My first week passed like a blur. I had enough money on me to live at The Rusty Bucket for about three months, though Mike told me that it would be best if I started finding work to do. He took me out with him every day, though I was expected to carry his pack and hack away at any rock formations when he pointed at them during our travels through the caves scattered around Vern. Mike was determined to make it big, and to do that, he would have to find a true iron mine.

Mike had an interesting talent. Although he called himself a sandfellow, he was more like an iron sniffer. The man could smell a mineral from two hundred meters away, through solid rock. It was a talent that few full geomancers could even boast, though Mike was able to do little more than lift small rocks with his magical abilities. He claimed that it was good enough for him, though he carried a quarterstaff for dealing with anything truly unruly. He even taught me my first lessons in self-defense, which would save my life in the near future.

While Mike spent most of his time talking to me, the real reason why he kept me close to him became apparent after my first couple days with him. One morning, Mike declared unequivocally that I had no talent for geomancy. He cited my constant tripping over rocks as the main source of his intuition, though Falia took me aside one night and explained it properly to me.

"You see Ethan," She said, giving me a motherly pat on the hand she had taken, "Even a wick can sense the magical potential of someone if they spend enough time with them."

She held up a finger and a small flame danced before her eyes, "As an ember, I can sense that you have a great soul, although there isn't a lick of affinity for flame in your body. If you want to find out what your affinity is, you'll need to spend some time with a hydromancer or an aerotheurge. I'll introduce you to some wicks that I know."

Sure enough, Falia knew people. Just as surely, I didn't have a talent for any of the so-called cardinal elements.

"Well now," Mike said, "It could be that you have an affinity for white magic."

He paused, then leaned in close, "Or it could be black magic that you have. Though I've heard that black mages don't have your cheery disposition."

I frowned at him and he laughed, "You're too serious Ethan, try to relax a little."

"How can I relax when I don't have the slightest idea as to what my magical ability is?" I asked, "I don't have an unlimited source of funds. Falia is nice, but she also needs to earn a living. What do I do?"

Mike's face sobered and he leaned against the wall, "That there is the question lad. I suppose you could always try to make a living as a mercenary, you're not bad with that staff. In the extreme, you could become a serf, though I don't recommend it, they're little better than slaves."

I grimaced, "None of those sounds appealing."

"There is one other option..." Mike said, trailing off.

"What!" I demanded, partially rising from my bench, "I'm desperate Mike, I'll do whatever I have to."

Mike sighed, "I was hoping to avoid this. I wasn't joking when I said that the guild was good place for you to get yourself killed."

I sat back down, "The guild?"

"Adventurers' guild to be precise." Mike said, "You've probably seen the big guys that walk around. Some women too, but usually only those with great souls. Vern isn't that big of a hub for the guild, but the fact that it is on unconsecrated ground means that there is always a market for essence."

"What's essence?" I asked.

"Well, you see," Mike said, "The main reason why I don't use my magic for anything but rock sniffing is because doing so burns through a part of the soul called essence. At least that's what the church says the source of magic is. Now, essence will regenerate on its own over time, as long as you are eating and drinking properly. The problem is that this takes quite a while, especially for people with middling to great souls."

"As a wick, I don't really have to worry about it," He said, "Even if I were to exert myself near to death, I would recover all of the essence I have available to me with just a night's worth of rest. Middling souls require anywhere for two days to a week, and a person with a great soul can take almost a month before they are recharged from empty."

I stared at him.

"Now you boy," He said, "You have a great soul. Once you discover your affinity, you'll be able to perform great works. Unfortunately, you will also have to spend a lot of time waiting for your soul to heal itself between uses. Most people with great souls rarely have the patience for that, so they buy essence from the guild or the church. It's basically a shortcut to recovery, though it can be expensive, especially for those with great souls."

Mike held up a finger, "Before you run off to the guild, I need to give you a stern warning. Never buy essence directly from the Adventurers' guild, or anybody not officially sanctioned by the church. Adventurers hunt the monsters that come out after the witching hour for their essence. In the raw form, essence is deadly to magical practitioners."

