It didn’t take long for Ondine to discover that her aether lilium was missing. She floated into Gideon’s room as he sat on his bed, holding the potted plant between his hands, hoping for a breakthrough.

He almost jumped when she entered but caught himself at the last moment. If he dropped the lilium on the floor, he might kill the poor thing before Kelvan’s blight got the chance.

Gideon looked at Ondine and sighed. “I’m sorry, I swear this wasn’t my idea.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” Ondine said, floating to her usual spot on the rocking chair by the window and settling in. “I suppose it was rather devious of Lord Kelvan to give you a challenge he couldn’t help you with, even if he wanted to. By the time I realized the poor dear was missing, it was too late.” She said nothing for a moment, looking at him expectantly. “Have you made any progress?”

He looked away nervously, staring down at the purple-spotted bulbs. “No,” Gideon said, and she sighed. “But I’m sure I will soon. It can’t be that difficult, right?”

So far, at least, it had been very difficult indeed. But he wasn’t about to say that.

“Well, don’t let me interrupt you,” Ondine offered. “Please, pretend I’m not even here.”

“Uh,” Gideon said, “you’re going to watch me practice?”

“I thought I would offer you some moral support. I don’t want to frighten you, Gideon, or contribute to this mental block Lord Kelvan told me about, but aether lilium is native to one specific valley deep in the elvish lands. It would cost a small fortune to replace Chloe. Also, I believe she would be quite upset to die.”

“Chloe?” Gideon asked. “Don’t tell me…”

“Melissa told me her name,” Ondine said. “Chloe’s life is in your hands.”

“Oh, gods,” Gideon groaned, staring at the withered plant.

“Don’t let me bother you, though,” Ondine said. “Please continue. Like you said, it can’t be that difficult, right?”

He already regretted his words. Gideon tried to smile reassuringly, but it came out as a grimace. He placed his hands on either side of Chloe’s pot, closed his eyes, and tried to focus.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed mana down his arms and into his palms. Part of him wanted to imbue the mana with earth essence out of sheer habit, but from what Kelvan had said, that would only strengthen the blight.

No, he thought. Life mana. He tried to imagine his mana imbued with a pure, vibrant energy. He visualized a vine growing from rich soil, followed by the rapid healing of a wound. To imbue mana with a particular elemental essence, one generally meditated on an example of that element. As a child, he’d spent countless hours meditating on rocks, mountains, or dirt. This time, however, he needed to channel life.

It was more difficult than he had expected. He could already feel the mana weave falling apart. If he kept going, he’d blast the plant with raw mana—pure arcane energy, chaotic and unformed.

Perhaps the blight would love that, but the lilium certainly would not. Gideon pulled away and halted the flow of mana. The force within him quieted and grew still.

He reached towards his bedside table, where The Vital Art sat. Now that the task before him was evident, as well as the consequences for failure, perhaps his Aunt Harmony’s words would have a greater impact on him.

Flipping through the pages, he found a passage he’d read the other day, which at the time had seemed more philosophical than helpful:

“Elemental life is more abstract than most of the other affinities, with the notable exception of death, its opposite and yet equal. If you wish to channel fire, water, earth, air, or even light and void—these are all material properties. Physical things you can see, touch, experience.

“But what is life? What is vitamancy? It is the opposite of necromancy, but defining a thing in relation to what it is not does nothing to help us know what it is.

“To channel fire, you must know fire intimately. To channel your mana into an expression of life, you must know life just as intimately.

“This is not terribly helpful, I am afraid, but the truth is that it depends on the wizard. Vitamancy, more than most other schools, is an art, not a science. To one wizard, life is a cool breeze on a summer day. To another, life is the energy stored in a ripe fruit fresh off the branch or a blade of the greenest grass.

“To me? Life is joy. It is all my happy memories. It can be as simple as a hug from a dear friend or a smile from a stranger you wish to know. The older the memory, the more foundational, the better.

“Perhaps you don’t think that mana can be imbued with a hug, or a smile, or a feeling.

But you’d be wrong.”

Gideon tapped the page with his finger. This had to have been the fourth time he’d read it. Part of him found the words beautiful, but another part was frustrated, because it hardly seemed like actionable advice. Though he didn’t doubt his Great-Aunt’s expertise, he couldn’t help but think it was an entirely different set of skills to perform magic than to teach it.

Holding his hands next to Chloe, he closed his eyes and tried to follow his Aunt’s guidance. A happy memory…

As the mana flowed through him, he thought of the day he’d moved in with Flinn Merrick, his old roommate. He recalled their times together—hanging out at the tavern or going on walks through the city when they were too poor to afford anything else.

