For his efforts Tyrian earned a modest 4 small Orba for the Soothroot, and 3 more small Orba for the Fire Fingers. 7 Orba was enough to get him three or four meals at the village inn, he was informed. A measly amount, but the start of his savings.

Corina was rather pleased with the Soothroot and Fire Finger, telling him that one Soothroot of the size he harvested could be ground-up to make paste to last five people while the Fire Fingers would help at least seven people stave against frostbite.

Tyrian was happy to help, finding it nice to have made life but just a little easier around the Temple.

As he made his way back to his dorm room, he had the unfortunate luck of running into one of the few Priests who disdained his existence within its hallowed halls.

“Hello little heathen.” A thirty something old man said to him as he passed. Tyrian internally rolled his little eyes, really? Picking on a five year old?

Fabian was a sour old man with a stubby nose and a balding hairline of greying hairs. He stared down at Tyrian past his nose with a pair of faintly golden eyes.

“Hello Priest Fabian, your robes are looking clean as always” Tyrian replied, exaggeratedly bowing to the man.

Fabian’s eyes squinted in confusion. “Clean? Why wouldn’t they be clean?” He asked, his tone scathing.

Tyrian shrugged. “I guess you’re right!” He said innocently, turning away before the old man could say anything else.

Fabian watched the little boy walk away deeper into the Temple, his eyes attempting to bore holes into the child’s little back.

“Priest Fabian, how goes it?” A voice called out to him. Fabian turned to see Initiate Levi approaching him, one of his many lackeys in the Temple, a thin man with overly bushy features from the local village.

“Ah Initiate Levi, it was fine until I had the misfortune of running into the little heathen.” Fabian said, clicking his tongue in distaste.

Levi was quick to join in his admonishment of Tyrian, trying his hardest to curry favor with the Priest. “Ah! I still don’t understand why High-priestess Elenar let him join the Temple, and as an Initiate no less!” He said, his voice dripping with envy.

Fabian nodded, “Mmm… who knows what the High-priestess is thinking. Yet I can’t help but find his lack of faith disturbing…”

Levi lowered his voice, glancing around the hall to make sure they were alone. “Do you think we should do something?” He whispered.

Fabian paused for a moment, considering the man's words, but ultimately shook his head. “No, leave him be, for now. In time the divine will expose his hidden nature…”

“In time.”

—

Five years had passed.

Tyrian was ten now, and comfortably situated in the Temple. His unique circumstances seemed to have been all but forgotten as he maintained a low-profile throughout the years.

His constant help in collecting herbs for the Temple had turned him into some kind of household gatherer, being the first person Initiates’ would reach out to when herbs were in low supply or somebody needed something specific.

He had spent the past years constantly practicing his self-taught manipulation techniques, mainly simple Orb maneuvers — his favourite of which was having multiple Orbs float around his body simultaneously.

Yes, multiple Orbs. Tyrian had blazed ahead of his peers despite being much younger than them. Achieving an absurd nine Orb Capacity at the young age of ten. The average for his age was three, or perhaps five if the child was a prodigy.

For perspective, nine Orbs was the Capacity that his father, Lucas, had. Even further, Tyrian was sure ten Orbs was soon in reach.

He was unsure if it was his lack of elemental attunement, or the combination of continually using simple manipulation maneuvers and practicing his newly developed techniques every day.

Alongside his [Push], he had created one other technique, [Wall] and he was currently working towards his third, [Pierce]. He would stop at three, since he learnt in his sermons that too many techniques made for a harder Coalescences later on.

[Push] had developed far from its initial inception, mostly due to his increase in Capacity which allowed him to use a full Orb versus the singular Mote he was stuck with previously.

Though it remained seen if he’d ever unleash such a powerful technique on a living being.

He had tested the full force of [Push] for the first time back when he was six, unintentionally obliterating an entire bamboo tree and then some from existence.

[Push] came out as a shockwave of near invisible force, increasing from the then rather inconsequential size of a hand to the area of effect of a grown man's torso in destruction.

It was a terrifying power. Already far outstripping what he should’ve been capable of at his young age and the physical whiplash was nothing to scoff at either. From a single full force [Push] the strain in his hand was so bad he could hardly clench his fist for a few days.

The next technique, he developed accidentally while he was foraging. [Wall] was a spur of the moment move, birthed out of panic to avoid being caught in a sudden early Frost rainstorm.

Tyrian subconsciously pressed his palm to the sky, wishing he had some sort of umbrella. It was to his great surprise when a large wall of translucent energy formed above him, blocking the rain from reaching him.