"The first time you use it, you'll get a sense of euphoria," He said, "It's better than any drug on the market. Firth's quarter, down by the gate, do you remember the lady we saw the other day? Red eyes, blue lips?"

I nodded.

"She's what we call a babbler," He said, "Anyone from a wick to a great soul can become a babbler if they ingest enough unpurified essence. It feels amazing, I won't tell you that I've never done it, because I have, but the consequences..."

He leaned close, "A babbler is just a shell looking for its next hit. It's not so bad in Vern, because they're usually easy to spot and avoid. In the larger cities, they have ways of hiding. They're dangerous to themselves and others, especially when they can get their hands on some raw essence. When they do, they become a magic driven nightmare."

I shivered, "So how can I avoid becoming one? Just waiting for my soul to heal naturally?"

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He shook his head, "Won't work. Even with a great soul you'll never amount to anything if you don't use essence. The church's power comes from its use of white magic, they have a monopoly on white mages, as they train and exclusively use them. In addition to the healing powers of a white mage, there are a select few who have a talent for refining essence. Refined essence is less powerful, but it is also far less addictive than raw essence and will hardly ever turn you into a babbler."

"Hardly?" I asked.

"Well," He said, "Magic is still dangerous. Overuse of refined essence will have the same effect of using a lesser amount of raw essence. Being a great soul is a balancing act boy."

I nodded, "Thank you Mike. I won't ever forget the things you've taught me."

Mike muttered something and looked down, but I could tell he was pleased.

"Anyway," He said, "That wasn't the point. The point is that the Adventurers' guild has a way of identifying affinities."

I perked up, "Really?"

He nodded, "But it will cost you. Two gold coins to be exact."

My heart sank. It had already been two weeks since I had arrived. Two gold would shorten my ability to stay at The Rusty Bucket by around two months.

"On the upside," He said, "Once you know your affinity, you should be able to start earning some money. The guild will even give you some references after using their services to discover your affinity."

"Why didn't we just do that before?" I asked, a mild note of anger leaking into my voice.

"It's dangerous to be known." Mike said quietly, "Nobody cares about wicks, not even when we have a talent like I do. Oh, we're useful, but that doesn't mean that we're anything more than trash mages to most practitioners. With your great soul though, you'll be instantly noted, and by all the wrong people."

"If your affinity is white, you can say goodbye to any form of freedom," He said, "The church will snap you up and drop you in one of its monasteries. Same if your talent is black, though nobody really knows what they do with black mages."

I shivered.

"But at this point," he said, "I'm not really sure what else to do. I pray that your affinity is for a lesser known magic, perhaps a combination of the cardinal elements. In that case, you'll probably be ignored. Those areas are rare, and thus, there has been little effort in refining those specific trees of magic."

I looked down, tracing a line on the table as I spoke, "What are the other affinities?"

Mike spread his arms wide, "You might as well ask me to name the stars in the sky. The four cardinal elements are encompassed by the four prime affinities: Air, earth, wind, and fire. Besides black and white magic, those are the only well studied branches of magic."

I scratched my head, "Unlimited potential..."

Mike leaned forward, "What was that?"

"Just something that I was told a long time ago." I said.

He shrugged, "Whatever. If you're bound and determined to figure out your affinity, you should go to the guild tomorrow, there's really no other way that I know of."

I nodded, a look of determination crossing my face, "Yeah. I'll do that."

XXXXXX

The Adventurers' guild was unassuming in the fact that it was much like the other buildings in Vern. It was a squat, two story structure that came dangerously close to knocking me out whenever I stepped through its entrance. Being tall was a curse in Esturia.

The receptionist had been nice enough, and after making my payment, I was led to a room with a harried looking man in a robe.

"Yes, what!" He growled, turning to see me.

"I'm here for a test of affinity..." I trailed off.

He scowled, then sighed, the anger falling away from his face, "Let me guess, none of the local wicks could sense your affinity?"

