Xerion’s neck remained exposed, his posture subservient, as his fingers ever so gently revealed the gums and fangs of the Darkfiend Wolf Alpha before him.
The beast growled at him, and he would’ve lied if he said fright didn’t take hold of his heart at that moment.
This was a behemoth, nearing four paces in length and half that in height. Not to mention it must’ve weighed a ton or three. And that maw!
Row after row of the whitest chompers Xerion ever had the displeasure of seeing. Sharper than daggers, those were, and the pitch-black saliva only added more menace to the already terrifying sight.
But the work needed to be done, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel. The bargain with the Grand Elder had been for an hour with his beasts, and little of that time remained.
Xerion moved to the side, running his palm over the silky fur of the Alpha. It boggled the mind that something so soft held the toughness superior to most mortal armors. And when its hide came into the equation, it resulted in a covering penetrable by only the blows of the truly experienced Practitioners.
Mundanes would be ripped to shreds if one of those war machines ever managed to get into their midst. They wouldn’t even recognize what was coming, their vision registering a spot of fluid light-devouring darkness and no more.
He could see its form, thankfully. And the fruits of yesterday’s ability creation session were the reason for that.
Xerion spoke a tiny ask. A Sui Scroll unfolded.
[Penetrating Gaze of the Sorrowful] (Adept) (Rank 1)
An essence ability created by Xerion Säkene Širdis.
Its roots stem from the Conceptual Essence Usage system. Formed using an image of a lonely scout, and realized with Courage-attuned essence woven into a pattern of a teary, double-pupiled eye.
Penetrating Gaze of the Sorrowful forces an essence construct into its user’s eyeballs. Such a working splits the user’s pupils in twain, enhancing the resulting pairs to heights unachievable by regular standards.
The first set shall be imbued with the power to penetrate through darkness, no matter the mundane or mystical nature of its form.
The second set shall be imbued with the power to reach beyond its humble origins, grasping more into its sights than previously possible.
The “Sorrowful” part of the ability’s name refers to the pain felt by its user throughout the entire duration of using this power.
The ability’s duration, as well as the strength of its effects, is largely dependent on its grade and the user’s power.
Xerion had a hard time deciding whether creating this thing was a stroke of genius, or of utter stupidity. Each second spent with it employed brought a sensation akin to getting poked in the eye, repeatedly.
He looked the perfect match to the power’s image, be it the two pupils or the continuously leaking tears. Those didn’t hinder him much, but the constant flinching he performed – which came as the result of the pain – might become a problem.
In those two weeks left before his departure to the lands of the void, he’d have to either master his reactions, or alter this ability.
And he wasn’t too keen to do the latter. Yes, it did hurt, and yes, its disadvantages were plentiful, but there was a reason for his choice to put that “Sorrowful” part in.
Granted, he wasn’t entirely sure what would happen by doing so, but his conjecture had proven true! Mostly.
The [Penetrating Gaze of the Sorrowful] was a special type of ability, one with ingrained drawbacks. Heaven’s fairness always prevailed, however, boosting its power in equal measure to the pain that accompanied its usage.
Which meant, despite it being merely at the very beginning of the Adept grade, it functioned as if it was close to reaching its peak. A worthy trade, in Xerion’s opinion.
Though that didn’t prevent him from cussing up a storm.
Void take you, you vile piece of fiend manure! Gahhh, why won’t that poking stoooooop.
The sound of whimpering broke him out of his musings. A quick look around reminded him why haste was of the essence here.
His examination of the Grand Elder’s beasts took place within the golden dome of Virsha. A place specially created to repel and destroy the creatures of the void. Those wretched things didn’t deserve much of his compassion, but seeing the pain inflicted upon them brought a sour feeling to his mouth.
Nevertheless, he continued, for this was not a chance easily gained. They’d just have to endure for a little while longer.
Once Xerion finished with the Alpha, he moved on to the rest of the Mature Darkfiend Wolves, then to the Juveniles.
When an hour on the dot passed, the golden chains of essence around the pack’s forms tightened and started to drag them back to their owner. Xerion followed alongside, spending those last few seconds concluding his examination. It’d have to be enough.
The monsters shrunk as they drew nearer, till barely a splotch of color remained of them, and then even those were yanked up, disappearing in a nearby window.
