2nd of Season of Fire, 57th year of the 32nd cycle
“Opportunities always come with a certain risk.” Newt said after collecting himself.
The words were hollow, when you heard the stories, the risk always happened to others and they survived, making it a gripping adventure, but a part of him knew that was the case because those who died lacked the ability to tell tales.
If someone fell fighting a monster as a part of a team, their death would weaken the rest of the team, and more deaths would follow, potentially cascading into a complete annihilation. The only thing left behind those who perished were the “treasures” others would pick up, and a written record, forgotten, collecting dust before rotting away entirely.
“Knowing and experiencing it are two different things.” Obsidian’s voice trembled. It sounded almost all right, with only a hint of fear, yet that hint rang louder than a bell in Newt’s ear. “People think it’s easy, they are like ‘We’re immortal, nothing can happen to us’ or ‘We’re careful, accidents only happen to fools who rush headlong’, but it can happen to anyone. One tiny slip, one misstep, and it’s all over.”
Obsidian smiled, but the fake mirth was gone, replaced by dejection, guilt, and something more, something outside Newt’s ability to grasp.
It’s not your fault, can’t you just let it go? The thought struck him like an epiphany, and the shadow of his uncle, one which Newt knew lurked in the vast expanse of his realm cracked. He could see the broken body become a porcelain doll, its skin cracking and black miasma rising from it. The porcelain rusted away, turned to dust, then smoke, and then, then it was gone.
A horrible burden pressing down on Newt disappeared, and a tear slid down his cheek.
Thank you. Newt did not know who he was thanking, Obsidian, himself, or his uncle’s ghost. It did not matter. What mattered was that the invisible chains crushing Newt’s chest were gone, at least the ones relating to Victor. Merely checking whether the anxiety he felt regarding the search for his parents still existed made Newt’s guts twist.
“Obsidian,” Newt placed a hand on the man’s upper arm, noting it was as tough as rock, “you need to let go. What happened is not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. I think your friend expected he would survive the blow or dodge. He wanted to save his girlfriend, not to kill himself. And even if he expected he would die, I don’t think he wanted you to waste away and crumble under the weight of your heart demons. What would he say if he saw you guys today?”
Wow! Where did that come from? It sounded good. Newt’s thoughts wandered towards Stronggrow and Dandelion, finding a lot of their influence in the speech he just delivered.
“The soother said the same thing.” Obsidian mumbled, but it was obvious he needed to spend some time alone.
Newt nodded, promised him he would do everything in his power to help with Jasmine and Roselilly, and left to find the Chamber of Runes or the Chamber of Beasts.
All is well. I can do this. Just pretend you are someone who can get things done and do what they would do.
Newt walked down the earthen path and reached the crossroads, already growing numb to the beauty and the melodious chatter of the surrounding tropical forest. To his left stood two lines of identical single-story houses sculpted of earth. Most of their gardens were also identical, with several exceptions. One in the distance looked like a junkyard full of wooden debris, another had a shack with smoke coming out of it, while another two had replaced the identical layout of flowers with their custom ones. Three houses away, a blue-crested microceratus slept on the lawn, basking in the sunlight. Newt focused on the diminutive ceratopsian and saw it was in the same realm as he was.
Wow! Someone has a spirit beast companion! It was obvious the small guy was not a mount, and given the watery aura, it could almost certainly heal its owner. Newt scrutinized the other yards, but saw no other spiritual beasts. He counted exactly one hundred residences and wondered whether the ones with uniform gardens were empty before his gaze drifted back to the microceratus.
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Wait, having a water-aligned snake that can heal, or an air aligned one that can scout could be incredibly useful. Especially since we can understand each other.
The thought intrigued Newt, and he decided to seriously entertain it later as he turned around to check out the other path.
Unlike the one leading towards the residential area, the other led towards two large buildings, one on each side of the road. Newt walked towards them, and as he drew closer, he spotted there were more large buildings in the distance.
