level of power, but a higher… amount of nothingness. A greater hole, a deeper abyss.

He had to tap into it on his own, he realized. It was a tool his father had given him- but he had to master it himself, without someone handing him the answers. There was always a calculated, explicit reason; a careful methodology to the way his father acted. Selvin had learned that well over the years.

It was very much intentional that his father ignored the subject with him. He wasn’t sure what kind of magic made it so his father couldn’t even speak about it with him… but he no doubt had a good reason.

And as was quickly becoming a habit, he pulled out the gray stone. His father’s parting gift- mixed with his final words, echoing in his mind even now.

The cliche. Do not use it until the moment comes. And of course- you’ll know it when it does.

Selvin shrugged and resigned to stop worrying about the issue. He trusted his father- wholly and completely, even in death. If a cliche was the method he moved by, then so be it.

For now, he would keep doing what he had been doing- honing his Named magic. And every now and again… he’d try making something of the gaping hole inside his soul.

Still sitting with closed eyes before the fire- unworried about enemies, for anyone close enough to him to strike would either be openly flaring their Shroud or be unable to conceal it at such a distance and with such lethal intent- he probed the gap; the gap that was not even black. Just… not.

He jostled his Shroud, made the lethargic flows begin to stir more enthusiastically- and circled them around the gap. It lay in the center, perhaps- but it was hard to gauge things like direction, position, and size with the Shroud. It was inherently nonphysical.

The Nameless rested like a poison in his veins, a poison that the Void Creature’s power had resonated with. Selvin wasn’t certain, but he strongly suspected a resonance had occurred between the two powers, amplifying, furthering the affects of the other.

The Void magic had rampgaged through his body, nearly killing him.

But in turn, it had deepend the length of the Nameless Attribute. What did it mean?

Why did the Anadren Bloodline possess an aspect of the Void? He remembered his father’s friendly, loving face, and struggled to reconcile it with the hideous, alien deformity that was the Void Creature.

And yet they were the same, it seemed.

“What did you not tell me, dad?” He muttered, eyes still closed.

When he opened them, he saw the sun.

It rose, slow and shimmering, over ashen fields and trembling lights of the world below. From the mountainside he sat on, he could see everything below. Marsaine in the far distance, just barely blotting the horizon- and a smaller town, tucked into the curve of a river. So far.

So far, and yet, if he so chose, he could wipe them away like a mound of sand before the tide.

Selvin untangled his legs and rose, unsteadily, to a standing position. They had long since fallen asleep, but he had ignored it in favor of focusing on his meditation.

He had even ignored the passing of night.

In the chill, growing dawn, he stretched, working blood back into his dead legs. The fire was now ashen-coals, white like snow, still smoking in the cold.

The remains of his dinner sat among the coals. Selvin reached down with a raw flow of Strength- external Strength, or more commonly known as Force, as opposed to bodily, typical Strength- and carried a chunk of brown meat to his mouth. His home town was quite literally thousands of miles away, in the far western isles of Elcasia. He had no idea the name of the creature he had killed and eaten- some sort of deer-like, half-cow hybrid that lived on the mountain.

Its Named Power was pitiful- the identities of animals were fragile, fleeting things. But it was quite delicious, even cooked on a fire and smothered in coal dust- with a rich, fatty flavor that melted on the tongue like butter.

He had killed it only yesterday, striking it like a bolt of thunder and idly carrying it back to his camp. Its carcass was stripped almost entirely of meat, and only a few chunks remained.

Selvin had found that Speaking required massive reserves of bodily energy on top of magical sources. A body out of balance- with either too much focus on Named Power or natural energy- was liable to fail. They drew on each other, supported each other. If one were stronger than the other, or another too lacking, the whole structure would fail.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

As he chewed on another piece of meat, he glanced at his Shroud.

[My Shroud]

Strength: 7

Mind: 6

Heart: 6

Elemental: 7

Selvin laughed. It had been a week since Marsaine- and he hadn’t even noticed one of his Attributes raising to the next Memory! It must’ve happened last night, as he slept- something that was rare, but possible.

HIs father had often called a single Attribute of a Speaker to be ‘leading,’ the central focus that all the others rested upon, that an entire Shroud was built upon. The Foundational Attribute broke through to the next Memory first- and once that barrier was breached, the others would follow along idly, easily- at least in comparison.

Selvin turned his attention to the dead-fire on the ground. And then, with an expectant, half-smiling expression across his face, he spoke the Name of Fire.

It roared into his mind like its namesake, rearing up in his soul, making of his Shroud a bonfire. And the campfire exploded upward into a great pillar; a gout of fire rising higher and higher, so high that it surely would serve as a beacon for anyone within miles of him.

