The dull gray of dawn burned away rapidly. A spear of sunlight lanced across the sky, causing Marek to look up from the fire crackling before him.

“You finish up,” Mags said abruptly. “I’m gonna go check on the snares. Be back in half an hour.”

Marek stood, swallowing a mouthful of oats. “You sure? I can come with you. Makes sense that we stick together, right? I mean, if the Casterans are after us—”

The woman snatched up her bow and quiver, giving him a quick shake of the head. “Finish your meal and be ready to go when I get back. Maybe close your eyes a bit. No offense, but you look like something Lydia spat out.”

“Rude!” Marek called, his body already thanking him as he sat again and leaned against the tree trunk. “What do you expect? We haven’t slept in three days!”

Mags quirked a grin and strode from camp. A flip of her braids was all he got in response.

“Prideful woman,” he muttered under his breath. “The audacity to wake up refreshed after four hours of sleeping on the ground.”

His friend had long ago gotten used to such conditions. In fact, he was quite certain she’d taken a larger share of the guard shift the night before, allowing him more sleep than he deserved. Yet other than her slight grubbiness, Mags looked no worse for wear. Three nights, including the first when they’d fled Misthearth, and the duo were at last heading in the right direction. Their path took them almost due north, curving eastward as the Quartz Road into Shirgrim came closer by the day. Mags had set a grueling pace. Marek appreciated it, for they both feared pursuit. Despite the constant vigilance, and jumping at every cracked twig in the night, the Casteran hunters never showed their faces. This made some sense. Rauld would’ve sent the soldiers in the opposite direction, and given the mage’s reputation, he would be the only other man to speak with other than Isaac’s father. When his thoughts touched on the asshole Corrigan had knocked senseless, Marek felt queasy. He wouldn’t put it past Isaac to tell the Casterans everything he knew of Mags and himself.

That doesn’t make sense, Marek chided himself. They probably left Misthearth before that jerk woke up. This quest is hard enough as it is without paranoia. Keep to the plan, and all will be well.

Left alone, Marek decided to do precisely what Mags had suggested. He finished the hasty meal and cleaned the bowl. Packing up all but his bedroll, he lay down near the fire and closed his eyes. His body ached in a multitude of ways. Not only was he weary from travel and poor sleep, but it felt like he’d been tied between a team of horses and an oak tree. Every joint throbbed incessantly. His tendons were aflame, making every task arduous. Tilda was fond of reminding her patients that pain was often a sign of mending, so Marek decided to take it all in stride.

Too anxious to sleep, he rested his bones and allowed his thoughts to wander. Unsurprisingly, his Class rose to the forefront of his mind. He intended to read every book Rauld had given him… when there was time. Their flight from Misthearth had dragged them past farmsteads, through orchards and every wood and bramble in between. Circumventing their hometown without using any of the convenient roads wasn’t easy, yet Marek and Mags agreed it was the best option. Only yesterday, an hour before nightfall, they’d struck Rollins Road, the main route northward.

Maybe I should experiment again, he thought. If something goes wrong, that’ll be my only shot of defending myself. Even with my staff, I’m dead weight. He thought of his Level 1 Soul Knight Abilities and considered which would provide the most support in a drawn-out fight. Spirit Body, he decided almost at once. The Skill could provide him with enough protection that he could ignore damage and focus on offense. That reminded Marek of the calls of the dead he’d heard at the wall and the wailing spirits in his uncle’s house. And the voice. Can’t forget that, can you? The urge to commit violence had scared him. It was far too powerful to take lightly.

A shiver ran down his spine. He inched a little closer to the fire and held a blind hand up to the flames to feel the warmth. Determined not to waste time, he chose another way to examine his powers. Might be too risky to use an Ability, but maybe I can gain a better understanding of my Spirit Core. As he’d done on his uncle’s stoop, Marek imagined viewing his body from the outside. He pictured his chest, and an image of the swirling energy behind his sternum came into view.

Comparing it with his Mana Core, Marek glanced between the two power sources and made two observations. My Mana Core is getting bigger; I was right about that. And as expansive as my Spirit Core is, it seems almost stagnant. He thought back to the first time he’d viewed it. Marek couldn’t tell for certain, but if he had to guess, he’d say his Spirit Core held the same amount of energy, perhaps less. It wasn’t as if it could be quantified. More so he had a sense of his ether’s potential. The circulating double loop was visually impressive; that much couldn’t be disputed. But I have the feeling I’m not even close to being topped up. If only I had a few spirits around to siphon.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Unwilling to go searching, Marek pushed the mental view of his Core aside and willed his mind in another direction. In the world of Classes, few were capable of viewing Attributes or information about Skills and Spells. He’d already done the latter several times already, however. Marek couldn’t help but wonder what else he could see with Empath’s Gaze. With a goal in mind, he tried to instigate a new function of his Ability with thought alone. His efforts produced no results. Not knowing what else to try, he experimented with a variety of mental commands. View Marek Kaiteras. View Self. View statistics. Inspect Self. Examine Self. Examine potential... Examine Remnant Mage Class.

