Travel by land in the southern border of Aramor is by its very nature, a dangerous thing. While the North is bordered by the Sea of Winds, and the East by the Ridgeback Mountains. Both the South and West give way to the inner continent of Esturia, known only to its people as the broken lands.

The broken lands are a lush garden of life which sits atop an infinite expanse of ruins left by an ancient civilization. Adventurers with great souls often venture into these ruins in search of ancient artifacts and the essence of more and more dangerous monsters. Many do not return.

The influence of the Broken Lands is felt on any ground not consecrated by the church. The exact process of consecration is kept a secret, but in the doing, the land is rendered safe from several pernicious effects of the Broken Lands, such as the Rising. The other effect that consecration protects from is known as the Awakening. The Awakening is the driving force that transforms natural animals, plants, and even the land itself from docility into the ravening monsters which are held back by the combined efforts of the church, the Aramorian army, and the Adventurers Guild.

Surprisingly, the most potent force for keeping the Broken Lands at bay is the Guild. The Guild is able to operate this way due to the extremely lucrative essence trade, in which they specialize. What men and women will not do for the love of their country, they will most certainly do for the promise of a reward.

It is not uncommon to find adventurers traveling the lands that border Aramor, and I was not surprised to run across a group myself. What surprised me was the fact that they were all dead. At first I had supposed that some were merely injured, but the truth was far worse than that.

I pushed myself up from my examination of the last body. I would have liked to suspect monsters, but the wounds on these men and women were too clean, and none of them had even been snacked on. It was likely that whoever had murdered this party had robbed them and left their bodies to be consumed by the creatures that would arise in the night.

I was still contemplating exactly what I should do when I was distracted by the soft sound of metal scraping against metal. I froze, listening intently for all that I was worth. My quarterstaff, a beautiful thing carved from ironwood, had been crafted by my own hands, and had thus been infused with as much essence as I could bring to bear.

More sounds came, and I ducked into the bushes. Glancing out, I saw that there were two figures wearing burnished plate armor. They moved among the bodies, kicking occasionally to make sure that the dead were truly gone.

"She ain't here." One of the figures said, a man by his voice.

"Not surprising," Came a woman's voice, "Great souls don't die as easily as these middling trash. Especially great earth souls."

I gripped my staff. Whoever these people were, they were probably at least as powerful as I was. They likely had combat affinities too. If they spotted me...

"She's probably moving North," The man said, "Makes the most sense."

"Agreed," The woman replied, "Though, we should have some of the hunters fan out both East and West. Just in case."

I closed my eyes and waited as they mounted their horses and moved off. Focusing for a moment, I concentrated and focused essence in around my nose. Mike had tried to teach me the principle behind his talent. In all honesty, I didn't really understand it that well. What I did understand, was that essence was useful for more than casting spells. It could also enhance the body for short durations. It was my only real manifestation of my strength as a great soul in combat.

I smelled blood, mixed with... sand. Turning east, I started forward. If there were hunters coming, I had to reach the injured survivor first. It was likely the only way that I would find out what had really happened here. That, and I had already seen my fill of death in the short time I had been alive. People die, there is no getting around that. But those who cut life short deserve no life of their own.

I ran.

More than an hour later, I finally paused for a breather. I could certainly keep up my pace, but if I wanted to preserve myself for a looming fight, then I would need to spread my efforts out. I had little fear of the middling souls that probably comprised the hunters catching up with me any time soon. Unless of course they had an aerotheurge with them. Even a lark would be able to pace me, although a windbrother would have better luck.

I briefly contemplated using one of the surprises I had packed away but decided against it. Now was not the time.

Another hour of running put me in the general vicinity of the great soul. If I were able to use practical magic I could have used a locator spell. Instead, I hunkered down and focused on my hearing. My patience was rewarded by a hint of metal on stone. Moving slowly, I crept into a small clearing.

Propped up against a tree was a woman. Judging by her armor and the sword held loosely in one hand, she was the geomancer I was looking for. There was also the stab wound through her belly. I hated to think about how long that had been there, and how far she had traveled with it.

Her breathing was shallow, and I could tell that her muscular frame was being held up by solely by the support behind her. Her face was narrow and angular, though not without a severe kind of beauty. I had the feeling she spent little time smiling.

Standing carefully, I stepped out of the trees and cleared my throat.

Pure white hair rustled as a pair of golden eyes flashed open, a head raised in defiance against what was to come. With some effort, she managed to bring her weapon to bear on me. When she got it in place, it held true.

"I'm not here to hurt you." I said.

She only glared at me.

I took a gentle step forward, spreading my arms to show her that I was armed only with a walking stick.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"I'm an alchemist," I said, "I just want to help you."

She continued to regard me, then blinked once. Her eyes flashed between silver and gold, then narrowed.

"Great... Soul." She ground out.

She was in rough shape, I had to do something quickly.

"Yes," I admitted, "Though I'm only a gray mage."

"Swear." She gasped out, "On your great soul."

I hesitated, then spoke, "I swear on my soul's strength that I am here to do no harm."

The funny thing about oaths in Esturia, they are very serious. Swearing on your soul is tantamount to putting a noose around your neck and trusting someone else to not pull a lever and let you fall. Swearing on my soul's strength, then breaking such an oath, would permanently damage my soul. Not terribly at first, but eventually, with enough broken oaths, I could be reduced to a wick.

With a clatter, the woman's sword hit the ground, her eyes closing once again. I rushed forward to catch her as she slumped to the side.

Her breathing had grown even, though whether she was meditating or sleeping I could not tell. Either would be good for her right now, so I let it be.

"Medkit." I whispered, reaching my hand into my bag.