The droplets pounded on the thin wall, creating small ripples of force along its glass-like surface. The noise of rain was incredibly pleasing, a sci-fi bassy noise that distantly reminded him of a force-field.

For the cost of an Orb he could create a full-body length [Wall] that would last ten-minutes, or until it took significant damage. Significant in this case was measured as the full power of [Push], which seemed to be its limit before it cracked, before shattering into a million pieces that dissipated into thin air.

His final technique, [Pierce] was what he was currently developing. He felt that he needed something like [Push] but with a little more finesse and specificity.

For this, he planned on an ability that would be primarily fueled not by full Orbs but instead the smaller Motes.

Tyrian was sitting crossed-legged at the edge of the forest atop a small hill that overlooked the village. The serene spot had quickly become his favorite place away from the Temple for its expansive view.

Laskir, he had come to learn, was quite the backwater, a frontier village established only forty years ago for the sole purpose of farming Ouy.

It was in the North, nearly as far North as one could farm before reaching the end of the Kingdom and the start of the Steeplands. A range of mountains said to stretch on forever, which was — in Tyrians opinion, — bullshit, and he wasn’t alone in that thought.

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The most notable of which being Lord Davien, from The Sturm Empire in the east, a man said to have traveled for ten years through the Steeplands, before returning and famously saying:

“You climb one peak, only to see five more behind it.”

The Kingdom of Light was actually landlocked as he’d come to learn from his daily sermons. Sturm to the east, The Myriad States to the west, and the largest empire — Kan Kari, to the south.

Temple was a sort of religious mecca for the continent as a whole. Partly because of the Hero’s legacy, partly because they exonerated all the divines, and partly because they acted as a nice buffer between the larger powers.

It was the safest state to live in, if only a little boring.

Tyrian took a deep breath looking at the mountains in the far far distance that marked the start of the Steeplands.

On such a clear Sprig day Tyrian could see the snow covered peaks in the far, far distance. The mountain range stretched infinitely across the horizon-line, a sublime scene that filled Tyrian with a sublime sense of inconsequentiality.

The forest was quickly becoming a place of relaxation for Tyrian, but still, he didn’t stray too far from the periphery.

He had been warned many more times through the years to stay away from the depths, by old man Mendel. Though the largest and scariest thing he had ever seen/heard so far was a couple of wild deer, and a boar on one occasion that he easily scared off after sending a Mote [Push] to the face.

Tyrian sighed. He had been mulling over the problem of his third technique, [Pierce] for the past few days.

Essentially, he was trying to get a much more focused version of [Push] but was finding it very hard to control the output.

Simply dropping down to a Mote wasn’t enough. As pushing the Orb from his palm just blasted the energy out in a fist sized mess, and lowering the Capacity only made that fist smaller. By the time he reached the finger sized Orb he wanted, the output was weaker than a punch.

To make matters worse, he was determined to make a finger-gun hand-sign work.

Perhaps mere intent for the Orb wasn’t good enough…

Tyrian conjured a Mote to his palm. Examining the translucent Orb closely.

So far he had mostly focused on changing the size of the Orb but hadn’t strayed too far from the default shape of an Orb.

It seems naturally inclined towards an Orb as a shape, but Coalescences and my techniques have shown that to be adjustable.

[Wall] had given him the spark of inspiration that he was able to change the Orbs shape further. Yet doing so subconsciously was very different to doing so consciously.

Tyrian began to impress his will upon the Mote, forcing it to change shape. His brows furrowed as he quickly began to break into a sweat. He stretched the Orb, elongating its shape into a cylinder before carving away at one end of the cylinder.

After ten minutes of mind wrenching work he was left with a thumb-sized cylinder that tapered to a sharpened point.

He kept the modified Orb in one hand, impressing the feeling that it gave him and trying to conjure the exact shape in his other hand.

He failed at first, then again, and again burning through three full Orbs until he was able to replicate the modified Orb repeatedly.

Then, he gently conjured and hovered one of the modified Orbs to the end of a two fingered-hand-sign, the sharpened end reaching the tip of his middle finger.

He took a deep breath, and forced the Orb to spin.

Slowly at first, but quickly it began to pick-up speed. Faster and faster until he heard the very air near the Orb begin to tear.

PIERCE! Tyrian willed, snapping his thumb down.

The bullet shaped Orb fired off into the distance, drawing a thin line across the air as it flew. He watched as it whistled forwards before quickly dissipating at around a bit over a stone’s throw away.

Tyrian jumped into the air, throwing his fist in cheer, before quickly turning around towards the forest.

He aimed his fingers once more, drawing forth another Mote.

The bullet shaped Orb formed after a second, then spun to speed before he was able to snap his thumb down once more.

[Pierce]!