Hurried steps brought Xerion to the Grand Elder’s office. The man in question sat upon a chair so plush, it seemed worthy of the Empyrean herself. His robes were open, hairy chest on full display, a cluster of tiny tattoos engraved upon his right breast. Every single one looked like a miniature wolf.
“I greet you again, Grand Elder. Thank you for the opportunity to study your beasts. My research advanced by leaps and bounds, and it’s all due to your help.”
The giant waved his palm dismissively. “It was a small matter.” His eyes sharpened. “Do not forget you owe me a favor in the future, however.”
“Of course, of course. And what of my request to study some corpses?”
“One of the patrols shall be returning in three days’ time. Come back here then, and ask one of my assistants for the details. I’m much too busy for such things.”
Xerion bowed, an almost genuine smile upon his lips. “Your magnanimity humbles me, Grand Elder.”
The geezer snorted. “Don’t think me stupid, you little brat. I can see through that façade of yours. Worry not; I don’t like you either. You remind me too much of your father, and that was one nasty piece of work. Checking the corpses will cost you another favor.”
Heat rushed to the young Practitioner’s face as he gritted his teeth in anger. Insults to his person, that he could take, but to show such disrespect to his dad? A hero of Virsha? It was too much. And yet, he was powerless to do anything about it. So he breathed, swallowing the words fighting to escape his mouth.
“Fine. One more favor, but someone’s gonna cut those sacks of meat up for me. And what of my teacher? Who’re they, and when will I meet them?”
The Grand Elder hummed. “Agreed. You’re assigned to Nadia Tulinen Širdis. You know where she lives, yes? If not, go bother someone else. She’ll be expecting you in… fifty-four minutes, I believe. Get going.”
And that he did, departing without saying another word.
The long walk from the first ring to the fourth allowed him to calm his roiling emotions, the heat of anger leaving him as he came ever closer to his destination. Once his mind could think again, Xerion put it to good use, analyzing all his findings.
The numerous books and scrolls he read laid down the foundation of his knowledge, but only now, after experiencing the actual specimens of his studies, did all he knew fused into a single, coherent whole.
He was so close. A couple more days, a couple of breakthroughs, and he’d be ready.
A mansion not unlike his own came into his sights. Walls surrounded its entire perimeter, infused with Enchanter magics of durability and protection. Probably other ones as well, but he wasn’t too well-versed in the subject.
Without bothering to look at his surroundings, Xerion headed straight for the main entrance, knocked, and was greeted by an older gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair and a dapper outfit.
His arrival was expected, and so without much fanfare, the man led him through the maze of corridors that made up the bulk of this building. Walls painted in various shades of green and brown gave the impression of strolling down a path in a late autumn forest, or at least he thought they did, given that he’d never seen neither such a path, nor a forest.
They came out onto a courtyard in the middle of the complex. Three mats meant for meditation were placed in its center, with two of them already taken.
On the first was a boy maybe half a year his senior. His eyes were closed, brows scrunched up in concentration, beads of sweat running down his forehead. Head full of messy chestnut hair sat atop a body clad in yellow robes with darker trimmings, their size too big for the slight frame. Xerion wasn’t one to judge too hastily, but he’d bet a fortune the youth’s parents to be mortal.
The second occupied a woman somewhat late in her fourth decade, though her true age surpassed such, undoubtedly. Given the longevity gained through cultivation, he wouldn’t bat an eye to learn she neared a century of being.
Curly locks hugged her dainty face from each side, flowing down just below her pierced ears before stopping. Their color was the brown of earth, of soil, and of life.
Full, blood-red lips opened to reveal two pronounced teeth, a tiny gap between them. A husky yet strong voice echoed out.
“Hello again, Xerion.”
Stolen novel; please report.
He bowed lightly. “Ms. Tulinen.”
“Nadia’s just fine. We’ll be spending quite a while together, working on the basics. So it’d be better to forgo the use of honorifics, no? And do sit down, please.”
“As you say.”
Xerion plopped down onto the mat, taking on the lotus position on instinct. He tried not to let his excitement show, but after waiting his entire life for this moment, he was failing miserably. His teacher thankfully didn’t comment on his fidgeting, but her eyebrows – raised in amusement – spoke volumes.
“Try to calm your heart, while we wait for Damien to come out of meditation.”
