Raul looked at the man and then at Emma, who was unscathed but unconscious, breathing hard, sweating, and red as if she had a fever. Then the anger came in a torrent, like a flood plowing through flimsy indigenous huts in a rainforest. “Who the fuck are you?” Raul asked.
The man was clearly not a ground soldier. He looked like a radiated zombie from the amount of burns on his peeling face, yet he released intense pressure, and his armor was distinctive. He wore shiny steal armor with black accents—which didn’t match Quell’s blue and white crest or Markon’s orange and yellow emblem. He wasn’t a soldier.
“My name is Lord Res, a ranking adventurer,” Lord Res said. “I have come here to retrieve the God Slayer sword. Give it to me, and there will be no need to fight.”
“No need to fight….” Raul nodded a few times, licking his cracked lips, feeling the heat around him. “That’s what I wanted. That’s why I flew around Quell, burning forests, throwing around meteors. But here we are.”
“Wait…. You’re…. Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Oh, so you’re not stupid. That’s a relief.” Raul released intense magical pressure—but the man didn’t kneel. That meant he was strong.
“Hold on,” Lord Res said. “You are powerful—but you’re weaker than that girl. Are you sure you want to fight?”
Raul chuckled ominously but stayed silent. He put his axe between his teeth and picked Emma up off the broken wood and brick she was lying on, knowing that if Lord Res attacked, Emma’s barrier would protect them. After laying her on solid ground, he looked at his hands, which had blood on them from scrapes over her body.
“She needs medical treatment,” Lord Res said, watching Raul grab the haft (the handle) of his axe. “So why don’t we call this—“
Raul ignored him and smeared her blood on Halkon Executioner’s blade. Suddenly, the runes on the axe lit up with crimson light, the blood started sizzling, and red miasma poured off the blade.
Lord Res understood the danger. He immediately lunged at Raul, stabbing him with an aura-wrapped blade. Raul watched in slow motion, sidestepping the attack with ease. Lord Res abruptly stopped and struck horizontally. Raul saw it and ducked, cocking his left fist back and hitting the man in the thigh. Lord Res screamed as he was forced to kneel. All of this happened in two seconds.
Raul released the combined pressure of his core and Emma’s concentrated life force and Lord Res dropped his sword, falling to his hands and knees under the tyrannical pressure. “Are you the person in control of these troops?” Raul asked. Fifty thousand people were outside the walls, and a myriad of explosions were happening all around them. It would soon be a massacre if he didn’t stop it.
“I’m… not,” Lord Res said, wincing under the pressure.
“I see.” Raul was disappointed that they couldn’t solve things without a demonstration. Yet this mess was caused because he hadn’t made one. So he reached into his spatial ring and pulled out a rug-sized tapestry with an amplification circle on it, preparing to make his presence known.
“What… are you…. doing?” Lord Res wheezed.
Raul kicked the man in the jaw, causing him to hit the ground with a loud thud. Then, Raul activated the amplification circle and spoke to the skies above Lemora. “This is Hero Martinez of the Escaran strike force! Escaran troops—retreat to the maze so we can rain hell on these attackers. Quell and Markon forces! If you don’t want to die—run.” He waited for a moment before continuing. “I’ll give you some motivation.”
Raul slammed his axe into Lord Res’s shoulder, causing the bones to crack and blood to spurt out. Once the adventurer’s blood hit the axe’s runes, Raul felt even higher than he did before as he listened to Lord Res scream over the amplification circle. “This is Lord Res,” Raul announced. Then, he swung Halkon’s Executioner down, slicing through the man’s neck and making their body drop to the ground. Then, body wrapped in intense miasma, feeling like he was burning from within, Raul spoke: “If you thought we were weak—you were wrong. If you thought we wouldn’t kill you—you were wrong. And if you’re still here, I recommend you stop what you’re doing—and run.”