The bullet flew forwards, slamming into another bamboo trunk. Tyrian watched wide-eyed as it passed through two other trees before dispersing once more.

He grinned, mock blowing the tips of his fingers of smoke.

The only downside is that it takes three seconds to fire a shot… but practice will take care of that — and maybe when I Coalesce I can get it close to instant.

An invisible, near instant bullet made of raw Orb. What a terrifying thought.

He thought for a moment about testing the newly developed technique with a full Orb rather than a single mote, but quickly shook that idea from his mind, as he was certain he’d blow his fingers off or something.

In time… in time…

—

Tyrian was walking back to the Temple through the village, basking in the clear Sprig day when the wailing of a woman caught his ear.

“MY DAUGHTER PLEAAASE MY DAUHTER!” A woman’s scream pierced through the air. It was the fruit-lady who had helped him find Aunty Amun all those years ago. She was screaming bloody-mary in the middle of the main road. A large crowd of people had formed around her, all muttering and shaking their heads at the woman.

Tyrian approached, drawn to the terrible wails of the distantly familiar woman and asked out to a nearby man wearing a soot covered apron about what was happening.

“Oh, it’s the little Temple Goblin.” The man said. He was a large, broad shouldered man with biceps of steel. Perhaps the largest man Tyrian had seen so far in the village, larger than even the Sentinels who guarded the Temple, his apron was covered in streaks of black, and he had suspiciously missing facial hair no beard, or brows, or even any hair — the man was as bare as the day he was born.

“Goblin?” Tyrian asked incredulously.

The man laughed, though quickly stifled it in light of the wailing woman. He cleared his throat, “It's just what we’ve come to calling the little helper around the Temple, you must be Tyrian?” The man asked.

Tyrian, still trying to understand his nickname nodded. “Yes, you are?”

“Jon! The blacksmith!” He said, slapping his barreled chest.

“Ah, nice to meet you. I was wondering what the commotion was about?” Tyrian asked.

Jon shook his head ruefully. Taking a sharp breath through his stained teeth. He rubbed his chin, as if there used to be a beard there.

“Poor lass’ daughters gone missing. Third person this season.” He said solemnly.

Third person?

“Wandered too deep into the forest, never came back.” Jon said. “She should’ve known, poor kid, only six. Ahh, such a thing makes a grown man cry, makes me think if my own son went missing. Brings a chill to my veins.” He said, wiping a tear from his eye.

Tyrian nodded, thanking him for the information and stepped away as he caught sight of a small group from the Temple approaching.

The woman’s wailing only increased as the Temple priestess approached, flanked by two Initiates. Tyrian spotted Corina, who immediately spotted Tyrian through the thick crowd and could only shake her head.

‘Later, go home.’ She mouthed at him and returned to her duties.

“MY BABY MY DAUGHTER PLEASE YOU MUST FIND HER PLEAAAASE!” The woman screamed into the crowd, but nobody was willing to step up. She threw herself at the feet of the priestess, accidentally splashing mud onto the hems of her white robes. Behind her, Corina merely frowned but quickly returned to normal while Initiate Levi next to her, face scowled as if he had eaten raw Elderwort. He clicked his tongue, nearly saying something before remembering who was infant of him.

Priestess Cassandra didn’t even flinch as the mud caked her robes, kneeling down to speak to the wailing woman. The priestess was a beautiful woman, with amber eyes and sharp angular features. She was similarly covered from head to toe like the initiates behind her, yet even so, her movements conveyed a soft grace.

“May the light of Lumia shine upon your worries, calm yourself child of the divine, speak so that we can hear.” Cassandra’s voice was soft, tender to the ears.

Like a spell had been cast, the wailing woman calmed, though still visibly shaken. She wiped the snot and tears from her puffy red eyes. “My daughter… she wouldn’t have gone into the forest — I told her, many times and she understood! She knew, she KNEW the dangers…” The woman began to cry and the Priestess brought her into her embrace.

She looked back to the Initiates, “Initiate Corina, return to the Temple and inform the Sentinels to investigate immediately.” She told Corina who nodded in affirmation. “Initiate Levi, help ease the villagers of this incident, perform a cleansing chant for all nearby.” Levi nodded and quickly rallied the villagers together.

Tyrian quickly weaved through the crowd to join up with Corina who was heading back to the Temple.

“What's happening?” He asked, trying to keep up with her long strides.

Corina looked down at Tyrian and gave him a strained smile. “Don’t worry little Tyrian, it’s not something you should worry about. Just some temporarily missing people.”

Tyrian furrowed his little brows, but didn’t press her for more information.

People have gone missing in the forest? But why haven’t I heard anything about it until now?