Stumbling backwards, Selvin quickly dispelled it. He could’ve burned the whole damned forest on the mountain side down!

Sweat shone on his skin even from the brief exposure. His command of fire had never been so easy, so efficient, so responsive. And never so hot.

That would be useful.

He finished examining his Shroud.

Cosmic: 4

Perception: 5

Nameless:

Selvin frowned slightly. His cosmic had never been particularly strong- and indeed, his father had told him it was not a highly relevant art to practice. It was concerned with the workings of fate and the stars- something that had little to do with their current predicament, at least in the small-scale sense.

But perception was crucial- and Selvin had always struggled with it. His father had been uncanny with his ability to perceive and dissemble, scrutinize and sense. Like he was all-seeing, all-knowing. He had known Selvin’s Shroud as well as his own- something Selvin could most certainly not replicate. His father’s Shroud had been an overwhelming sensation of various aspects of Named Power, with the Anadren roaring strongest, like bronze-colored flame or wind.

To see an enemy Speaker’s soul clearly and accurately could easily be the difference between life and death in battle. He resolved in that moment that would be his focus for the time being. At least until he began the next major leap in power.

And that leap would take him south, away from these dismal town-states and villages to a place with greater quantities of Named energy- a place where Selvin could stand to nourish his Shroud greatly. Althony had told him of it after the battle- a large kingdom called Maramet that dominated the southern reaches of the continent.

It had been the kingdom that Marsaine’s attackers had hailed from. And Selvin had slain their Crown Prince, and nearly followed up with his brother. Who would likely be the Crown Prince now… and would be hunting him.

Selvin spared a moment of worry for Marsaine before quickly dismissing it- the Prince would likely be smart enough to realize Selvin was no native of the town, and sacking it would serve no greater purpose. Besides, the distance between the two places was great- nearly half a thousand miles. Any retribution would not be easy or swift in coming- and by then, the Prince would know the one responsible was right under his nose.

Selvin intended to make a grand entrance, after all.

He had no time for secrecy, skulking, and careful procedure. He intended to blow through Maramet, shake it down for all it could offer him, and reach the realm of the Dragons of Elcasia. He thought perhaps it would be his Strength once again- that was, after all, the easiest Attribute of them all to raise quickly- but perhaps his Elemental would follow next.

He intended to be finished with this before the month was halfway over. He still had a long way to go- and could afford zero hangups. Not even a single one. After reaching Dragon, the road would become much harder. The Sixes and Sevens, Selvin had been taken through by his father. The Realm of the Dragons was something he was unfamiliar with. And his progress would undoubtedly be far slower, unfortunately.

Selvin would push himself as hard as he could. And then a little bit further. Anything else, and he would lose everything. The world. His soul. His family.

His father’s dying request…

Selvin spat out a bit of gristle and assumed a meditative stance once more. He focused on his Perception- his soul’s awareness of all things around it… the life of the deer-thing he had just eaten. His own life, burning under him, almost out of sight but not-quite, like your nose was always sort of visible but mostly ignored. He saw the minute flecks of energy possessed by the grass and dirt, the greater sums in the trees around him.

And Selvin forced his soul to stretch further, to grasp the identity and nature of trees nearly a mile away. And then further. More and more entered the expanse of his mind, and his soul took in every little bit.

His head ached in one single fierce burst, like a spike had been driven into it. But he didn’t stop. It was like reading a thousand books at once- and his Shroud longed to open up his Mind to supplement his ability and ease his pain. But he firmly refused it.

This was a test of Perception, not the Mind.

After focusing on that for a bit, Selvin’s mind began to wander, even as he continued to idly train his soul, turning over rocks and diving into holes in the mountain side with tendrils of spiritual perception. He thought of his father, rehearsing the many fire-side nights they had spent together, committing his many wisdoms and advices to memory, the techniques his father had shown him, and the many books of knowledge he had bestowed on to Selvin with nothing but his words.

He thought of the path he would have to walk. The dismal future that would come to a head in just under a year.

He thought of the Unnamed, stirring in the void, in seeming resonance with a strange hole in his own soul.

But one thought burned brighter than all the rest. It burned like a dim reflection of the Seventh Memory of Aiena, the Name of Humanity.

His desire, his one desire, burning bright under the rising heavens, the raging sun.

To win. He would win, at any cost. That was his father’s final lesson.

Victory, the final victory, must be achieved. No matter what obscenities you had to commit, toils you had to trudge through. You had to win. The world was the stake- and anything short of that was worth its price many times over.

Nothing was too costly.

Nothing.

He opened his eyes for a moment, looking up at the sky, feeling the cool winds stir his shaggy hair, sting his eyes.

He glared out at the world for a moment, and it blurred in the tears that formed in his eyes.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and continued.