2
Rimn saw the silver gliders long before they struck. They were like silver ants in the sky—completely disorganized. The way they weaved in and out of wind spells showed just how inexperienced they were. And when they flew higher to get out of arrow and spell strike range—making them useless—everyone nearly forgot who was above them. But once “Hero Martinez” gave the word to retreat and then executed Lord Res—they acted. They all acted. Two summonees created fireballs that looked like miniature suns, flickering ominous orange light on Lemora’s great wall, and then the rest followed suit. One could kill a hundred soldiers if they were packed together—and there were seven of them. If the Escaran troops weren’t on the battlefield—they’d have already been annihilated.
“Rush the maze!” Rimn yelled. Quell needed to go where the Escaran troops were going—as these people wouldn’t kill their own. If they packed together, no one would strike.
Rimn didn’t have to convince anyone. His words sparked a stampede of soldiers running toward the wall mazes, determined to avoid the apocalyptic attacks above them. Yet that was a horrifying mistake. As soon as his soldiers started funneling into the wall maze like rodents, opening up the battlefield, he noticed something horrifying—
—the Escaran soldiers were running away from the mazes, fanning out in the countryside as fast as possible. The only people going into the mazes—were Quell and Markon troops.
3
Kayley was what a regular person would call a family woman and an asshole would call a “nobody.” She lived in fear that she would die in her hometown, never “leaving the nest” or seeing the world. Yet she didn’t have plans for what to do for work or what she wanted to do with her life. She categorized everything as “I’ll go to college, I guess,” to push off the decisions to a later date, feeling fatalistic that some man would knock her up, and then she’d be re-binging shows on Netflix while feeding her child SpaghettiOs. After all, that was what happened to most people—and she was a regular person (a “nobody,” as an asshole might put it.) Then she came to Reemada, and somehow, she found herself flying above a city, controlling a small sun that she somehow created, preparing to massacre soldiers. If she knew that was the alternative—
—she’d get the can opener.
Yet she signed up for the Mage Corps because she liked the sense of accomplishment and wanted to help people. And even now, staring down at Quell soldiers flooding into the maze network that the engineers built before leaving on the strike missions, she was comforted by the words Sara provided them when they were taught high-level spells.
I haven’t taught you advanced spells for the same reason no one else has, Sara had said, —because they’re dangerous. If you throw around large spells on a battlefield, you’re going to kill your own soldiers. You might as well nuke your own city.
That dampened the enthusiasm.
That doesn’t mean that you can’t use them, Sara continued. You just have to create tactics that separate enemy troops from your own. If you can get all of their troops together—you have free reign.
Then Sara paused, and her face turned grave.
As for whether you should—that’s up to you. But once you see thousands of people slaughtered on battlefields, cities burning, citizens dying, or worse…. You’ll see things differently. And what you think then is law. If you feel that making a demonstration could save lives or end a battle—no one can judge you for that.
Kayley understood what Sara was saying before she even made it back to Lemora. They had given Quell a chance to retreat—and they went on ahead anyway. And once Kayley saw her city on fire, with thousands being slaughtered… yeah. She saw things differently. So she just watched as more and more enemy soldiers flooded into their maze network, like lambs to the slaughter. Then she raised her arms up high, waiting for someone else to give the signal—willing to do it but not willing to be the one to give the order.
4
Grekka realized what was happening before Rimn did. He immediately yelled, “It’s a trap! Pull back!”
Rimn immediately followed with the same order. But while a portion of the two commanders’ soldiers had heard it—the battle was raging over a square mile. Very few could hear their words, and so they could only watch as their troops filed in—
—and fireballs rained down upon them.
It started with one fireball—then six more followed, each hitting the maze. White fire shot from the stone walls, like it was a massive kiln. It was a spectacular sight that chilled the soldiers to the bone.
Suddenly, Hero Martinez’s voice came over the skies again. “Escaran troops! Drill two!”
Hearing “drill two” (after drill one wiped out thousands of troops) threw the entire battlefield into disarray. Rimn thought as fast as his brain would allow him before activating a circle and yelling, “Cling to an Escaran troop! Doesn’t matter if it’s one or a group. Just—“
Rocks started levitating around him—a sign of a meteor forming. He looked up and found two silver gliders above him. A second later, two flaming meteors crashed down upon him.