That took a lot longer than he wanted, a whole quarter of an hour! Practically an eternity, with his eagerness at such a level.
The boy’s eyelashes fluttered before giving way to the inevitable rise of his eyelids. Those revealed a pair of dark blue irises, filled with disorientation.
“Wha—” He startled, shaking his head from side to side to grasp the current situation. “Ah… right. Hello. My name is Damien Itkevä Širdis. You are…?”
“Xerion,” the overeager Practitioner said, nodding at his fellow student. “Would you mind if we talk later? I’d really like to start right now.”
“Ah. Yeah, sure. Why not.”
Nadia smiled at the both of them. “Damien. I’m going to go over the fundamental truths of cultivation with Xerion here, truths you should be quite familiar with at this point. You can listen, or you can go back to your exercises if you’d like.”
“Ah, I don’t mind a refresher, ma’am. Might be useful.”
“If that’s your choice,” the teacher said, inclining her head in acknowledgment. “Let us start. Xerion, what do you know about cultivating? During the First Rank and in general.”
“I know the basics?”
“Well then, don’t be shy. Say what you know.”
Xerion shrugged. “Sure. To cultivate, a Practitioner has to first gather energy. There are two, no, three sources of it, as far as I’m aware.”
He raised a finger. “The most common way to gain the needed essence is by acting in accordance with one’s concept. For me, that’d be Courage. So every time I do something which requires me to be brave, my heart births tiny bits of energy.”
Xerion tapped his chest as he said the last part, then another digit went up. “On occasion, a Practitioner might find a treasure containing energy compatible with theirs. I’m unsure of the details, but those can be drained to fuel one’s advancement, yes?”
He didn’t wait for a response, lifting up the third finger. “And the last one. Supposedly, special spots can be found, saturated to the brim with a particular type of essence. It shouldn’t have been much of a problem to extract it, but we’re a spot of cleanness in a land stained by void dung, so there’s that. Hard to do, but still possible. I think that’s everything?”
Nadia’s eyes grew and grew as he continued speaking, astonishment apparent on her face. “That’s… not all, but most of it. Your knowledge’s more extensive than I expected. Did your family teach you?”
Xerion snorted. “Hardly. What I know, I learned by myself in the Archives.”
“Ah, yes. Duene did tell me about your… hobby. You must have a great relationship with the Keeper.”
“Lindani loves me,” Xerion said, not an iota of embarrassment shown on his mug despite the obvious lie.
“Hmmm. Let’s dive into the practical, then. Could you bring up the Sui Scroll detailing your cultivation realm?”
“Sure,” he said and did so.
Cultivation:
Rank – Ignition
Sub-Rank – Level 1
Progress – 1 of 3 Sparks
“Done.”
“Very well. Now tell me what the ‘Progress’ line says.”
“One of three Sparks.”
Nadia smiled, unusually happy at the simple words. “So you waited! Good, good. It’s fine to be eager, but a strong foundation’s laid only with a level head. Let’s dive in, yes? Xerion, I want you to try and peer within your Heartspace.”
Yesss. The time came. Excitement at the mere thought of cultivation threatened to spill forth, sending tiny, jittery arcs throughout his body.
Xerion did his best to clear his mind, falling into a special breathing pattern. Minutes passed before he felt ready, but when he did, his eyelids slid shut and he plunged within.
Darkness took its time before departing, being pushed to the sides by a flash of color that wasn’t really a color. It reached the tendril of his thoughts, his will, giving him a glimpse of what it was.
His tongue curled inside his mouth, tasting salt and blood and gold.
A tiny not-quite flame burned with heat that warmed his soul, tainted by the barest smidgen of a glow attainable only when it grew, transformed, became a Fire of his Heart. All around its minuscule form, clouds of gaseous Courage drifted.
Xerion gazed upon their depths, his mind blossoming with images, memories beginning since the moment of that pain, when the dagger parted flesh, the opening of this space.
He saw his talk with the Grand Elder, and when Duene proposed some sparring. When Lindani showed him the cubes, and when he chose to touch their surface. Even when he sneaked around, taking out a bunch of scrolls from a place secret to all.
He saw the moment his house appeared within his vision, drawing nearer as his trepidation grew. Every step caused him more distress, but he didn’t stop, he went in, and talked to her.