He gasped as a haze of ethereal words filled his mind’s eye.

***

Primary Class: Remnant Mage

Level 1 Apprentice

Class Skills: Spirit Body, Eyes of Ether

Attribute Points Per Level: 2

***

Marek sat up, eyes fluttering open. “Principalities! I gain two Attribute Points per Level with Remnant Mage?” he cried out, causing Lydia to lift her head from the clover patch she was combing over to chuff his way. Checking his volume, Marek apologized to the mule, shrugged, and immersed himself once more. “Okay, so that worked. What other information can I learn about myself…? I pretty much know what my Abilities do, and I know my other Class. Still, why not test to see if the command is universal? Examine Sigilist Class.”

Sure enough, he confirmed what he already knew. Sigilist was at Level 9 Apprentice. His only Skill was Intuit, and as he’d known he gained only a single Attribute Point per Level. Biting his lip, Marek moved on to further examinations. After eleven failed attempts, he succeeded by uttering, “Examine Personal Attributes.”

Name: Marek Kaiteras

Strength: 7

Dexterity: 7

Constitution: 6

Intelligence: 14 (Affliction: Core Atrophy, 82% Reduction)

Willpower: 17

Charisma: 10

Available Attribute Points: 2

Marek was up on his feet in a flash. Seeing the terrible wound his uncle had dealt him, written out in Ardean script, set him aflame. “Oh, if you were here!” he shouted. “Intentions be damned! I swear, Mirrin! You arrogant, cantankerous, ugly old son of a—”

Lydia chuffed again, swishing her tail with annoyance.

Marek growled back, tempted to find a stone to hurl at the beast. “Who asked you?” he snapped. “I’ll curse my uncle if I damn well please!” His cheeks burned fiercely, and only the recollection he was technically a hunted man subdued his urge to scream. Clenching his jaw, he spoke the affliction aloud. “Core Atrophy! 82%! No wonder my damn Attribute Points don’t matter!”

Marek paced back and forth several times to soothe his emotions. One thought trickled through the cloud of anger, calming him a little. His Core had been recovering, if slowly. Perhaps the affliction would decrease over time. Then, who knows, he might have an ordinary pool of mana someday. “And I have a Spirit Core,” he added. “That’s something nobody else has. Well, unless maybe the Death Mage. Ugh, calm down, Marek. Let’s keep things positive. My Constitution and Strength both gained a point on their own, which explains why I feel stronger since awakening my Class. Also, I’ve two unspent points…”

Marek wasted no more time. He’d mulled over where to place his Attribute Points while they traveled. Constitution and Intelligence were at the top of his list, but considering his time in the Crucible and Serin’s reaction to his high Willpower score, Marek suspected that Attribute would become more significant. With speedy travel his highest priority, Marek chose the quickest way to improve his odds of survival.

Investing two points into Constitution, he braced himself. A hot flush coursed through his limbs, the intensity of it dropping him to his knees. Marek’s vision faded next, and both ears pounded like struck gongs. His muscles writhed and cramped. All Marek could do was groan.

After a minute of painful spasms, the transformation settled.

Marek flopped back onto his bedroll, sweat beading his brow. “Maybe just one at a time,” he panted. “That might be a good idea moving forward.”

Lydia’s hot breath tousled his hair. The mule was hovering above, great brown eye staring. “Like you actually care,” he snapped. “Don’t pretend you like me. You’re just worried I won’t give you any more sweets.”

The mule huffed in his face and pawed the ground stubbornly. Then she wandered off to feed again.

Soon, Marek caught his breath. He sat up, eyes widening. Dirty, disheveled, and sweaty, he allowed himself to notice what had changed. The aches in his body were diminished, and more strikingly, he felt energized. He wasn’t precisely stronger; no, it was more that his feebleness had abated.

Significantly.

Perspective shifted, a little guilt touched his consciousness. Rarely had he cursed his uncle’s name. Marek shrugged, too pleased to linger on the worry. “He did poison me for nearly two decades…”

Invigorated, he got busy. He shook out his bedroll and bound it tightly to his pack. Then he fought with Lydia to secure the gear to either side of her saddle. Twice, he had to dodge gnashing teeth.

When he’d finished packing, Marek dampened the fire by tossing soil over the coals. Mags was still gone, which worried him a little. He trusted his friend more than anyone, though, and he figured she’d return soon enough.

With a little more time to kill, he found a good rock to sit on and focused his attention on the greatest gift he’d ever received. Thinking fondly of Rauld, Marek tapped into the Archivist’s Ring.