The nearest two had gilded letters, nearly as tall as he was, denoting them as Chamber of Commerce and Chamber of Punishment. The buildings were impressive, and while they were identical, with the same sculpted nature as the rest of the structures Newt had seen so far, he immediately found a difference.
The Chamber of Commerce had a large warehouse behind the main building, while the Chamber of Punishment stood on its own. The building was just as bright, and with just as many mirror-windows as the Chamber of Commerce, yet it radiated a stern, oppressive air rather than a welcoming one.
Newt strained his third eye, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, even though his gut was telling him that the difference lay in the spell formation wards surrounding the two buildings. He did not believe a building by itself could make him feel the need to enter, nor the desire to stay away from it.
Newt continued down the path, walking another hundred yards, past the neatly trimmed bushes and brightly colored flowers, until he reached the next two buildings; the Chamber of Pots and the Chamber of Forges. The buildings had identical architecture to the first two, but the surrounding complexes were much bigger than the one around the Chamber of Commerce.
Next to the Chamber of Forges stood several dozen blacksmith workshops, smoke rising from a third of them. But just as it hit the uppermost layers of the jungle canopy, some sixty feet off ground, the smoke disappeared. Another spell formation, but Newt could see neither the runic array nor the sign of spiritual energy movement as the spell formation captured or canceled the smoke in some way. Somehow, the spell formation scribe who made them obscured the irregular flow of spiritual energy.
Even though he was mere yards away, Newt smelled neither the smoke, nor the herbs, which alchemists must have been using in their work. Newt then focused on the unfortunately named division.
The Chamber of Pots had several domed gardens and a large warehouse, which they used for storage or for crafting. Possibly both, but Newt’s interest in alchemy amounted to a passing curiosity and need for cultivation resources.
The next two buildings were the Chamber of Runes and the Chamber of Tomes, which Newt guessed was the impressively labeled library.
I bet Dandelion would spend years in there if he got the chance. Newt eyed the library and the two disciples entering it, thinking that it was about time he started reading and exploring the possibilities of what world had to offer beside his own conclusions and Dandelion’s suggestions.
He sighed. He really did not feel like sitting in a stuffy room, studying tomes which may or may not be useful to him, waiting to get lucky.
Do I really need inspiration from others when I have already started on the path of shaping my realm into a giant two-element spell formation?
Newt wanted to believe he was confident, but a part of him knew he was just being lazy. He was too young, too much in a hurry to just sit in a library for years, contemplating the perfect way to develop his realm. Dandelion had tried to explain the importance of patience and taking his time, but Newt was simply too young, too inexperienced to understand what a man ten times older than him was saying.
He huffed in frustration and headed for the Chamber of Runes. The terracotta walls clashed with large glass windows and glass doors much less than Newt had expected. The door seemed frail, as did his reflection, but as Newt opened it, he caught sight of dozens of invisible runes inside, revealed by the sunlight as the door moved.
He yearned to open and close the door over and over again, to stare at the arrays, but the woman standing behind a tall desk had set her eyes on him. Newt passed the threshold, and the sounds and smells of the jungle disappeared. The overly humid air became pleasantly dry, and the temperature dropped below what Newt perceived as pleasant.
“Good day,” the wiry woman in Explorer’s Gate robes glanced above Newt, “Senior Apprentice Brother, what may I do for you?”
Newt looked up and saw “Inner” written above the door.
“How did the door know I’m an inner disciple?”
“It registered your token, Senior Apprentice Brother. Do you require specific spell formations scribed for you, are you looking to purchase talismans?” The brown-haired clerk listed the most usual services her division provided with a fake cheery smile.
“I am Newstar, I’m a journeyman spell formation scribe—” What’s his name, what’s his name? Did that old clerk give me a name at all? Woodchopper? Newt tried, but could not recall, resolving to fix that flaw. Too many new, exciting things were happening all around, but names were important. “I’ve just joined, and the old man who admitted me told me to come here and find a mentor.”
The wiry brunette’s smile grew more genuine. “A journeyman joining all of a sudden is unusual. Give me a minute, I’ll check with the chamber head.”