> "The very first lesson of every arcanist is to view the world in colors. To simplify their surroundings to its very base, understanding the essence of the world. Other arcanists would complicate things, however, arguing that elements are not just their color, that there are considerations of how elements are made in the first place.
>
> Bah, shit on them, I’m still proficient in my elements without the complications. All I know is fire is red and lava is a darker red, and that guides my arcana well enough all the same. Same way the color of our blood’s the same. Red.
>
> Simple, no? So enough with the complexities and philosophies. Sometimes it is what you see it. Life’s simple that way.”
>
> - Blazrefire Huva
> Tales of the Eastern Arcanist
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He set her down carefully, and Amelia groaned, feeling pain from the cave rock grinding into her skin even through the leather, her frail body becoming hypersensitive from her spent core.
I'm not yet supposed to perform grander arcana, she thought between huffs of exhaustion, my core is still weak, and I've yet to properly grow.
Cold was starting to creep up from inside her, and that made her trace the blue veins that originated from her core, evident that the arcana had taken part of her body's essence to make up for what her core had lacked.
Now she felt colder because of it, a cold that was welcome and comfortable, starting to numb her body and mind.
If death came, she wouldn't even know.
She gritted her teeth, and grinded her back deeper into the cave wall of hard edges, enduring the pain that came while her body was still sensitive.
Even as her vision started to blur, she reached for the clasps of her leather vest, undoing them to see the inside of her armor, where etched runes glowed, the Enchantment of Durability protecting the blue vials that were delicately tucked inside special pockets.
She took them out and removed their stoppers, and she smiled faintly as she gazed down the bottle's opening, the glowing blue liquid she personally concocted seeming like ambrosia to her hungry core. "Didn't shatter in the tumble, fortunately," she noted, grateful once again she took the time to enchant her armor, and gulped down the vials.
The world started to fuzz, the colors starting to swirl in rainbow colors and the sounds distorting, slowly getting distant. Yet she felt euphoric, the liquid was warm down her throat, filling her core that was empty. Gulping down the last vial she shook her head, trying to return to reality, back to the dark cave walls and the boy she was with. She looked at him and realized he was saying something with worry, and she simply shrugged him off.
“Enough of that,” she said with a bit of a slur, “we’ve no choice. My core is spent, and my magic only incapacitates the mountain dwellers for a few minutes. Didn’t find the exit in time, so we stay,” she waved around her, emphasizing the dreadful cave that seemed to strangle her, "we fight."
He nodded, and thinking the discussion over, she now focused inwards towards her core, sending tendrils of magic towards the cracks, stabilizing them as much as she could. She balled up the overflowing arcana, compressing and controlling them so they were no longer rampant all around her body. Slowly, the world stopped buzzing, and clarity came to her head.
Yet she still had trouble manipulating her magic, as her head ached and her fingers trembled, her first experience with a spent core disorienting her greatly. She clenched her teeth, she was better than this.
She needed to review herself, if not to at least calm her shaking mentality. Her system came at her behest.
Name Amelia of House Swordfang Race Human (Northern)
Professions [LV. 2] Intermediate Arcanist [LV. 9] Apprentice Accountant [LV. 8] Apprentice Historian [LV. 7] Apprentice Scribe Auxiliary Skills [LV. 6] Dexterous Hands [LV. 7] Nimble Mind [LV. 2] Body Coordination
Stats [0] Strength [0] Vitality [0] Dexterity [0] Perception [1] Intelligence [3] Arcana
Arcana Arts [LV. 7] Elemental Arts [LV. 4] Acoustic Arts [LV. 2] Gravitation Arts [LV. 5] Hypnotic Arts
Status [Compromised] Core Sickly Human Northerner Body
She ignored most of her system, and willed to focus only on the panel concerning her status, expanding it to see the specific details about her Core.
STATUS [Compromised] Core
- Damage incurred from overexertion of arcana.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
- Contamination present from consumption of incompatible magical energy
Sickly Human Northerner Body - Essence siphoned for lacking arcana
A tight frown formed on her lips as her status affirmed that her Core was compromised, yet she had no choice. She needed to consume the mana vials for her survivability, even if it meant contamination.
