╚╩╩╩╝ Emora ╚╩╩╩╝

“Now that the both of you have accepted my power, we can get started.” I spoke looking down at the two inheritors sitting on the floor of the mindscape.

Because the room was shared between the two of them, the wonderful field that Hazel had dreamed up was replaced by the usual white box. Malcolm had accepted the power, and while he hadn’t been directly influenced by the other, he still made the decision because of something other than his own reasoning. He would need to work harder to catch up to Hazel because of this.

The two fidgeted, unsure of what was to come, as was appropriate. The future that I had seen, the one that awaited them was split into thousands of paths, each of them bleak and burning. There were a small handful where hope remained, but even those would end when this world closed.

Out of all of these paths, one had been severed from the root. I could still see it, but it could never be reached. Every time I reached into this path, I was met with the face of Malcolm’s sister, Faria. She was scared, injured and crying over the body of her brother. He was my host in this world too, though he held all of my power by himself, instead of sharing it with Hazel.

The knowledge of this path was foggy. Malcolm had been killed by his father, the king. The man had devoured the boy’s spirit and the power that he had refined from myself. The king relished in this new power for a fraction of a second before the dark eyed man standing beside him turned and, wreathed in a writhing shadow, cut the man’s head off. The shadow devoured the king’s corpse and exploded with power. The shadow then flew out of the castle where they all were, heading in the direction of a pillar of golden light across the continent. Seconds later, the world ceased as the path cut off.

This world was on a different path, but the end was still dreary. There would need to be something drastic to pull the path off of its intended course. I would do it, but I won’t last long in this world, now that the two of them accepted my essence.

Clapping my hands, I shrugged off those thoughts and started.

“Now that a balance has been reached with my power between the two of you, you’ll feel things start to calm down.” I explained. “Any intrusive thoughts or urges should start to wane and you’ll feel your emotions begin to calm.”

Hearing my words, the two of them looked both relieved and embarrassed. I knew why, being stuck in both of their heads at all times.

“As I’ve told you before, my power stems from emotion. Meaning that it is extremely volatile. If you don’t exercise proper restraint, my power will control you. Being controlled by your emotions will turn you into something like a toddler with the power of a king.”

“We already have one of those.” Malcolm thought to himself, forgetting that uncontrolled thoughts were just the same as speaking in a mindscape.

Hazel grinned, but quickly controlled her expression when she saw my own.

“Would you like me to continue?” I asked, tapping my foot.

His face coloring, Malcolm nodded.

╚╩╩╩╝ Malcolm Kiech ╚╩╩╩╝

Today was the day.

Taking in a ragged breath as I shivered, I slipped out from under my covers and quickly got dressed. After washing, I stepped into the main room, walking past Avery as he ate his breakfast.

“I forgot to say yesterday, but I told Hazel that I would eat breakfast with her.” I apologized, glancing at the steaming plate of deliciousness that Avery had spent the morning making for him. He felt guilty, but he would feel more guilty if he didn’t go.

“That’s alright, I’m sure I’ll find someone who’ll appreciate my cooking.” Avery spoke with a frown.

I panicked for barely a moment before a sly smile overtook my roommates previous expression. Laughing, he waved me out the door as he turned to his food.

Leaving the dorm, I breathed in the humid morning air and turned toward the infirmary. The soft chirping of birds sounded as a flock of blue-green birds flitted through the air, landing on a nearby tree. A nest made of twigs and grass rested on a thicker branch, housing a few chirping hatchlings.

Without the chatter of students that would come in a matter of minutes, the world felt at peace.

Reaching inside of myself, I felt a mass of red energy that seemed to sleep in the center of my chest. According to Emora, this red energy was the Primeval Self. It was what formed the spirit after death. It was created during conception and would remain to the end of time. It formed who I was. It was the source of my desires, emotions and instinct. Beyond that, with Emora’s power, it could be moved through the body to do whatever we needed it to. In Emora’s words, it was like Hazel and I were Spiritualists, but we could only move our own spirit.

Right now, in the quiet peace of a cool spring morning, the Primeval Self was small and still. It would grow or change with my mood. This could be good or bad, or both depending on the situation.

This early in the morning, the infirmary would be low-staffed. There would be nurses checking on very select patients and the occasional member of faculty wandering to make sure nobody caused trouble or to respond if a nurse needed help.

Stepping through the front door, a pair of nurses greeted me by name before turning back to their duties. The same happened with every other person I passed on my way to Hazel’s room. Something had put me into their minds. Was Hazel’s injury so big of an event that it made them famous? The same thing happened yesterday, but I assumed that the gossip would fade quickly.