A moderately sized metal container emerged from the bag and I set to work. I carefully cleaned, then bound her wounds. There was no way she was going to survive without the intervention of a white mage, but my specific brand of healing ointments and my newest incarnation of the potion of vitality would keep her from dying for a few days yet.

Her most pressing disability was complete essence drain. It looked like she had used her geomancy to fortify her body against the pain and had pushed herself to run as far as she could. A fine tactic if you knew help would arrive, but a death sentence if you were alone.

'And yet here you are' A little voice in the back of my head whispered.

I told myself to shut up.

A gray mage is incapable of projecting his will into the world. That's one of the rules by which my magic operates. For a very long time, people have thought that meant that gray magicians were only really good for crafting superior tables, or the occasional genius alchemist.

While it is true that a gray mage cannot project his will into the world as other mages do, that does not necessarily mean that he cannot project essence into the world. This is something I've been thinking about and toying with for a long time. Whenever I make something, a part of me flows into it. What is the difference between that and how cardinal mages use their powers?

It's simple, they ignite their essence into their element of choice. All I can do is imbue objects with my power. So why can't I imbue people with it too?

While the different types of mages release their energies from different points on their bodies, all mages share an inflow track in the middle of the forehead. This woman had an essence container, called a phylactery, on a headband directly over the area. It was empty, but that wasn't the problem. I removed the circlet and pressed my first two fingers against the spot.

It was surprisingly easy to link with the woman's soul. I had never done this before, but the frayed and empty state of her being pulled greedily at the essence I had stored within my own body. I knelt there next to her for several minutes until the familiar euphoria of essence use began to turn to pain. Maybe just a little lo-

"My, how touching." A woman's voice sounded from behind me.

Well crap.

I removed my fingers and turned slowly, taking up my quarterstaff as I confronted our pursuer.

"Considering that I'm not a pillar of ash right now," I said conversationally, "I assume that you're not a pyromancer."

The woman was dressed in light armor tinted in green. Brown eyes sat beneath of head of auburn hair. I guess I would be okay being killed by this woman.

"How perceptive," She said, "Of course, at the rate you made it here, I assume that you are also an aerotheurge."

I shrugged, rolling my shoulders, "Something like that."

"Oh," She said, then disappeared.

Left.

I brought my weapon up and her sword rebounded off of the soul-hardened wood, sending a jolt up her arm that must have smarted.

"You're fast," She noted, "If you're not an aerotheurge, then surely a hydromancer."

"Guess again," I replied.

Low.

CRACK!

"Oh-ho," She said, "A pyromancer then, though one who isn't willing to burn. Interesting."

"I'm afraid to disappoint," I growled, "But I'm really just an alchemist."

'Who has been using speed elixirs for the past year.' I added internally.

She blurred again, though this time I was too slow. Caught off balance, the weapon skittered up the side of my staff, laying open my left hand. I focused essence to that area and whirled my weapon, buying myself some breathing room.

"Coagulation powder." I snarled.

A handful of the stuff appeared in my hand and I growled as I rubbed it into the wound. I would be slower now, but at least I wouldn't be bleeding out at the first provocation.

"My," The woman said, "Someone is feeling uppity then. Tell me, how did you manage to get here before me if you're just a mundane?"

I grinned, "I'm not mundane. I have a great soul."

Infusing my body with essence, I struck with all of the speed I could muster.

Too slow.

I ducked as the woman's blade took several locks of my hair.

Talking time appeared to be over, and I was about to be run through by a middling aerotheurge. Well, that's what I thought in that moment anyway.

"Stand fast!" I heard the yell from behind me.

SHIIIING!

The aerotheurge's weapon slid cleanly off the blade of the woman I had just finished treating. Eyes wide, the hunter and I turned to look at the woman. Instead of a barely standing cripple, I found a proud knight standing fast, all hints of weakness gone. Power blazed in her eyes as she wove earth magic through her body, fortifying it beyond the limits even my elixirs could grant.

Oh right, she's a geomancer. As long as a geomancer has essence to burn, they are literally unstoppable.

"Flee now, or face the hand of justice!" The woman yelled, brandishing her blade.

Who in the world actually says that in a fight?

"How cute." The aerotheurge said, "I guess I'll have to-"

The problem with fighting two people and trying to talk smack is that you often lose track of one of the three of those things. In the case of our opponent, she lost track of me. In the time where my new friend had been speaking, I had also been muttering, but it was to the retrieval ring.

Popping the cork on the potion I had finally decided to use, I downed a violent yellow concoction. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the world slowed to a crawl.

A speed potion is a wonderful thing. It not only contains the venom of a ripper to overstimulate the nerve endings of the body, resulting in insanely fast twitch muscle reactions, it also contains the spinal fluid of a baneling, which feasts on human minds, incidentally making it ideal for increasing one's perception of time.

In other words, I was fast.

Moving like wind, I swung high. The aerotheurge moved to block, but I flared the sympathetic power within my staff at the moment of contact. The sound of shattering steel was followed by the sickening sound of my weapon caving in my opponent's ribcage. I moved to follow, but the woman was suddenly gone.

I briefly thought of following, but then realized that my newfound ally was slumping to the ground. No time.

"Get on!" I yelled, turning my back to her.

"Whaaaaaaaat?" She asked in slow motion.

I had swiped up my medkit in the time it took her to get out the first part of her word. Sighing, I wondered why some people were so slow, then proceeded to haul her up on my back. The potion would last for another twenty minutes if I was lucky. There were more than a few variables to consider, especially the fact that I was about to burn though all of my essence reserves just to give myself the strength to carry this monstrous woman.

Seriously, how much can you eat.

Oh wait, that might just be the armor.

These thoughts and many more careened through my mind as I made a good impression of the wind whistling through the trees.