He thought of Mrs. Fernwood, delighted by her gardening. He thought of Sir Clonk rescuing him from the spiders on his first day at the castle, and Grimsby making pancakes.

His mind drifted, and his mana lingered in his hands. It wasn’t flowing yet, but perhaps that was just as well. If he tried to force it, he might risk frying Chloe.

The older, the better.

Another memory flashed through his mind. One he hadn’t thought of in years. Standing next to Yvette, he looked across the glittering waters of one of Prospera’s canals. When she bumped her shoulder against him, he pretended not to notice, ignoring the lump in his throat. Her frizzy brown hair was tied back against the wind, but strands had already come unfurled in defiance of any attempt to tame them. She smiled at him as she waved her wand in the air.

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“Look,” she said, pointing at his reflection on the surface of the water. “You see that?”

“Huh?” Gideon asked, utterly taken in.

A spout of water shot up from the canal, splashing both of them. Gideon, who had been leaning over the railing, got the worst of it. He started to sputter, wiping his face with his sleeve as Yvette laughed.

“Disgusting,” he said, which only made her laugh harder. Then he smiled. “Wait, Yve! You did it. You learned Spout!”

“Last night,” Yvette confirmed proudly. She slipped her wand into the pocket of her robes, then took off her glasses and wiped water off the lenses. “How are your studies going?”

“Oh,” Gideon said. “You know, they’re going all right.”

The memory faded, replaced by Gideon studying The Earth and Us: Geomancy for Beginners as his father looked on. He was too large for his father’s knee by then, but the man sat in the corner of the room, watching as Gideon held out his hands and tried to channel earth mana.

His problem had been different back then. He’d lacked control. His mana would remain still or thrash and rage—there was no in-between. But at least he’d always known what to focus on.

In the memory, Gideon failed, and his father shook his head. “How disappointing,” the man said. “You know what a risk I took to get that skill book? Do you think those blasted things are easy to steal? What would your mother think if she could see your failure now?”

Another image invaded his mind. He saw his mother in bed, her hollow eyes watching him. The sight of her, so pale and weakened, had scared him at first. He still felt guilty about that. It was one of the last times he’d ever seen her, and he’d been frightened.

Gideon opened his eyes and returned to the present.

His palms glowed, pulsing uncontrollably. Thankfully, he hadn’t channeled any of it into Chloe. Closing his hands, his fingernails dug into his palms as he emptied his thoughts and willed his mana to stabilize.

Kelvan was both right and wrong, he realized. He did have a block, but it was not fear of death or injury that trapped him there, unable to channel the energy of life—joy, if his Great-Aunt was to be believed.

There was more to it than that. What was he afraid of? Failure? No, that wasn’t quite it either. He’d failed so many times before. He should have been used to it by now.

Gideon was about to apologize and tell Ondine he needed a break when a knock came at the door.

“Yes?” Gideon called, grateful for the distraction.

Sir Clonk entered, turning to look at the plant. “Hmm,” he said, his helm rotating between Gideon and Ondine. “Grimsby asked me to fetch you, Gideon. It’s time to head out.”

Oh, right, Gideon thought. He’d completely lost track of time. There was still plenty of work to do around the castle, and below it.

“Sorry, Ondine. We have some errands to take care of.”

“Of course, I understand,” Ondine replied, floating towards the door. She looked down at the plant and then back to Gideon. “Let me know if I can help.”

Once she was gone, Clonk watched as Gideon carefully placed the aether lilium on a shelf by the window. Gideon explained his Uncle’s challenge, and Clonk nodded, his joints squeaking slightly as he moved.

His armor needed oil, by the sounds of it, but it didn't seem polite to mention it now. Gideon would have to offer later, once the day’s work was finished.

“That should be easy enough,” Sir Clonk said. “Didn’t you used to work for a gardening company?"

“If only it were that easy,” Gideon replied, feeling his cheeks grow hot. “Besides, I never actually did any gardening, you know.”

“Ah, I see,” Clonk said and nodded. “The world’s work ethic has certainly gone downhill these past centuries.”

----------------------------------------

Unfortunately for Gideon, Grimsby, and Clonk, their cart wouldn’t fit down the small tunnels that led to the broodmother’s former lair. So they carried wooden bins, buckets, and barrels, plus a set of shovels, brooms, and axes with them. The three of them spent the afternoon shoveling up the remains of spiders, harvesting venom and monster parts, and collecting webs.

Gideon had called Aurora the other day, and she had mentioned she knew a weaver in the neighboring town of Cragsmouth who could produce beautiful silk fabric from the webs. Even better, he’d accept part of the webbing as payment for his services. Apparently, it was rare to find such a considerable amount in the wild.