Shaking these thoughts away, I opened the door to Hazel’s room to see her with a mouthful of gelatin.

Hurriedly putting the spoon back onto the bed tray that held her breakfast, she swallowed and turned her head sheepishly. “You were taking too long, and I’ve been sleeping since you left yesterday.”

“I’m just hoping you didn’t eat mine.” I joked, stepping over to the bed to see a second tray with an empty bowl of what I assumed had been gelatin.

Looking down at the bowl she was halfway through eating, Hazel pursed her lips and averted my gaze. “I didn’t know you like gelatin that much.” I started to eat what was left of the breakfast that the nursing staff had left for me.

“It was something that the tailor I worked for would make for me. It’s cheap to make a lot of, since you can get it from any animal.”

Nodding, I looked down at the food that had been prepped. It was a chunk of bread softer than anything he had ever felt, soup broth and oatmeal with berries. All foods that could be eaten by anyone, regardless of how weak they were.

We both finished eating in silence and stacked the dishes and trays on the side table.

“How are you feeling?” I asked just as I set the trays down. She showed no sign of movement, so I figured that she still couldn’t walk, but asked anyway.

“They say that I’m healing much faster than normal, which is true. Their estimate changed from a few weeks to a little over a week, but we’ll see.” She said, looking down at her legs under the blanket as she shifted them around.

Seeing her legs like this, I could feel my Primeval Self flare as my mood turned slightly sour. Feeling this, I turned away from her legs to see Hazel smiling at me. When I saw her yesterday, she looked tired and beaten. Today, she looked the same as she always did, except that her hair was a burgundy mess.

Looking at her now, I noticed that the swelling in my chest that had tormented me for the past few days was not there.

Pulling my thoughts to something less embarrassing, I turned to make sure that the door was shut and pulled my grandfather’s notebook out from my storage ring.

“I always forget that you have that thing.” Hazel spoke, startled by the appearance of the book.

“I forget about it sometimes, too.” I said, flipping to the page with the puzzle. “Can you make something of this?” I handed her the book and pointed to it.

She stared at the page for a while before furrowing her brow.

“Do you have a pencil and something to write on?” She asked, reaching out to me.

I pulled what she asked for out of my storage ring and handed it to her.

She immediately started to scribble something on the paper, her head snapping back and forth from the paper to the notebook. After a couple of minutes of pencil scratching on paper, Hazel stopped and held up the paper. The unscrambled image looked something like a compass, as well as the numbers 82 and 104. With the symbol of the compass fully visible, I realized where I had recognized it.

Immediately, I cleared off the side table and started unloading the books I had taken from my grandfather’s study. The symbol was on the binding of one of the books. The book was one of his grandfather’s favorites. It was almost always open on his desk.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Finding the book, I flipped open to the pages in question, reading them thoroughly, but found nothing.

“Let me see it.” Hazel asked, reaching out for the book.

She did the same, but furrowed her brow as she felt the page. Flipping the second number she did the same and tilted her head.

“What is it?” I asked, hoping she’d thought of something.

“These pages look the same as the rest of the book, but they have a different texture. They feel newer, like someone repaired them.” She held the page closer to her face. “The pages are already thick, but these two are barely thicker than the rest.”

Handing her the knife, I watched as she very slowly pressed the tip of the blade into the edge of the sheet. Then, the page split just slightly. Sticking her fingers into the gap, she gently pulled the two apart. A thin sheet of browning paper came loose, separating from the original page. This sheet of paper was thin enough see the words below it. Separated, though, the original page inside the book was the same, while the thin sheet only had a collection of letters scattered across its surface.

Following the same process with the second page revealed another thin sheet covered in a random assortment of letters.

Passing me the book, she studied both pages. She laid them over each other, but frowned and pulled them apart. After a minute, she set them down and reached out for the paper she had drawn on before. She then wrote something across the back of the page and stopped.

“It’s some kind of cipher key.” She spoke, setting the paper on her lap. Seeing my confused expression, she continued explaining. “It’s what you would use to solve something written in a code.”

Immediately, I pulled out the random sheets of paper that were written in code, handing th stack to her.

After examining it for a moment, she nodded her head. “This is all in the same code. It’ll take some time, but I can decipher all of this.”

Dragging the chair closer to the bed, I pulled everything but the stacks of paper on Hazel’s lap into my storage ring and sat down.

“Don’t you have class soon?” She asked.

“Class will be there tomorrow. I need to be here today.” I replied before pulling out a stack of blank paper and setting it on her side table.

Smiling, Hazel asked me to clean off one of the trays and bring it to her so she has something better to write on.

She then started on the first of the pages and found them to be numbered.

