While the specifics of their creation are lost to the waves, we know that to make an ensouled artifact, the creator must use their own soul stone in its construction.

-Deckard’s Compendium of Ensouled Artifacts

—

After departing dinner on Wednesday night, Kole fell into a fugue state of narrow-minded focus. He worked late into the night on his wizardry. He started with Magic Missile, piecing together the pieces of a dozen spells to rebuild the next version. Whenever he’d hit a wall, he’d take a break—well, sort of. If he was frustrated with Magic Missile, he’d work on Shield, if he couldn’t find the piece he needed for either, he’d clear his mind with a nice relaxing jaunt through the the mind-boggling non-space that was the Arcane Realm. He worked until his Will was exhausted, only then letting himself sleep.

The next morning, he jumped right up at the first sound of his alarm, and got right back into his work, sending a few incomplete Thunderwaves into the void to sap himself of some Will.

Alchemy class went poorly. Zale did great at harvesting the faerie clover they were assigned to pick and turn in as the day’s examination.

Kole did not.

He’d forgotten to practice the technique they’d been shown on Monday, and even with Zale’s coaching, he knew he’d be lucky if the dryad didn’t give him a tongue lashing for how he’d ravaged the herbs.

Someone had knocked over a potted plant at the beginning of the class, and the guest instructor had screamed at him in fury until the student ran away.

“Do dryads have tongues?” Kole asked Zale as he was collecting his harvest.

He couldn’t recall seeing one in her mouth as she spoke and didn’t really see any rhyme or reason behind human anatomy that they had or lacked

She stopped her own work and stared at him bemused before saying, “That’s a really weird question. Why do you want to know?”

“Umm…” he stammered, “I just… forget I said anything.”

***

With brief breaks for tedious tasks such as attending classes and using the privy, Kole lived in his room for the next two days, living off the oatmeal output of the magical jug.

There was one brief attempt to produce something other than oatmeal, but the black sludge that came out filled the room with such an awful stench that the oatmeal with honey was divine in comparison. He skipped his morning training with Zale through this time, needing the time to make up for his late nights. All his efforts culminated in a very late-night trip to the Dahn’s spell range.

The place was deserted at this hour, and Kole was a little surprised it had even been open. He had just finished what he thought to be the last missing component of Magic Missile, and ran out of his room to the place as soon as he’d finished, without any thought to the time.

He noted that the hall of rooms was shorter than it had been on his last visit with Gray. The far end of the hall ending in a stone wall where before it had seemed to go on forever.

I suppose this is a result of the heightened security Zale’s mother spoke of, Kole thought as he stepped into the first room.

He was rather low on Will, but in anticipation of a breakthrough he’d rationed his Will usage to leave him enough for a single attempt.

In the training room, Kole focused on the dummy at the far end and sent a portion of his mind to his mental vault. He infused the template he’d spent days constructing with his Will and braced himself for the next step. Connecting the spell to his bridge, he felt the sudden drain as the spell fought against his connection to the Font of Illusions to pull his bridge to some far-flung gate. The Will drained from him, both rapidly and agonizingly slow—depending on what portion of his mind he focused on. Just as he feared he’d not have enough, the connection snapped into place, and the spell went through his bridge.

So stunned was he at the success, that he almost forgot to perform the verbal component of the spell, shouting out “Roh-Ka” a little louder than was appropriate.

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The force bolts flew out of his hand but dissipated a few feet away, but despite that, Kole jumped in celebration. The failure had been due to his fumbling with the verbal component, but the spell itself had worked just fine. Judging by the Will he’d had remaining when he came here, and the fact he’d used almost every last bit of it, he’d reduced the cost to around twenty-five Will. If he could keep up his pace, at this rate he’d be able to cast at least two spells in a single battle by semester end. Not an impressive feat in and of itself—for a wizard at least—but even the one he could cast was a monumental accomplishment.

***

“Where have you been?” Zale asked Kole as he ran into the pre-adventurer battle training class just as Tigereye and Professor Underbrook entered from their own side of the room.

Kole stifled a yawn. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but it hadn’t been enough and he’d not recovered all his Will.

“I had a breakthrough with Magic Missile last night. I cast it for twenty-six Will.”

