Some means available to Practitioners were beyond even their own understanding, and that went doubly so for those focused primarily on the cultivation of the heart.

Even those with the dullest of wits could grasp the workings of elemental powers. The complexity of forces wasn’t to be underestimated, yet their grounding in reality ensured their study lay within the reach of those particularly eager for the truth.

Concepts were a thing of utter nonsense. The Emotional Essence of the Empyrean Clan could at least be somewhat understood, but the historical accounts spoke of magics that’d boggle the mind of even those most open to the mystical nature of existence.

Harnessing of Dreams to fuel advancement. Growth through the assimilation of the Vastness of the world. The annexation of Connections that bind everything together.

It was of no surprise that abilities created through such esoteric means tended to rank high on the scale of strangeness. Some stories told of powers manifesting thanks to nothing else but the sincerest want of their originators.

Xerion very much doubted their veracity, as no matter for how long his glare persisted, despite the brightest of need roaring within his heart, a working able to cleanse his outfit of all that dirt failed to materialize.

Oh, how his soul bled at the sight! For over a decade he dreamed of this day, of meeting a group of kindred spirits able and willing to bring him into their fold. And since the instant his eyes caught a glimpse of this most stunning of azure robes, no other garb stood a chance of being donned for this most important of moments.

So much preparation ruined, and by purely his own folly.

Xerion always knew whom he wanted to become: a Practitioner of high regard, respected by all within his clan. It didn’t escape his notice how utterly daft that was, given his number one goal of running away from the place of his birth and the people living in it. But humans were contradictory beings and he was far from perfect at the best of times. His aspirations were relatable, at least, especially when compared to those pursued by others in his vicinity.

The man to his left, for example, must’ve aspired to be a metal can. Clad from neck to toe in thick, overlapping white-ish plates, Vaikus sat as if a rock in the middle of a sea, one unaffected by the waves stirred by life. Hardly a sound came from his peaceful form, and Xerion could just imagine the giant merging with the ground, transcending the puny limits of a fleshy body.

He was not ashamed to say he envied such tranquility.

“If you’re to join our ranks, it’d be best for you to know what each of us can do, no?” Nadia said, smiling in a way that made him want to blush.

The woman rested in the lotus position, with a back so straight as if a rod supported her in this endeavor. What truly stood out was how natural she made it seem, giving an impression that to stray away from the perfect form was to be a deviant fighting heaven’s order. Xerion found himself mimicking her unconsciously, though with nowhere near the grace she held.

“As you can see from my current get-up,” she said, gesturing at herself, “my primary focus is on controlling the battlefield. Most of my Totems carry captured beasts – and I am quite a Master at directing them, if I do say so myself – though not all.”

She hummed, one of her arms traveling to her bow as if on instinct. “I won’t go into detail on each of my powers, but do take heed when my arrows are in flight. They’ll hit, and the results of such are most pleasant to look at, I’d say. Now—”

“Can we do something?” Duene whined. “I’ve been standing in one place for over a week; I don’t feel like sitting on my ass and wasting time.”

The diminutive woman was positively splayed across the ground, her legs open wide, one bent at the knee while the other lay flat, a single arm supporting her bent back. Her face held the clearest expression of annoyance that Xerion ever saw.

Philip seemed to barely pay attention to the conversation taking place, staring in pure fascination at the tiny stream of water coiling like a snake around his fingers. The words said by Duene did reach him, however, and he was the one to answer her query.

“Want me to shoot some droplets for you to cut down?”

“Yes!” she said, up on her feet in less than a blink.

A breath hitched in Xerion’s throat as a Varsteel sword exited its sheath. Gone was the scarred woman’s leisurely demeanor, the previous frown twisting into a terrifying rictus of pure excitement.

“Control your aura!” Nadia barked.

“…Ah. Sorry, love. It’s been a while. C’mon, Phil. Shoot ‘em.”

The pressure disappeared as soon as it had come, not that many cared. Only the youngest of those present was affected by its weight. …Right. Ufff. Don’t piss off Duene.

The man in blue continued leaning on a wall, his lips moving as if speaking to the water he controlled. The tiny stream became five, then one, but with the thickness of an arm.

It was only now that Xerion noticed the source of all that liquid. A bottle in the color that Philip so adored was attached to his waist, its minute size obviously inadequate for the gallons it produced. Some enchantments were at work, no doubt.