I find it funny that I didn’t realize it until I started writing this. How Faria seems to know so much. I’d assumed that she was Traveler, like the one who taught me the Mage’s Hand. She confirmed that herself, but I did not think her to be a Seer before now. Her mother was a very famous Seer, and I believe this to be the reason that Regna sought after her. He is the reason that I write this in code instead of a normal script. Many years ago, when Faria was just beginning to crawl, she came to me. She had seen a world filled with monsters of unbelievable horror. She confided in Regna, hoping to find wisdom in her husband’s words. He promised to help her, but needed strength and asked her how he could become strong enough to fight this future. She tried for weeks and eventually saw what it was that my son wanted. She saw a young man who looked just like her husband, and she saw him devour the boy’s spirit and soul. Then, a year later, she had yet another vision. She saw herself falling down a flight of stairs just before everything turned dark. That was the only future she could ever see anymore. She tried so hard to keep that future from coming, but it did anyway. I had witnessed the whole thing myself. It was Faria, now old enough to walk, who pushed her own mother down the stairs.

Malcolm froze, stunned as Hazel read out that last sentence.

Faria had killed her own mother.

Hazel then continued reading.

I kept the truth hidden. I’d assumed that she had done it on accident. Now I see otherwise. My son is a monster. His wife was his pawn. He had a means to grow infinitely stronger. She never told me, but her actions were no doubt for a future that she witnessed as a Seer. Her mother would cause something terrible to happen. I’ve known Faria for so long now, she would never harm a person unless it was absolutely necessary. Whatever future she saw, it had to have been terrible enough to kill her own mother.

“That’s all there is from that section.” Hazel said, looking at me, unsure.

“Thanks.” I said, leaning back in the chair.

“There’s a lot more here. Do you want to keep going?” She asked.

“I don’t have much time before today’s round starts. We’ll continue when I get back.” I stood up, my mind cloudy.

Before I could leave, Hazel grabbed my hand.

“I agree with your grandfather.” She spoke simply. Then she gestured to the piles on her lap. ”Aren’t you going to take these back?”

“I’ll leave them with you here. You can keep going while I’m gone.” I replied.

“Are you sure?”

“I trust you.”

Hazel let go, smiling.

╚╩╩╩╝

Truthfully, Malcolm had nearly an hour before he needed to prepare for today’s round of the tourney began. He wanted to go out for some fresh air and pace around, but felt that it would be insensitive to say something like that to Hazel as she was.

While he paced, Hazel continued to decipher Malik’s coded papers. She got a paragraph into the next paper before turning red and pushing that stack away. Its contents were wildly inappropriate.

Taking some time to calm down, she started on the next stack, hoping that it wasn’t similar to the previous one. It would take some time to know since the man rambled on the paper for nearly a whole page before getting anywhere.

This stack, unlike the previous one, had some potentially helpful information.

In my youth, I traveled around the world, learning the legends and tales of its people. From sailing close enough to the Boundary Storm to feel the push and pull that it emanates. I remember the ship couldn’t get any closer than we were, or we would start spinning until the push was enough to knock it away. To Arkan, homeland of the Arkan people. They don’t have much imagination for names, those Arkan. Anyway, on one particular adventure, we came across something called the Director of Fate. That’s what the stone inscription read in Oulde, but it just looked like a freaky compass that didn’t point anywhere. When I was writing my last piece of advice, I suddenly remembered it. Who knows, maybe I was a Seer too. Either way, if I remembered that thing, it must be important. I brought it back with me and sold it to one of the noble families living in the northern side of the continent, who should still be known as Gilder. I’m not sure if it will help, but if you can get it somehow, then maybe it’ll help.

There was a lot more to this stack, so Hazel reasoned that he probably remembered a lot more artefacts he came across in his youth.

Just before she could continue, though, the door to her room opened and in walked Warner and his two sycophants.

Hazel scowled and said, “I thought you were still locked up?”

“My aunt negotiated a day to let me watch the tourney. Imagine my surprise to find out you’re in here again.” The boy said, stepping closer. “And I hear you don’t have legs to run anymore.”

He strolled up to the side of the bed and looked down at the papers that she had been transcribing the decrypted messages onto.

Hazel began to tense. Malcolm had trusted her with all of this, and this human scum was about to read it. Quickly, she gathered all of the papers together and stuffed them under her covers.

Grimacing, Warner inched his face closer to Hazel’s.

Feeling her Primeval Self engorge, Hazel’s breath grew ragged. She’d gotten mad before, but it had never reacted like this before.

Her irises shifted from their normally round blue, to a violent red slit as her Primeval Self through them.

The nurses responded quickly when they heard screaming.