Zale bonked Kole on the head with the quarterstaff she’d brought for him.

“Ow!”

“That was stupid,” she chastised him. “That’s hardly going to help us today, but you being exhausted will definitely harm us.”

“Sorry…” Kole apologized, “I get a little carried away.”

“We’ll get you a clarity potion you can take inside, but you need to be more careful the night before a dungeon run,” Her face softened a little and she added, “Congratulations though. That is good news. Also, Amara gave me this.”

Zale handed Kole a long plain wooden box. Inside he found a blasting rod identical to the one he’d destroyed the week before.

“She said you need to learn the repairing rune by next week because she’s not going to make another of these just for you to break.”

“Got it,” Kole said, looking over the runed rod.

He was pretty sure he could figure it out by next week, but he decided to make sure this one didn’t break—just in case.

Kole saw that his team had already picked out the gear they needed for their arctic adventure. They didn’t know what they’d be up against, but they knew it would be cold.

Everyone had thick fur-lined coats, except for Zale who had extra layers under her armor and a fur cloak. She was already beginning to sweat.

“I hope we go first,” she said, fanning herself with a small wooden paddle she’d found in the equipment stores.

Kole changed into his own cold-weather gear and quickly began to empathize with Zale.

“Class, before we begin, I would like to speak to you all for a moment,” Professor Underbrook said, magically projecting his voice to the room, something he typically didn’t do. Usually, he just yelled, but on this occasion he spoke softly, using magic to ensure his words reached all ears. “It has come to the school’s attention of late that there have been some disappearances amongst the student body.”

A murmur broke out, centered around the team of the missing primal that had insisted their team member hadn’t dropped out.

“We have identified three students that we believe have gone missing. You may have noticed, but we have enacted stricter security protocols over the past week. Extraneous wings of the Dahn have been closed, and we are working to relocate as many of the extra dimensions wings to suitable locations in the Material Realm. You may notice the tower grow taller in the weeks to come, do not be alarmed, this is normal. A formal announcement will go out today, but I wanted to speak to you all particularly.”

He paused to let his words sink in before continuing.

“You are all training to be adventurers. You have bravery, spirit, skill, and the will to risk yourselves for others—or coin and glory. This, however, is not your fight. Of all the students in the school, the first years in this class always cause the most trouble. You are not here to prove that you are heroes. You are here to learn to be them. The time will come to prove yourselves, but this is not that time. Do not investigate this. We have the matter well in hand.”

There was a scoff from the murmurers, and Underbrook went on to explain more of the security measures, such as the increased adventurer presence on campus.

“In less depressing news, we will begin to have post-dungeon education. Students formally in the adventuring program and guest adventurers will be stopping by to assist while Tigereye and I debrief you all. We will then have a group debrief of the dungeon run once everyone has had their turn.

“Do. Not. Discuss,” he said, emphasizing each word and looking over the class, “your time the dungeon with those yet to attempt it. Doing so will result in both groups failing the attempt.

“Alright, now on to the exciting part!” Underbrook shouted. He forgot to disable the magical enhancement, however, and everyone grabbed their ears in pain.

“Sorry!” he shouted again, sans magical amplification. “The first group to enter the dungeon today is also the first group to formally submit a party name. Forsaken, please make your way into the dungeon.”

More murmurs broke out when the name was called, and all eyes immediately shot to Kole and his friends.

“I guess it was obvious,” Doug muttered to himself.

He’d been on board with the name but seemed to be having second thoughts now as he glanced from the students staring at him, to Zale, who was decidedly normal-looking today.

Zale seemed to shrink a little as well at the attention.

They made their way to the door, each carrying a large backpack stuffed with goods and supplies, and stepped in quickly to avoid the attention.

“Well, that was awkward,” Rakin said, as soon as the door had shut.

Zale turned to Doug, “I’m sorry—“

“It’s fine,” Doug said, holding up his hand. “I’m not upset, and I get it.”

Zale nodded, letting the issue drop.

“Good luck,’” Rakin said, drawing everyone’s attention.

“What?” Kole asked.

Rakin held up a sheet of paper he’d taken off the podium. It had "good luck" written in Tigereye’s large script.

“Flood,” Zale cursed, not even apologizing for it as she usually did. “This isn’t going to be good.”