Xerion’s breathing grew ragged as he tried to extricate himself from this all-pervasive cluster of unpleasantness. A shudder ran through him as he did so, and he decided to not look at the cloud depths unless circumstances required such.
“What do you see?” Nadia asked, her voice reaching him as if separated by five walls.
“I… I see a Spark, and around it, there’s… mist. A lot of it. I glanced at it and—”
“Ah, yes. I don’t recommend repeating that without preparing yourself first.” She stopped talking for a second, then she continued, her tone commanding. “Xerion, I need you to listen to me now. What you have to do, is to grab hold of that mist, and to… rub it against itself, in a way. Follow your instincts, they shall guide you.”
Xerion wasn’t so certain about that. How do you go about grabbing gas? Seemed nonsensical. Nevertheless, he gave it a shot.
Only to realize, he had no body. Of course he didn’t; he was here, in his Heartspace, only as a… sliver of will? Something like that.
Minutes passed as he flew around this space, looking at everything it held, passing through the mist without affecting it one bit. His frustrations mounted as whatever he tried ended up doing squat. It was slipping away from him, completely oblivious to his efforts to command it.
To void with this shit! I’m just wasting time. If only I was actually here, with my— wait. Oh. Oh!
A pulse of want echoed out, a decree issued by the sovereign of this realm. It demanded that form change, and it did, as the thought-line became a palm, became a hand, became a man.
Was this really so simple? Xerion thought in sheer disbelief, staring through his conjured eyes at the will-flesh he was made of.
He extended an arm, fingers grabbing at the mist, ready to make it follow his bidding. It didn’t, flowing around his palm as gas would.
In the real world, Nadia gazed upon her new pupil with ever-increasing concern, especially after a giant vein appeared on his forehead and started throbbing.
Deep breaths, Xerion told himself. Deeeeep Breaths. Keep calm. Huuuuu— oh shit!
The avatar smacked himself on the forehead. How stupid can I be? I obviously know how to grab and hold onto gas. I do that every day, every second.
A suction force unequal to the tiny man came real. Like a leviathan breaking through the waves and devouring the air, tremendous amounts of the golden mist started streaming into a pair of imaginary lungs. Once enough of it entered, will-flesh lips closed, stopping the disturbance taking place in this space.
Like a gas tank filled to bursting, everything inhaled desired to escape, to expand, pushing and pushing yet with no release incoming. The pressure seemed unbearable, but Xerion held on, exerting his will on what lay within his form. This time, the energy listened to his command.
Clouds of power started roiling, circling in the confines of their prison. Then a sharpened thought descended, splitting gas, creating… a gap.
Two ferocious armies met, slamming into each other like a cavalry of old. Friction came from their collision, and from it—
“…rion. Xerion. Stop whatever you are doing!”
And that he did, startling awake to two faces full of worry. What was with those looks? And why did his head hurt him so?
Nadia rushed forward, a small vial in her palm. “Drink this. We’ll talk after.”
He didn’t protest, not in the muddled state he was in. The liquid tasted like juice squeezed out from month-worn socks. So vile was the thing, he attributed the sudden clearness of his mind more to the flavor than the actual effects of the potion.
Xerion grabbed at his throat, flopped onto his back, and screamed in mock horror. “I’ve been poisoned! Heavens, save this one from certain death!”
Nadia snorted with laughter. “The potion worked, I see. It’s good to see you’re fine. You had us worried there for a second.”
That made him stop with his antics. Then he noticed the blood, quite a bit of it, on his clothes. Then even more of it on his head. Too much.
“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I’m indebted to you for this help.”
His teacher waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense. Those things tend to happen somewhat often.”
At his look of incredulity, she gestured to his fellow student. “Just ask Damien. He might tell of his experiences, if he’s willing.”
The boy nodded, paleness evident on his youthful face. “Happened to me twice during my first session. Thought I was gonna die on my second try, like my brain was ‘bout to liquefy. And then, that disgusting—”
He bent over in a faux throwing-up motion, and Xerion nodded in understanding. “Yeah, that was the vilest filth I ever had the misfortune of consuming.” He turned to Nadia. “But it did help, and I’m grateful, truly. For your words as well, Damien. They made me feel like less of an idiot.”