5
Raul picked up Emma and rushed her to the main medical tent (the location he planned to go to before he saw buildings rapidly collapsing). It took five minutes, but he got there only to find Emily (now the military’s head mage since Emma was in Sara’s strike team) working on dozens of individuals at once. She was like a machine, rushing from one person to the next, showing no emotion. Yet once Emily saw Emma, she clasped her hands around her mouth.
“Don’t worry,” Raul said. “She’s alive. Barely injured. Take care of her… okay?”
Emily nodded quickly, far more times than necessary, as a dozen medical professionals stopped what they were doing to clear off a table for Emma.
“What are you going to do?” Emily asked.
“I’m gonna check on Alecov,” he said. “Can I use your glider?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” Raul rushed to Emily’s silver glider, which was tied up right outside the medical tent where she landed it. Then, he took flight en route to the castle.
6
Taylor didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing. He was told to look around the city, but there wasn’t much fighting there. He sent rock bullets down into a few soldiers, but for the most part, the battle was raging on the wall or beyond it. There was no dedicated force within it—but everything was on fire. He thought about extinguishing flames, but he felt that wouldn’t be a good use of his time as a hero. Instead, he moved toward the castle, looking for teams seeking to abduct the king.
7
Eline Keeta scaled a large set of walls with her brother, feeling high with excitement. She didn’t feel like she would survive this mission—neither did Grent. But the challenge and the glory of the death (so long as they could come close to victory) filled her with ecstasy. And they were close. From the top of the walls, under the cover of invisibility, she surveyed Lemora’s prison. It was a grand structure made of reinforced stone. In the center was a large iron gate with an array on it.
“Can you break it?” Eline asked.
“Of course,” Grent said.
They silently jumped into the path leading to the door and began walking.
Before they got within a hundred feet, Eline put up her hand and pointed. There, on the side of the door, was another invisible mage. Their disguise was good, too. They had blended their mana signature with the mana coming from the ward’s crystal network inside, camouflaging themselves from divination pulses.
“Of course,” Elizabeth sighed. “Guess I couldn’t ’ve attacked you anyway.”
8
Sara was only twenty minutes away from Lemora, but she couldn’t see it or the billowing flames. She was stuck in a thunderstorm, her face cut with icy winds. That wasn’t just bad timing—it was expected. Mages had been summoning rain clouds for hours or even days, so the weather was terrible—worse than she had predicted. “Fuck!” Sara slowed down her glider, wrapping it in a full barrier that acted like a windshield—without wipers—and prayed she wouldn’t get off course as she flew the last 20 miles.
-
[A/N: I'm writing a super fun novel called The Mage's Descent to relax and offset Riftwalker and Summons. It's a feed-good power fantasy in a dungeon. I've posted the first 8 chapters in the spoiler. So feel free to read it and give feedback! It's really fun, relaxing writing/reading.]
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The Mage's Descent
Kallan started his day at the same time he did every day—at 3 am. He did sets of pushups, situps, and crunches before refreshing his mind by starting his circulation training. He attracted elemental essence from the environment into his core, a second “heart” for essence, and then circulated it through the channels that allowed [artiface] to deceive the laws of physics, calling upon water, fire, and air from their very fingertips. It was his dream to be an artiface—
—a dream that was just as fruitless as his morning routine.
The realities of magical development were as concrete as the costs of food and housing. It was exorbitantly expensive just to [rent] a circulation technique—let alone get lessons. Then, it costs tens of thousands in resources to strengthen one’s core, open the elemental gates, and cleanse the body before they could move past telekinetic techniques and achieve elemental magic. Despite those realities—
—Kallan refused to believe he couldn’t be a mage.
He believed in himself and did everything he could to gain an edge and overcome—and that dry summer morning on the 72nd day of the Lunar Rex wouldn’t be an exception.