Having run out of time to kill, Malcolm headed toward to the coliseum for his match.

He’d tried to calm himself, but his Primeval Self betrayed his desires. It throbbed with a desire for vengeance.

He could hardly sit still through the first set, knowing that he was in the second.

Seconds felt like minutes and minutes like hours until finally it was his time.

Time slowed as Malcolm watched Isaac step onto the stage. The boy looked just as arrogant today as he did when he mercilessly attacked Hazel.

He didn’t hear when Amara gave the starting signal. He simply let his aura flare and glared at the boy.

Isaac was a little confused by his opponents actions, but didn’t care much and let his own aura activate. This battle would be just like the rest.

After the ten second grace period was up, both of Malcolm’s hands flexed as two magic rings appeared, point down at the ground. He was more focused now than any other time in his life. Both spells prepped, he raised his hands to fire off the spells, but just before he could, his aura blinked out of existence.

Something strange was going on. He’d never felt like this before. He couldn’t use his aura whatsoever. It was there, but gone.

In a flash, Isaac dashed at Malcolm, arm raised like a cannon ready to fire. Seeing the boy move, Malcolm shifted his feet, ducking away from the blow. In a panic, he began to use Mage’s Hand into his arms and legs while his Primeval Self flowed into his head.

Malcolm couldn’t see it, but his eyes had gone from a cool blue, to a blood red.

Seeing his opponent match his pace despite being a Mage greatly confused Isaac. Malcolm couldn’t find an opportunity to attack, but he could keep dodging as long as needed to. The Primeval Self was somehow enhancing his senses enough that he could see when and where the boy would strike while Mage’s Hand gave his body the strength to keep up.

Frustrated, Isaac started to rub the ring on his left index finger with his thumb as he punched with his other hand.

Malcolm noticed the action of his opponent and focused his attention on the ring. He was no stranger to magic rings. Then he noticed some kind of energy come from the ring in a split second.

Isaac was cheating. Malcolm knew it now, and it made him furious. Artefacts were strictly forbidden from the tourney, but he had somehow smuggled one in.

People began to notice the odd battle going on and turned their attention to it. Many began to feel like something was off.

In one smooth motion, as Isaac clumsily threw his right fist forward, Malcolm slipped around his left side. As he did, he pinched the ring and pulled as hard as he could. It resisted for only a moment before it slid off of his finger. Malcolm tossed it off the stage before the boy even noticed it was gone.

In a flash, Malcolm’s aura returned with a vengeance.

Isaac, stunned by the sudden loss of his artefact, paused long enough for his opponent to slide back a good distance. In front of Malcolm’s hand was a Magic Ring, colored a swirl of red and blue as blood red words formed on its surface faster than they eye could read. Fire, near the armpits, and water, the roof of the mouth; Malcolm felt both elements as they combined in his spell just before a cloud of superheated steam sprayed out from his hand. Isaac was too slow to respond as the steam collided with his body.

Everyone in the coliseum was startled by what happened. Everyone except for those from the Theoretical Magic class. They were cheering.

But there was no red flash and the boy hadn’t spoken a word of forfeit.

This was what Malcolm wanted, though. He would use the cover of the steam to get his pound of flesh without being seen.

Stepping through the steam, both combatants were obscured from view.

Isaac was confused, wet and hot. His physical aura had protected him from the extreme heat, but he still had to deal with the stuff it deemed not dangerous. The steam had become a thick cloud of fog that made it hard to see in front of him, but Malcolm didn’t have too much a problem seeing. His opponent was a glowing shape in the fog.

Getting close enough to strike, Malcolm began to prepare the second form of Mage’s Hand, gathering as much mana as he could in my right hand. Then, as it reached the limit, he had an idea.

Poised to strike, Malcolm activated his aura, then did it a second time. He hadn’t done it more than a handful of times, so feeling the power of both a Mage and a Warrior was odd, but his idea was more than correct.

Having been activated by his aura, the mana collected in his hand had expanded, almost doubling in potency. Thankfully the strengthening abilities of a Warrior’s aura kept his hand from exploding.

It didn’t, however, stop him from attacking with it.

Isaac was far too slow to respond as he sensed the aura behind him. Turning, he saw two violent, red slits through the fog like some kind of demon ready to steal his soul. Then a hand of glowing red aura pressed into his chest.

Everyone watching from outside the cloud of fog watched as a red light flashed before Isaac flew sideways from the platform, hitting a wall… and smashing through it. The boy hit the ground a short distance away from the coliseum and dug a deep trench in the ground for even longer before stopping.

Amara blew a heavy gust of wind at the cloud, revealing Malcolm lying on the ground, heaving. His aura was gone and he was more than exhausted.