A watery tentacle wrapped itself around his forearm, its end pointed at Duene. No forewarning came before the sound akin to sharply sucked-in air reverberated through the room, followed closely by a muffled “boom.”

[Penetrating Gaze of the Sorrowful]

Xerion’s pupils split in twain and tears began to gush as he employed his ability. Over a week passed since its creation, and he could proudly admit that the perpetual poking of his eyeballs resulted in at most a single flinch once in a couple of seconds. That was, of course, still quite unideal, but a vast improvement from his initial constant wincing.

The vision-enhancing properties of this power allowed him to grasp what was taking place before him.

Faster than a mortal arrow, droplets the size of half his pinky shot through the air in groups of three. Philip grinned widely as his tentacle wriggled, peppering projectiles like nobody’s business.

Duene mirrored his expression as her blade blurred, cutting all within its range. For the love of the Empyrean, how that woman moved. Deadly grace oozed out of her every swing, every thrust, and her body flowed from form to form despite her not retreating even by a step.

Yeah, this was the right team for him, Xerion decided.

“You still insist on pursuing this foolish ability, I see,” Nadia chided. “Hmmm. You’re not squinting nearly as much as the first time I witnessed your use of it.” She pinched her lip. “No. My opinion stands. This abominable thing will be the death of you.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be ideal, would it? You’d have to look for yet another member,” Xerion joked.

“Worry not, my young student. Team Hylkiö goes through new additions at quite a record speed, making us old hands at seeking replacements. You can rest easy knowing the loss of your life shouldn’t impact us much.”

“What?”

“Now where was I, before we were so rudely interrupted by my overenthusiastic dearest.” She clicked her tongue. “Ah yes, the roles. As you undoubtedly noticed, Duene’s our frontline fighter. She’s a Master with her sword and with body enhancement magics both. Philip, well, he’s quite a versatile one. Even knows a bit of healing, for when we inevitably get into a rougher scuffle.”

“What about Vaikus?”

Nadia shot him a dubious look. “Do I really need to explain?”

Xerion turned his head to behold a three-paces tall living and breathing metal fortress, equipped with a door-sized shield enchanted to the high heavens. The man gave him a thumbs up.

“Nope.”

“Thought so.”

Nadia let the silence linger for just a moment, then she delivered a metaphorical punch to his gut. “Now you know of us and that we’re able, but what about you? What use are you to us?”

“T-teacher, I…” he stammered, before breathing deep and steeling himself. “I have something to show you.”

“No time like the present, yes? Duene!” she shouted. “Clear the center.”

“But I was just getting started…” the swordfighter said, sulk evident in her voice. Nevertheless, she followed the instructions of her leader.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

With the floor vacated came the time for him to shine. Or to fail miserably. Xerion gulped and banished the thought. His heart held not a place for doubt, not at this moment. All he could do was perform to the best of his Abilities.

He rose to his feet, a single hand placed within his satchel. There was a fluidity to his movements as he walked and took out a piece of chalk. Without the soft earth needed to create the circle, he had to dip his toes into the unorthodox, and this white limestone was the result of his findings.

Even if it didn’t work, what was the worst that could happen?

Well, given how unstable those things tend to be, it might blow up? That’s unlikely, though. Better not to mention this possibility anyway.

Most Rituals stemming from the Ceremonial system were comprised of four individual components, all eventually coming together to birth a power that shouldn’t be.

Everything started with the diagram. Usually drawn in the soil, but flexible enough to be placed on other surfaces. Its primary purpose was to designate an area of effect, a spot for magics to take hold. That, plus it acted as a roadmap for essence to flow and connect with the most important of elements.

The sigils.

Xerion spent many a sleepless night in wonder, scratching at his head and trying to imagine the mad bastard who devised this marvelous creation. To even conceive of such a notion… it beggared belief.

Those special symbols depicted memories. Once in the distant past, some poor chap saw a scene that left its mark so deep, its recreation called to existence itself and it answered, bringing a shadow of that sight into the present.

For his current project, the young Practitioner outlined a plain circle on the stone ground. When it came to this particular ability, the diagram’s shape could be customized to one’s convenience, and he went for simplicity.

At regular intervals, a sigiled wooden stake got placed – portraying a palm with eight four-jointed digits, each ending in a triangle-like fingernail. A difficulty here arose, as the construct had no soft earth to dip into.

Xerion praised his own forethought as he removed tiny metal stands from his satchel. They’d hold the spikes upright.