Contamination meant certain steps in her future plans became obsolete, making some of her strategies no longer viable. She bit her lip in frustration. Her future plans, in which each step she had planned for, had to be adjusted, and changed, where some aspects of her life she would no longer have under full control.
She hated losing control.
Her eyes snapped up as the boy started to speak, bringing her once again back to reality. Don’t lose control, she thought as she took a deep breath, the worst you could do is lose control of yourself. She calmed herself as she regulated her breathing, in an attempt to ready herself in performing arcana.
Arcanic magic with an addled mind would only result in failure.
Eerie howls echoed across the dark tunnels of the caverns, cutting their conversation short. She took a deep breath, and she knew within herself she would not be able to effectively perform arcana, as her mind was still distressed and her body still shuddered, yet it was a risk she was willing to take.
“They smell us,” the boy started, unsheathing his steel sword of peculiar fine craftmanship, and gazed at her, his night blue eyes steady in the firelight, “they’ll be upon us minutes. Ready?”
A familiar arrogant smile played on her lips. “Always,” she said as she stood, yet her legs trembled and a trickle of blood dripped down her nose. Wiping it off, she took a deep breath for calm, and the reality of it all fell on her.
A swarm will come. Mountain dwellers of sharp claws that would rend through leather, where their savage cannibalistic nature will brook no hesitation. They will come undeterred, she knew, and logic dictated they would die, while denial softly spoke they would live.
Truth still screamed all the same. They would feast on her frail arcanist body.
Unrelenting fear clawed her heart, a grip of vise that did not silence her thundering heartbeats. Yet the boy’s eyes still stayed locked onto hers, his pupils seemingly hard as his steel and sharp as its edge. Indecision was beneath her, she knew, yet the question still came, “we can handle this, yes?”
His confident smile froze and crumbled the gripping fear. “It is of no matter,” he simply said as he readied himself, facing the entrance that foretold of monsters. Left foot first, he held the pommel to the front of his waist, while the steel tip faced upward. She envied then the surety of his stance, as if it spoke of no defeat but only of victory.
“The snow will not stop us.”
The first monster neared.
A savage scream came, suddenly shifting to a shriek as a severed clawed hand flew by, the trail of blood drawing a straight line in the air. The body then flopped beside the boy as a decapitated fanged head came next.
She blinked then, confused, before realization struck her.
It was simply too quick.
There was no pause, for the adversaries still came barreling, uncaring of the first casualty. She saw then how his fingers danced on the pommel, his grip still strong all the while. The steel sword became a silver blur, as it split off legs and arms, and performed lethal strikes to head and heart.
She was astounded by his efficient killing, the sword effortlessly slashing through monster flesh, the boy wasting no movement, only the minuscule change in his stance. She became sure of two things then; One, he had an exceptional sword, and two, he had exceptional skill.
For the briefest of moments, she did not look down on the blade.
Yet she knew then that this wouldn’t last. Exhaustion would come, and the tiniest of mistakes could become fatal. She had to provide help.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath to calm herself one last time. From her status, she understood within herself she could not independently perform arcana effectively, hence she needed to go back to the basics, to her foundation. It ached her perfectionist heart, but she went back to the very first step of every arcanist.
Purify by Color.
She imbued arcana into her eyes and opened them, and what greeted her were numerous lines that covered her view, colored by their respective element. Most of the lines were in shades of brown and grey, signifying the rock and stone that they depicted. Near Igni the lines were in shades of red, and all around there were varying colors of blue to white, intertwining soft lines that embodied the prestigious cold of the northern mountains.
The second step, Culling of Color.
With steady focus, she removed the lines that were of rock and stone, of fire and heat, until all there were left were the shades of blue and white, representing the cold of the caverns. Then Alignment of Color came, the third step, where she pulled the remaining lines like strings, carefully and steadily, balling them up into her right hand till they became an ethereal ball of smooth edges.
Finally, the fourth step, Conjuration of Color. This act of magic she had to supply with her own, and so with bated breath she conjured arcana from her core, traveling from her chest to her hand in a slow, dangerously slow manner. She could not afford a mistake.