“Ah ah, it’s— No problem. I’m also glad I’m not the only one to have gone through that, as bad as that sounds.”
“Nah, I understand. Misfortune always feels lighter when in company and all that, right?”
Their teacher cut in. “It’s no coincidence I could instantly produce that vial. Mentor-mentee relationships are formed partly because cultivation mishaps do happen, especially at the start of a Practitioner’s journey. There’s a whole budget allocated to dealing with their fallout. So you do not, in fact, owe me anything. Remember that.”
Xerion nodded, a question on his lips. He tried for it not to sound too accusatory. “Then, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you – mentors in general – allow for such things to occur?”
“That’s a common ask,” Nadia said, her smile showing she wasn’t offended. “Ah, I had almost the exact same conversation with young Damien. Understandable, yet amusing.
“And here’s your answer: because we can only guide in the beginning, yet mistakes won’t stop with no one watching over you anymore. They might multiply, even. With me, you have the chance to get a taste of the possible consequences of heedless experimentation. Tell me true, aren’t you now more averse to taking needless risks? You could’ve asked me for additional advice before acting, after all.”
Xerion averted his eyes. “A bit, yes, but honestly? Probably not by much. I’m already thinking of diving back in, and having another go at it.”
Nadia patted him on the shoulder. “As you should. It is a dangerous line that we have to walk on as Practitioners, with madness and caution both needed aplenty. I won’t stop you from trying again, but how about you first tell me what led to, how did Damien put it? The liquefying of the brain?”
So he told her, everything from his initial frustrations, through the creation of the avatar, to his “brilliant” idea.
His teacher hummed to herself when he finished. “Good thinking there, but your undoing was how you limited yourself. According to your thought process, you can command the air in your lungs, yes?”
“Y- yes.” Xerion agreed, embarrassed by how stupid that sounded.
“I’m not criticizing. If it works, it works, and you were almost there. Think on this: if you can command the breath that entered your form, why can’t you command the mist that entered your heart?”
“That’s because… No. Noooo. Just a change in thinking, could that really work?”
Nadia shrugged. “You won’t know unless you try it. You can, if you want.”
He very much did so, returning to his Heartspace as soon as he was allowed. The scene of a single Spark and endless mists greeted him there.
Will-flesh eyes gazed upon a will-flesh form. Should he dismiss the avatar? Hmmm. No. It would stay. There was a familiarity with having a body unachievable as a simple sliver of thought.
With that decision made, Xerion started.
An arm rose, a pulse spreading in response. Every corner did it touch, binding all to follow true with the asks of space’s sovereign.
Move
Chaos erupted as mists flew, gaining speed and power till the culmination came, creating a maelstrom that shook the Heartspace.
An arm fell and all was split, an empty spot now present between two mighty forces. They rushed to fill it, and their collision—
Xerion almost blacked out as a Spark was born before him. Then another. Then—
Stop
A command echoed, and as undeniable as its might was, too late did it come for the sovereign to avoid the fallout of his choices.
His true-throat was opened, a vial shoved within. The unspeakable started flowing, and so did thoughts of regret of ever wishing to become a Practitioner.
“How fascinating! Two mentees, two attempts, two near-deaths. This must be your lucky number.”
“I did it though,” Xerion croaked out. “And I figured it out, I think. The method was good, the execution too, but the scale… Probably shouldn’t have affected the entire Heartspace.”
“That does sound unwise,” Nadia said in a chipper tone. “And we have another similarity! Young Damien also tried a similar approach. Interesting.”
“Very.”
His teacher’s smile lessened a bit. “I did distract you, yes? So as untactful as those words were, they did their job.”
“Yeah, and thank you again. I just wish you didn’t have to save my ass every time.”
“I’d love to say this won’t happen again, but that’d be untrue. By the time you reach the Second Rank, you might even grow a taste for the potions.”
Xerion’s eyes filled with unshed tears at the mere thought of such a fate. He consoled himself by bringing up the cultivation Sui Scroll.
Cultivation:
Rank – Ignition
Sub-Rank – Level 1
Progress – 3 of 3 Sparks
“I’m at the peak of the First Sub-Rank.”
“That’s excellent news!” Nadia said, beaming at him. “Rest a bit, and if you feel up to it, I’ll tell you how to perform your breakthrough.”
Oh, he liked the sound of that.