With those two components done, next was the time for the call, the very thing responsible for the “Ceremonial” part of this system.

Made of a gesture and a phrase, its origins were highly unclear, but they all differed for each Ritual. He suspected them to be a second memory, an impression carved upon the world at the instant of first casting. An image of a power’s inventor, forever ingrained in the hearts and minds of those wishing to use their skill.

An undying legacy, the closest a soul could get to immortality.

Xerion straightened his back, one of his arms raised at a forty-five-degree angle and bent at the elbow, the fingers of his hand splayed wide open.

And then he pushed, the air resisting his advance as if he was coming for its life. His lips parted.

“I seek but a Reprieve, a safe spot for a while. Grant me that wish, send down your weave, and protect from the Vile.”

Essence tore its way out of his chest and dived right into the diagram. It coursed through its contours, emblazing them and crying for the working to commence.

And then it descended.

Silence reigned as fingers of deep gold arrived, eight in total, followed by a palm. Such a detailed thing this was, a thousand lines crisscrossed across its form, with scars aplenty gained from battles untold.

Each digit ended in a construct closer to a claw than a nail, and he watched as they spread, aiming for the stakes, before slowly sinking into the ground. As they did, the open spaces between the fingers blazed with light, creating barriers of brilliance.

Xerion blinked, and a Sui Scroll unfolded.

[Reprieve from the Vile] (Adept) (Rank 1)

An essence ability created by Simon, the Fearful Fool of Faria.

Its roots stem from the Ceremonial Rituals system. Formed by the engravement of sigils depicting a palm of one of the Kannyaatu onto wooden stakes, realized through the use of a customizable circle, and powered by an essence with a Positive attunement.

Reprieve from the Vile conjures a hand made of hardened light, which sinks into the ground and summons barriers between each of its fingers. All within the sphere’s confines are protected against incursions from outside, as well as under the aegis of ever-present purifying energies.

The ability’s duration, as well as the strength of its protection, is largely dependent on its grade and the user’s power.

It was perfect, and his next words would cement its worth.

“I know I’m weak right now,” he said and entered his creation, a smile blossoming on his face. “I won’t be forever, but for the next little while, I will be. But I can still be of help.”

Xerion gestured at the golden beauty all around him. “I may have never ventured into the lands ruled by the void, but I’m aware they’re a harsh and unforgiving place. This,” he opened his arms wide, “I offer to you. A spot to rest, away from the stifling embrace of the dark.”

He bowed at the waist. “I’d have you, if you’d be so gracious to have me. So what say you?”

No cheers echoed, not a single clap, yet when he rose and saw the smiling faces before him – not to mention Vaikus shooting him a discreet thumbs up – he knew all would be well.

Then Nadia took out a tiny stone, concentrated upon it, and summoned a half-sphere with the same purifying effect as his ability.

Xerion’s jaw dropped.

“I must say, I find it most curious that you didn’t know about the existence of this trinket,” she said, dismissing the power. “But fear not, for your worth is still quite plentiful.”

“I don’t see how,” he said dejectedly.

“Ah, because this rock’s enchantments are quite costly to maintain. You’ll save us a small fortune over the years.”

“More coin is good,” Duene helpfully added, nodding.

Xerion sighed, even though he promised himself not to. A thick mass of disappointment made a nest inside his chest and didn’t plan on leaving.

Nadia cleared her throat. “Plus, you’re not aware of your most desirable quality. I’m sure you’re not, for neither have I taught you its meaning, nor how to make use of it. Come, let’s sit.”

He plopped onto the ground, feeling drained by this entire day. “Why not?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why didn’t you teach it to me.”

“Ah. For this very simple reason: I had to observe, to see what lies at your core, before deciding whether to impart you with this magic at all.” She hummed in consideration. “I saw all I needed. You have your flaws but are mostly pure of heart, and so I deemed this moment as the right one for an introduction to [Conceptual Manipulation].”

The lack of trust hurt, but it was little more than a slight sting. He couldn’t exactly expect his teacher to have faith in him since their first meeting, after all.

“Okay. That… makes sense, I guess. So what is it?”

Nadia squinted her eyes, looking at him closely. “I anticipated your reaction to be more substantial, but no matter. Disregard how silly my next words shall sound and follow them.”

“Now I’m worried.”

“Shush you. I want you to reach out with your heart, and try connecting it to mine.”

Xerion raised a single eyebrow.

“Did I not just say to disregard the silliness?”