Yet aches came from her core, the cracks able to destabilize the flow of arcana even with her best efforts. Thundering pain ran rampant throughout her body as she continued to maintain the flow into a somewhat uniform channel, sweat and blood dripping under the excruciating agony. Her focus sharpened as the transparent sphere of ice slowly became substantial, in fervent hopes she would not make a mista-
A bloodcurdling scream cut through her trance, mirrored by her own as a clawed hand swiped her shoulder, disturbing her significant focus. The ball shattered in a shrill echo, the unguided arcana exploding outwards, encasing her right arm in frost. She ground her teeth as pinpricks of agony struck her arm before being numbed to a frozen memory.
“Amelia!” She heard the boy shout in alarm, striking down the monster as he came near. One passed through? Realizing so, she turned to the boy in frustratio-
He was bloodied, strips of flesh hanging from his shredded torso, his body dripping crimson as his leather armor became obsolete to the continuous assault. His one eye was shut from a bleeding wound at his forehead, while the other eye studied her, and, deeming her safe for now, he immediately turned back to the swarm that still did not end.
She was dumbstruck, how long was I in trance?
Looking around her, there were piles of bodies surrounding the boy, a mass of intestines and gore that did not reach past the bulwark that was the swordsman. Taking a step back, her foot fell into a pool of black blood that reached her ankles.
How long-
Though the pile of bodies made the entrance narrower, the monsters continued still, crawling and climbing through their brethren. The boy defended as much as he could with his now crimson sword, his body a bleeding river of countless wounds.
Was I out?
She shook her head, shaking herself out of reverie. Now, we truly have no time. She glanced at the entrance, and saw that there were still multitudes of monsters as far as the firelight could see. Though the boy stood his ground admirably, it only delayed the inevitable.
Death.
Clenching her teeth, she performed arcana once again, now no longer caring for fine control or solid basics. It was a luxury she did not have.
First step, she saw the world in lines of varying hues.
Second step, she removed most, leaving only the sturdy lines of earthen grey, signifying the rocky interior of the mountain.
Third step, using her left hand as a guide, she grabbed most of the lines as much as she could, directing them to the side of the only entrance. Resistance met her hand, but she pulled with all strength she had, until she had a batch in her hands, a bundle of thick lines to be used at her will.
Fourth step, she let the arcana flow from her core, uncontrolled, and simply pushed. She felt the bones in her arm break apart as the rampant arcana channeled unimpeded. A scream gushed out of her, as blood burst from her shoulder to hand, her body unable to contain most of her magic. The excruciating agony would have made most lose consciousness from shock, but she used part of her arcana to stay awake.
She did not have the luxury to faint.
When most of her magic had gathered into her palm, she tightened her iron grip, and directed her hand toward the entrance. From afar, the earth wall shifted as if in response, but the change was minuscule.
Readying for more pain, she pushed.
Agony pulsed, and she squeezed her eyes as an involuntary scream once again bubbled from her lips. The mountain finally stirred in response, the rocks moving with the roar of grinding stone, as if echoing the guttural sound of her throat.
Faintly, there were whispers of distressed shrieks of monsters, as well as the lone shout of a worried boy.
She gave them no heed.
She pushed until pillars of earth slowly rose from rock, aiming to block the entrance of the cave. Cracking bones and bursting flesh faintly reached her ears, the bodies being crushed by the advancing stone.
She pushed until she could push no more, and simply let go, her arm falling limp and useless like its counterpart. In exhaustion, she slowly opened her eyes.
The pillars had done their work in blocking the cave, the bodies that had laid at the entrance being mashed to a pulp in the process. Between the gaps in the pillars, however, were the monsters in growling hunger, trying to dig through sturdy stone and compacted flesh to reach the lone two.
Speaking of, she stared at the boy. He was observing the blocked entrance too, the sword's handle laying limp at his hand, while his chest rose irregularly with haggard breaths.
"...Hey," she croaked with effort, her throat too cracked to speak properly.
The boy turned to her, took a step, and fell.