There was no answer as the prodding feeling intensified. The warmness moved in Sunday’s body. The sensation was a bit unsettling but not unpleasant.

“Alright, entertain the silly notion that I’m not from around here. Imagine that I’ve lived in a world with no magic, spells, or any sort of bullshit swamps. An exercise for the mind,” Sunday said. He then laughed shaking his head. “Explain things to me like you’d to little Pearl.”

“Alright…” Arten’s voice came from behind his back, unsure.

“What does it mean to be rank one or to awaken?”

“It is to step on the path of the magi. The first rank is the beginning. However, many do not have the soul purity or strength to do so and it’s what determines who can become a mage and who cannot. There are few ways to train a soul before rank one, but I know of none. Maybe spells or treasures can nourish it… who knows,” Arten started explaining.

Sunday nodded. “Ah, the privilege of the rich. Nothing new there.”

“Something like that. Your essence is one of the purest I’ve seen. Not that I’ve seen a lot, but even as a mage I cannot compare.”

“What exactly is essence and how do I awaken it?”

Arten’s raspy voice answered after a short moment. “Essence is… energy of the soul, body, and the world. It seeps into the body throughout one's life. To quote a mage I once knew, the body and the soul are two sides of one whole. However, they’re not perfectly aligned. The longer one lives the stronger the connection gets. Most undead and long-lived races used to awaken naturally after hundreds of years. It is the human’s short lifespans that drove us to create awakening arts and guide the union of the two. Soon after, it became common practice and has remained so to this day. Of course, that doesn’t guarantee awakening as only a few are destined to become true magi.”

“Only when the essence in the body is pure and ‘whole’ enough to create a bridge between the soul and the body can one attempt to become a mage and form a soul space. That’s what we call the awakening and how you step unto rank one – pick up the pieces scattered around your body and unite them. You become more you, in a way. You have very pure essence so your chances are good. It is a simple matter of you sensing it, and then acquiring an art that will guide the pieces together.”

I always knew I was special.

“What is the significance of the ranks?”

There was another pause before Arten answered. He seemed careful in his words. “Each rank makes you more… you? More in tune with yourself and the world. It’s a difficult question to answer, as I’m only a rank one, and not a very good one…”

“Then, what will I be able to do when I reach rank one?”

“At rank one, you get to put spells in the outer layer of your soul space. You can meditate to recover some part of a spell’s integrity if they’re in danger by using a soul forging art. Overusing them can still harm them but the higher you climb, the better you can take care of the spells, which results in them being more powerful.”

I can put spells in my soul space even now… And it seemed like the soul was not just a spiritual term here. It was not that surprising considering what Sunday had gone through. Getting Arten as a free information center was great and he decided to lose all sorts of pretense with him. Things were happening fast and the more he knew, the better it was. What if his merciless talent sent him off to another swamp next or he got kidnapped again? At least it was to make him stronger before using him, rather than for spare undead parts.

“So, spells, funny little things, aren’t they? Frogs, bugs, and all that,” Sunday began. “Can you tell me more about them?”

“Like what? Spells are spells, all children know that,” Arten said, repeating the answer little Pearl had given with some confusion in his voice.

“Yes, but… what are they?”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking. Spells are spells like air is air. They just–,” coughing interrupted him and rocked his body. Arten stopped what he was doing to take some more dried herbs and a swig from the vial. He continued a moment later, “I was saying, they just are! No one knows for sure where they come from.”

“Does one just look for them in the wild?”

“Yes, but wild spells are dangerous, even if they are free and most go that route. If you don’t know what you’re doing you can die, or worse, by introducing the wrong one to your soul, no matter how weak it is. There are all kinds of spells out there too, taking all sorts of forms. Some even reside in monsters. They…ah, spells are spells!” Arten sounded almost annoyed at his inability to explain better and Sunday decided to stop pushing the issue until he found someone more knowledgeable.

In a word, magic. It takes a special kind of person to question the world they were born in. Not everyone will care why power exists when power is there for the taking. I understand that mentality well enough.

In the silence that followed Sunday found himself thinking about his next question. He checked on the thin stream of energy coming from the human. He could crush it like a bug if he so wanted, but he didn’t. It was becoming clearer with each passing moment.

“Is awakening while holding a spell dangerous?” he asked.

“Almost no one can hold a spell before awakening. Well, there were rumors…no matter, if normal people try they might damage their souls or bodies. Spells are dangerous.”

That was curious. Sunday didn’t feel sick or dying, and he had already cast a spell. Granted, it had been for a few seconds and it had knocked him down on his ass.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“So, the idea is for me to pick up the pieces and gather enough essence, before building a connection in the form of a soul space – a bridge?” he asked. He didn’t want to miss anything.

“Yes. I’m letting you sense what essence is, and moving it about your body. It’ll help you find yours once you know what you’re looking for.” Arten explained. His voice was doing much better now, and for a second it sounded like he was smiling while speaking. The change had come fast. It reminded Sunday of some of the guys who were permanently high.

Is that what this is? Super potent cough syrup? Is he getting high?

“What’s it like? Becoming a mage.”

He felt the hand on his back move, almost as if the human had shrugged, “It’s a different experience for everyone. An intimate thing. It can have quite the side effects. I knew a guy who had nightmares for a week straight afterward and another who became suddenly obsessed with socks.”

“Socks?”

It was perplexing how the man had found the energy to tell funny stories. “Yes. He was a stable master. Got a broken art from somewhere. After becoming rank one he started buying all sorts of socks and storing them in the stable. Eventually, his obsession grew so much he was learning to knit socks for horses. It lasted for months until whatever damage he’d inflicted on himself healed. It happens with low-grade awakening arts. Many spells rejected him after that.”