I nodded.

"Listen boy," He said, "I suggest you go back to the front and get your money refunded. Two gold is a steep price to pay for me to tell you that you have no aptitude for magic!"

I shook my head, "That's not it. All of the wicks have told me that I have a great soul, but none of them could sense my affinity."

The man stroked his short beard for a moment, then crossed the floor to look me over. After poking and prodding me for almost a minute, he sat back on his haunches and muttered something under his breath.

Light danced around me, and I gasped as a strange sensation flittered through my body.

"Well," He said, "They were right enough about that. You certainly do have a great soul."

"What was that?!" I asked, winded from the ordeal.

"Practical magic," The man said, "Anyone who has been practicing with their affinity for long enough can use it. Simple stuff like accelerating the time it takes to sense a person's natural talent. Much more convenient than having to spend two to three days with someone."

"Doesn't it cost essence?" I asked.

The man shrugged, "That's why you pay the two gold. Come over here."

He gestured to me and I followed him. After rifling through several drawers he pulled out a perfectly spherical orb.

"This is an affinity stone," He said, "Devilishly expensive to make. Be careful with it."

I gingerly took the item and sat down in the chair the man gestured to.

"Now, close your eyes and reach out to the orb," The man said, "It might take a little time, so I'll be working. When you feel something tugging at you, let me know. That will mean that it is sucking up some of your essence."

I nodded and closed my eyes. Mike had tried to teach me to sense the spirit of stone. Having failed miserably at that, the other wicks had tried helping me with their affinities. The simple matter was that I couldn't feel whatever they did when they reached out to the weave of magic that made up the world.

In this instance, I used the same technique, except instead of listening, I tried pushing.

The stone responded.

"It's working." I said.

"Already?" The man asked, "Ah, I see, that would make sense."

I opened my eyes and looked down at the orb. Rather than clear crystal, it now showed a rolling fog. I almost dropped it in surprise. Luckily for me, the man was quick on his feet and he snatched it from my grasp.

"Lose more orbs that way..." He muttered.

"So?" I asked.

He turned back to me, his bushy eyebrows twitching, "Unfortunately boy, it is my sorry task to inform you that your affinity is for gray magic."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

He sighed and sat down opposite me, "It means that you don't have an affinity. Or more correctly, your affinity is null."

"Null?" I asked.

He nodded, "Gray mages are incapable of projecting their magic into the world. From the lowest wick to the greatest soul, their power is locked within themselves."

I stared at him, "So I'm useless."

He shook his head, "Not necessarily. Do you have any skills?"

I thought carefully, "Well, I know a little chemistry, and I can treat injuries at a basic level."

He nodded thoughtfully, "Chemistry, is it anything like alchemy?"

I thought about that for another moment, then nodded, "I believe so."

"As a gray mage, you won't be capable of any great works," He said, "But anything that you work with, whether it be a potion, a cooked meal, or a forged weapon, will be intrinsically better than those things made by other craftsmen. Your power will flow into anything that you make with your hands and become better for it."

"That's it?" I asked, dumbfounded.

The man shrugged, "I'm sorry boy. Gray magic is a rare affinity, and many of its practitioners become skilled alchemists or great smiths. At some point you may be able to use practical magic, but beyond that, you will never be able to do so much as light a candle."

I lowered my head.

"Cheer up boy," He said, "I'll give you a letter of recommendation to the guild's own alchemist. She is quite skilled at her craft and is in need of an apprentice. It won't be much for now, but eventually you'll be able to make elixirs which will sell far and wide."

"In a way, this is better." The man said, placing a hand on my shoulder, "You can live a quiet life. With a talent like yours, you would always be in danger out in the world if you had a combat affinity. This way, you can live a normal life."

Something deep and dark yawned in my soul. It was just like my old life. In this new world, I would be nothing new, nothing special. I was just another cog in a machine, destined to spin 'round and 'round for the rest of my pitiful existence.

"Yeah," I said, my head still lowered, "Thanks."