Gideon couldn’t wait for The Last Rest to offer spider silk sheets in every room, starting with his own. His bedding was threadbare, too, after all.

Besides the webs, monster parts could always be sold for quick cash, which would help cover their finances until more guests showed up. Now that Gideon had an actual payroll to consider, it made sense to make money however they could.

The broodmother was far too large to carry out in one piece—though Clonk could have dragged her down the mountain if he tried, it would have undoubtedly harmed her sale value. Thankfully, Clonk and Grimsby seemed to have no qualms about chopping her up and taking her back to the castle in pieces. Ondine had already offered to drain her blood and separate her vital components.

As Clonk merrily butchered spider parts and Grimsby organized them for hauling away, Gideon made his way to the cavern’s edge with a bin and a broom. Besides the spiders and their byproducts, Gideon was interested in collecting one other thing from this cavern, though he wasn’t sure of its true value yet.

As he approached what remained of the Moonstone, he felt a twinge of pain in his hand. Part of the Moonstone that hadn’t been broken loomed above him, shining with an eerie purple glow.

Was it just him, or had the crystal already grown compared to when he’d shattered it? Gemstones typically took millions if not billions of years to form naturally, but considering the Moonstone’s magic, perhaps it could make its own rules.

Gideon tipped the bin over and began to sweep the shattered fragments inside. He was careful not to interact with the still glowing gem above him or cast [Geosense] on it, but thankfully, the disconnected pieces seemed inert.

Soon, he lost himself in the rhythm of sweeping up, collecting more and more of the Moonstone shards.

“You both knew Lady Harmony, didn’t you?” Gideon asked, turning to Clonk and Grimsby.

“Aye,” Clonk said after a moment, pausing with his axe over his shoulder. “For many years.”

“I remember she loved dwarven toast,” Grimsby said.

“Dwarven toast?” Gideon asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever had it.” He would have to ask Flinn about it sometime.

“Oh,” Grimsby said, chuckling. “It’s toast, but fried. And beer-battered. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Gideon echoed, grinning to himself. That actually sounded pretty good. “What was she like as a wizard, though? Kelvan said she learned vitamancy when she was still young.”

“It was her first school,” Clonk said. “But she attained mastery in four before she passed on.”

“Four?” Gideon exclaimed. “I didn’t realize. Don’t tell me Lord Kelvan was her equal.”

“He was working on his fifth,” Grimsby said. “But then…”

Clonk slashed his neck joint with his gauntlet, then sagged forward.

“That’s incredible,” Gideon said. To graduate from Falconridge, a student needed to attain Platinum Rank in one school or Gold in two. But that wasn’t true mastery—to reach Diamond Rank in even one school of magic was seen by most wizards as the achievement of a lifetime. “No wonder she made it sound so easy in her book. She must have been a genius. ‘Just channel the joy of life.’” He sighed.

If only it were so simple.

Clonk and Grimsby looked at each other for a moment, then both began to laugh. “The joy of life?” Grimsby asked, cackling. “You should know by now she had plenty to be upset about, bub. Life, for her, was anything but joyful.”

Gideon looked at the skeleton for a moment, then nodded. From everything he had heard about Aunt Harmony, that was true. Yet her own words gave such a different impression. “I see. But she never wrote about it. I wish I could have asked her.”

“I think, when we’re honest with ourselves,” Clonk offered, “we often find that joy and sadness are hard to separate.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Gideon said, suddenly distracted. He had noticed a trail of broken shards, smaller than the rest, leading away from where he was sweeping. It was as if a larger shard had been dragged along the rocky ground, leaving smaller bits of debris behind.

He followed the trail of crystals between two stalagmites, tracing them to a tiny hole in the cavern wall at ground level.

Gideon finally relented. Kneeling down, he placed his hand against the stone and cast [Geosense], carefully avoiding sensing anywhere near the Moonstone.

The hole was an entrance to a small tunnel leading up and away, toward the castle. Towards the west. He didn’t remember noticing it the last time he’d been in the cavern. And inside…

“Hey!” Gideon shouted. He leaned down and peered into the hole, only to see a pair of glowing ruby eyes staring back at him.

There was a startled squeak, followed by tiny footsteps retreating into the darkness.

It seemed he was not alone in his interest in the Moonstone.

“Come back here,” Gideon cried. “I broke that crystal fair and square!”

“I don’t think he’s paying attention,” Clonk said with a tinge of annoyance.

“Well, I thought you were pretty profound,” Grimsby cackled. “Maybe you should’ve written a book.”