A vaguely humanoid shape made of wisps of glowing blue light, dancing beneath the branches moonlit trees stretching out over a glade of grass. There is a brief gap in time; then, others have joined it.

Oliver felt an overwhelming sense of wonder and awe, and of looking upon things yet unseen, mysteries only now revealed. He was partaking in another's vision of events long past, a witness to the dance of wild fae.

Then the fae and the forest were gone. He was watching a single ant wandering far from its nest amidst the rocks and sand of a desert floor, leaving behind it tiny motes of glowing orange light, similar in some way to the light that made up the humanoid shapes. Curiosity and amusement, and a sense of recognition, washed over him.

Shift. A waterfall pouring directly from a shard of crystal the size of a man, a swirl of curved glowing lines of light marking the point where the water appeared from nowhere. Exultation, triumph, the sensation of great achievement filling him from nowhere. Finally! He'd finally—

Another vision, the emotions abruptly snapping focus and tension. She was in a study in a tower, stone blocks and floor, a single window looking out over a landscape of darkness. She was in the final phases of a lengthy research project, drawing forth intricate, cobweb-delicate lines of mana from a tiny pearl. Just a little longer, and then the spell might finally stick, and she'd finally be able to claim the vision for himself.

Again, a snap. Blindness. Despair. Colored lines of mana were the only thing he could see, tracing the bodies of people, many people, all around him. One person was leaning down close before at him, the matrix of mana lines shot through their body, the delicate filigree of mental enhancements embedded in their brains hovering near to him. He could finally see again, after all this time, yet it was all pointless here in the end of his days.

—

Abruptly Oliver's vision returned to the present. He was still sitting, Madame Carrix standing before him waiting, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Well?" she asked, "what was all that about?"

"Pardon?" Oliver asked after taking a moment to find his tongue.

"You were staring off into space. What, daydreaming already? Am I boring you, boy?"

"No, no," he said, clambering to his feet. "It worked. The spell transfer, I mean. At least, I think it did."

He tried to open his system. Nothing happened.

"I can't access my system, but I'll bet if I could I would see the new spell in there."

She was studying him curiously, not saying anything. He trailed off. "Humph," she grunted. "Well, let's see." She looked off into the middle distance, an expression of focus crossing her face.

"Right," she said, "pull up your system and tell me what you see."

Curious. She hadn't waved her hand or muttered under her breath, but had been able to unlock his system. A different approach than Polephenes, perhaps. He mentally shrugged and tried pulling up the system with the mental flex that usually worked. It appeared promptly before him, and as he suspected he did have the new spell in his abilities column. Mana Sight.

"Right," he said, "I have it."

"Good. Cast it."

"With how much mana?" he asked.

"How much?"

"Yes, I only have about a mana-day and a half of mana left."

"A mana-day?" she asked, looking confused. "Is that how you see your captured mana? As a, a number?"

"Yes? What do you see?"

She looked offended. "I'll give you a pass this once for being completely dense, and since you know nothing of magic. It's incredibly rude to ask a mage what form their system takes."

"But you just asked me—" he began.

"You're my pupil," she said. "Student confidentiality applies, and besides — how am I supposed to help you if I don't know what you're dealing with?"

"Fair enough," he said. "But yes, I see my mana as a number. It took me about a day and a half to gather this much mana."

"Novice," she muttered. "Fine. Here," she said, reaching for his hand. He stopped himself from the knee-jerk reaction he had to her movement and allowed her to take it. Her hand was cool, wrinkled. She held it for perhaps a second or two, then dropped it unceremoniously.

"There," she said, "how much mana do you have?"

He checked his system and gaped. "You just gave me fourteen mana-days' worth of mana. I didn't even get this much for killing a harpy." He carefully didn't mention anything about the men he'd killed and how much mana he'd gotten from them. So. You could pass mana from one person to another. That answered a number of questions, and raised many more.

"Interesting. So you do have a means of quantifying and normalizing mana throughput in a, I can't believe I'm saying this, numerical fashion."

"Surely it can't be that unusual," Oliver protested.

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"Well, let me ask you this," she said archly. "What does your system tell you when you have completely run out of mana?"

"It says I have zero remaining," he said. "It's happened a couple of times."

"Zero? What does that mean?" She completely butchered the pronunciation of the word.

Oliver gaped for a moment. Then he realized. The Romans had had no concept of the number zero for centuries. It wasn't until some time in the Middle Ages that the number zero entered common use in the western world. The concept of the number zero was not as obvious as that of the other numerals, and not to be taken for granted in another foreign civilization. "It's a word for nothing, a quantity equivalent to not having any mana left."

"I know what a quantity of nothing means," she snapped. "I just don't know what it would look like." She paused, thinking, then shook herself. "Well, it's of no matter. Prepare yourself," she said, and reached out again. Oliver hesitantly held up his hand and she took it firmly. A look of focus crossed her face, and since Oliver had kept his system open while they were talking he was treated to the unusual sight of the entry at the bottom of the mana column ticking upwards rapidly, slowly coming to a stop at a hundred and fifty or so mana.

Carrix released her grasp of his hand and took a step backward, breathing slightly heavily. "There," she said, "that should do it. Go ahead and cast the mana sight spell. Ah, you might want to sit down again."