Oh, they can reject us too now? Marvelous. And I wish the danger had been discussed beforehand…

“Say…,” Sunday lowered his voice until it was barely a weak whisper and turned toward Arten as much as he could without breaking the physical contact with the man’s hand. “Can arts be purposely made dangerous? I’m talking about effects other than mild quirks. Restricting someone, mind-control, ticking timebombs, diarrhea at the snap of a finger? That sort of stuff.”

Arten mumbled to himself like a drunk a few times, then answered with hesitation, “I honestly don’t know. Never heard of it, but I can’t say it's impossible.”

That’s not good enough.

“How much longer?” Sunday asked in a normal voice, turning back around.

“We’ve barely begun. Once you can pinpoint my essence you can find where yours gathers, and then work with that. You’ll need an art though,” Arten said and made a strange high-pitched sound which quickly devolved into a cough again.

Sunday remained silent and closed his eyes. Arten spoke no more, seemingly content with enjoying the medicine’s effects.

It took a few hours or so until Sunday could sense something similar to what Arten was doing. There were the bits and pieces of gathered energy throughout his body. Hundreds, if not more. While Arten’s essence was invasive, Sunday’s own was familiar like the back of his hand.

The essence was scattered everywhere, like puzzle pieces waiting to find their place. The urge to combine them was strong and it turned out it was not a difficult thing to will them to move. He tried a few times until a sudden sharp pain stabbed at him like a thousand needles all at once and he yelled out, throwing himself forward.

The piece of foreign essence inside of him was crushed without hesitation and he felt Arten’s gasp behind him. The ghouls were upon them seconds later, growling at Arten and putting their bodies between him and Sunday.

“It’s fine! It’s fine! My bad,” Sunday yelled. His arm found one of the ghouls but the monster jerked away and made a gesture that looked almost as if it was brushing the spot Sunday had touched it. That made him freeze.

Have you seen yourself?! Disrespectful little shit.

Sunday stood up and glared at the ghoul, before checking on Arten. The man shook off his attempts and Sunday stepped back, letting him figure it out on his own.

“Sorry, don’t know what happened,” Sunday said.

Arten didn’t respond. His eyes were looking at someone behind Sunday. Jishu had reappeared, slowly walking toward them without leaving Sunday out of sight. One of the ghouls was next to him like a loyal dog.

I should figure out how he’s controlling them. Should’ve asked Arten if he had any ideas. Jishu mentioned he has two spells. Maybe the one he’s holding?

“That’s very fast, but not surprising,” the undead said.

“Will you keep your word?” Arten asked from the side, his speech slurred but still sounding a bit better than it was at the end of the conversation with Sunday. The tension in the air was palpable.

Jishu ignored him, keeping his eyes on Sunday. “I take it, you can sense your essence?”

“I think so. It feels quite easy.”

The silence that followed made Sunday feel a bit awkward. He could sense the confusion and anger radiating from Arten and the indifferent arrogance and doubt in Jishu’s eyes. Sunday felt as if he was on thin ice, but he couldn’t allow things to devolve further before he got his hands on the art and the special spell. No matter what the undead was planning, no course of action was correct in this case.

If Sunday knew one thing, it was that as long as he was useful, he would be safe.

“I’ve been instructed before, but I wasn’t ready back then, and after I failed…” Sunday let the words trail off and showed some shame. He didn’t want to sound too ashamed though, so he sprinkled a heavy dose of indignation and pride in his tone.

He saw understanding dawn in Jishu’s eyes. What conclusion the undead had reached from Sunday’s little performance didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it worked.

“I see. We’ve all failed before, my friend. There is no shame in it. I sincerely believe that the top can be reached only through experiencing countless setbacks and failures. You’re young, you will learn that in time. Who knows, maybe you can stay by my side and I can teach you. Awakening is just the beginning…” Jishu spoke with yearning as if he was the elder willing to teach the child. Sunday let him. “Come now, let’s get away from this filth.”

“You gave your w – get off me!” Arten yelled out from behind. The ghouls didn’t care as they pushed him back into the corner of the cage and Sunday heard the soft thump of a body upon wet soil. Groans came seconds later.

Sunday hoped the human would keep the presence of mind and stay obedient for a while longer. They hadn’t talked about anything specific, but he hoped there was some understanding built upon the short talk about little Pearl. She was dear to Arten.

“I’m glad you didn’t have to spend much time with the human. What kind of host would you take me for if I forced you to bear his stench for days on end? Alas, desperate times…”

“It’s quite alright. He was useful.”

“Of course, I don’t expect this backwater savage to know much. I can instruct you properly once I’m better. It’s been quite a pleasure to have someone to talk to. I’ll also let you take a pick from the villagers, how about that?”

“A pick? Didn’t you give your word?”

Jishu waved a hand dismissively, “It’s a human. It’s the same as giving a promise to a pig. And since you’ve been to the village his use is coming to an end. You can have his spell after. It should be quite fun to use against the living, like drying worms out in the sun.” The pause came like a guillotine waiting to be dropped on Sunday’s neck. He felt himself tense. Jishu seemed to sense it as he chuckled, “Don’t worry. We just met, it’s natural to hide things from me. I can’t say I’m excited to share, but since you’ve managed to fool them into letting you go and even giving you medicine, we have quite a few options other than a straight ghoul charge. That’s for the future though. Ah, I’ve not tasted warm blood in ages. And they even have an inferni…”

Inferni? Little Pearl?

“That red, horned girl? Is she special?” Sunday asked.

“Yes! Quite so! Inferni are rare, so I’m not surprised you don’t know. Come now, walk with me to my most prized possession,” Jishu responded and left it at that. Sunday could almost hear the saliva gathering in the creepy undead’s mouth when he mentioned the word ‘inferni’.