He shook his head and attempted to do as she asked. What was the worst that could happen? For it to be a joke and for him to be made a fool? A little price that was, especially since this stood a chance at aiding his growth.

Xerion’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets as his want to grasp his heart and let it out was fulfilled by the slightest of asks.

A stream of something that was him, yet not, but yes-in-truth flowed from his body into all directions at once, as if a rock striking the center of a pond and creating ripples.

He knew this energy to be new yet struggled to shake off the feeling of knowing it for years. How utterly fascinating that was. And then it encountered something close to it in form. It tried to seek its source, and it did, only to be rebuffed by a barrier stronger than an iron wall.

A Sui Scroll unfolded without an ask from him.

[Conceptual Manipulation] (Novice) (Rank 1)

An innate essence ability, available to those who cultivate concept-based methods.

Conceptual Manipulation allows a Practitioner to enforce or deny their concept – making it possible to inflame said concept in the hearts of others, to extinguish it, or to employ a plethora of other sinister workings.

The duration of the ability’s effects, the power of its application, and the breadth of its uses are all largely dependent on its grade and the user’s power.

“From that spaced-out look of yours, you must’ve gotten the ability, yes?” Nadia asked.

Xerion nodded, eyes still focused on the floating golden parchment. Some words engraved upon its surface were of considerable concern. The fact he received the lowest grade possible not enough to so much as arise his interest.

“I will have your thoughts on it, now.”

“It seems… bad,” he said, struggling to translate feelings into speech. “Really bad.”

“Oh, it’s a fair bit worse than what you think, I assure you. Let me give you an example. Do you believe our lives easy, dwelling in the depths of the void?”

Xerion found the question so offensive, he jerked his head upwards and glared at his mentor. “Absolutely not.”

“Then what of the mortals? Would you say they have it harder than us?”

“Yes,” he answered simply.

“If we’re in such dire straits, don’t you think it a struggle to even persist in this world?”

“…Yes,” he repeated, though more uncertainly.

“Ah, and see, here in lies the crux of the issue, why I was so troubled whether to lead you to the discovery of this power. Because to live is to fight, forever embroiled in a battle against an undying foe, a construct made of all the bad existence has to offer. And that, my dear student, takes Courage.”

Xerion felt out of breath as he said, “Which I can extinguish.”

“Indeed.”

Noticing his plummeting mood, Nadia continued with a more neutral piece of news. “No need to look so glum. I used your concept as an example, but each of them can lead to equally disastrous results, if used by one with a foul heart. So long as you don’t employ this ability on thinking beings without their express permission, all will be well.”

“Great. So I’m not the only Practitioner able to manipulate others as I see fit, everyone can do it. Fantastic.”

Nadia smiled sadly. “I understand what you feel, as I went through a similar conversation in the distant past. I—”

“Not that distant; you still look great, love!” Duene shouted.

The room stilled before exploding into chuckles, snorts, and whatnot, the downcast atmosphere departing as if it never was, all while the pink-dressed woman stared at her team in incomprehension.

“Well, wasn’t that nice. Yes, I do suppose that time hasn’t yet completely taken my charm—”

“It hasn’t!”

“—but we should finish our talk. See, it’s not so easy to influence the heart. You’ve felt that barrier, no? The Integrity Attribute is quite a wondrous thing. And I did say that Courage is your most desirable quality, did I not? Don’t forget you can inflame it. That shall be most useful while we travel through the Dark.”

Their discussion continued for over an hour after that, as the complexity of [Conceptual Manipulation] workings laid beyond everything Xerion learned in the past. Even to empower an emotion wasn’t strictly good, as one also needed greater Courage to steal and to kill.

They talked and talked till their mouths grew parched, and in the end, one last worry remained. He hesitated to utter the ask staying at the tip of his tongue, but in the spirit of his concept, he decided to be brave.

“Teacher… why are our inborn concepts what they are?”

“Some say the emotion you awaken to is the very thing you embody. Others will tell you that you receive it for that is what you lack the most. I believe it to be fate and little else.”

Xerion heart sank as he heard only what he wanted. A bitter cold overtook him as his worst fear just came true.

“My concept is Courage. Does that…” He stopped, unwilling to speak the next word yet following through. “Does that make me a coward?”

Nadia’s smile was warmer than sun’s rays. “It’s the actions that make a person, Xerion. You are whomever you make yourself to be. Nothing more and nothing less.”