Oliver was looking at her in awe when she finished talking, then after a moment he sat. He paused for a moment, took a deep breath, then cast the spell.

The transition was immediate and obvious. Fields and lines of glowing light sprang into existence around him, just appearing from one heartbeat to the next. A teal field surrounded the woman before him, looking somewhat like a cloud that conformed loosely to the shape of her body, and other slightly darker teal lines ran through her body, perhaps the width of his pinky.

Other, much thinner lines and a much, much less dense field existed within himself as well, a white so light as to be barely visible. He moved his arms and found that the field tracked with him, trailing a few milliseconds behind.

He looked around in awe, and realized that two thick bands of light ran through the sky, arcing at least a couple of hundred of feet overhead. It seemed like even the house he was in was surrounded by an amber field so light he could barely see it except where it clung slightly more darkly to the walls.

Carrix was smiling slightly for the first time, watching as he took in the sights.

"It's something, isn't it?" she asked.

He glanced back at her. Was that a hint of… fondness in her tone?

"The first time you see it," she continued. "I remember how it was for me." Yes — a very faint upcurved lip. She held some affection for magic, then, if not for much else.

He nodded wordlessly, continuing his examination of the courtyard. It was like he'd suddenly gained the ability to see magnetic fields or something — it would be a dream come true for a physicist.

Only one other thing stood out to his brief perusal; the wand tucked into Galen's jacket. He could see the nexus of spell lines radiating from it even at this distance; the amount of angry red lines poking from it looked like a Tesla coil. It didn't look friendly.

He looked back at Carrix. Then he blinked. The teal lines running through her body remained in his vision even with his eyes closed. He closed his eyes again, looking around. All of the mana he'd seen was still visible, and he could tell the way his orientation was changing using them as reference; it kind of reminded him of his last vision, the vision of the… blind person? Who'd somehow found a way to see, somewhat, by apparently succeeding in casting this very same spell, or a relative of it.

"Does that always happen?" he asked Carrix, turning and studying the mana lines. There were even some running below the ground, and like the lines in the sky he couldn't fathom what they were for. They looked intentional.

"Does what always happen?" she asked.

"The visions, the, you know," he gestured vaguely to his eyes. "Seeing how the spell came about. Was invented, or whatever."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "You have visions when a spell is cast? Is that what you were looking at when you went into that trance?"

"Er, not by intention," he admitted, opening his eyes and looking at her. That slight gleam of fondness had fallen away and was replaced by an faint curiosity. "But yes, that time and the time Tiro gave me the Spark spell I saw what I think is the history of the spell."

"Oh?"

"Yes," he went on, "A series of visions, random ones, but all seeming related to the spell I'm being taught."

"Must be an artifact of the system," she said. "Pity I'm not a mind mage or I'd like to have a look at them. Sounds interesting. Probably of history significance, if you're accessing visions and emotions stored within the system."

His curiosity about the visions abated somewhat in the face of her blasé attitude. Perhaps it wasn't as system-breaking as he'd thought it was. An artifact left over from his time witnessing the Underpinning, perhaps?

His mind made a connection that he was surprised it'd taken so long to spot: the nodes in the Underpinning produced visions just like the ones he'd seen both times he learned a spell. Perhaps the nodes in that vast interconnected field represented spells of some kind, and the connections between them. That was intriguing; an underlying mechanic of the system. Or just a different Path? A different temple? He shook himself, catching himself lost in thought before Carrix.

"Okay," he said, forestalling a sharp remark. "Let's see, it seems like that used — oh, wow, it used up just about all of the mana I have left."

Just like that, Oliver was down to seven mana again. However she'd measured the volume of mana she transferred to him, it had been very precise, especially considering it must have been done by feel, or sight, or something.

"Now, er, how do I turn mana vision off?"

"Why would you want to?" asked the woman, arching an eyebrow.

"I, uh, in case I want to see things like normal?"

"This is normal now, Oliver. Get used to it. You're a mage," she said drily. "Now, how much mana do you have left, exactly?"

"I have about seven mana-days' worth," Oliver said. "How did you transfer that mana to me, anyway?"

"It's something everybody can do once given access to the system. You should be able to do it too, if you try. I'm surprised you don't know about it yet. You're lucky you haven't been approached by a tax collector yet, without knowing how to transfer mana," she said. "But perhaps since you just got access to your system a month ago it's not so unexpected."

"A tax collector?"

"Somebody who takes up the Empire's mana taxes? They're running rampant now with martial law enforced, have been for the last several years."

Whatever her affiliation was with the Moderates, that was certainly something she wasn't a fan of. He detected the same note of surly resignation in her voice that had characterized the way much of the population of the town referred to the barracks of Empire soldiers in the north side of town.

"In that case, can you show me how to do it?" he asked.

"I'm afraid that would require delving into your system a little further. I have no idea what form your system takes, and there's no way for me to really relate to it without visiting the temple you were Impressed within. And I'm told you weren't Impressed within a temple, were you?" she asked.

"I was not."

"So that's something you'll probably just have to work out for yourself. But the garden temples usually have an offering box in the narthex, and if you visualize placing your mana within that, it departs your system and becomes unaffiliated. In any case," she said brusquely, moving on, "now that you have mana sight, it's time for the next part of your lesson."