“Well, it ain’t gonna cook itself,” Kallan said to the mirror, hiding the dark purple bruises on his scrawny ribs with his cook outfit. Then he walked into the courtyard and walked to work. As he passed the servant district, he entered the Tekma, an outdoor common area meant for students studying in the Junolyx Clan’s famous University. It was a beautiful campus, surrounded by trees that released fragrant flower petals on sidewalks as students chatted on their way to lectures in large stone buildings carved with magic. It wasn’t yet five, but the sun was rising, exposing jogging students. In the center of a grassy area sat a group of first-years shaping water spheres, sending prisms of firey light on the grass from where the sun was hitting it. It looked so peaceful on the surface—but the day was just starting. In truth, Junolyx University turned normal kids into weapons that could carve wind and land and sea, decimating human cities with meteors, cyclones, and sprawling fires. It was the second most powerful of ten in the Elusisn Continent and perhaps beyond—and it got that way through encouraging violence and gaining practical experience. Fights would start after his food reached their stomachs.
Past the courtyard and a dozen towering lecture hall was a gigantic white and blue building draped with blue fabric off its large pillars. It was the public cafeteria, a building called Restam Hall by the staff, and “The Mess” by students. Kallan called it work.
Inside the door were fifty tables that stretched from one wall to the next, an action that took over thirty seconds. In only two hours, two thousand aspires (shorthand for aspiring artifaces) would come for breakfast, speaking of their desire to join any number of the Junolyx Clan’s artiface-for-hire professions, from mercenary and adventuring work to courier jobs and entertainment. After all—this was a business.
Kallan walked into the back, where there were three rows of 50-meter tables, housing hundreds of two-layered magical arrays (magic circles that facilitated magic), each sporting runs connected by geometric shapes and lines. One small worker tried to heft a 200-gallon pot onto one of the circles but ended up dropping it with a clang, making a burly man with meaty hands and a short beard run up.
“How many times do I gotta tell you?” Chef Rendo yelled. “Comin’ early ain’t gonna help you! Lift weights outta work, so you fuck up our… Gah!” He grabbed the 200-gallon pot like it was a pillow and placed it on the counter. “Listen up! This isn’t a day to fuck around!”
Chef Rendo summoned a water ball above the pot and let it drop inside, filling the three-foot pan instantly.
“You had all year to mess up, but play time’s over. If anyone else’s incapable of something this simple, I’m gonna beat their ass. ‘Cause if I’m gonna get my ass beat for your fuck up, I’m gonna beat you twice as hard! Now hurry it up!”
Kallan learned the best thing to do in tense situations with Chef Rendo was to get started. So he set up his workstation, put his hand on his array, and it lit up with vibrant white lines, activating the inner circle and heating the water. It was manual, but they controlled the output, making the best food. The better someone got, the more even the cooking—and Kallan was the best.
“Yeah, that’s good,” Chef Rendo said. “At least one of you kids can do it right. Follow Kallan’s lead. Now go!” Then he clapped Kallan on the shoulder and whispered, “I told the dean ‘bout you, so he’s expectin’ big things. This’s your chance, kid. So show off your skills.”
Kallan smiled and said, “I can’t wait,” but in his head, he was thinking:
[Great. No pressure or anything. I’ll just cook for the head’ve the school. Keep it casual. I’ll probably get fired and shipped off if I fail, but it’s cool. It’s a great opportunity. My big [chance]…. FUCK! Why the fuck do good people get punished like this?”
Chef Rendo frowned at his unease. “You feelin’ good? You feelin’ like you got this?”
Kallan swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good lad,” the burly man clapped his shoulder. “Make us all look good, kid.”
“What a suck-up.”
“[Nothing personal], he says.”
“What a joke.”
Kallan closed his eyes and ignored the whispering line cooks, suppressing his desire to scream, [You want this job? You can have it!] at the top of his lungs. He didn’t want the job, just like he didn’t want to be interrogated about the kids stealing food one month ago. But he accepted both responsibilities because of a lesson he had learned over the years: He would be resented no matter what he did, but they’d beat and fire him if he didn’t do his job. People came and went, quit and fired—but he was still there. That’s all that mattered.
Suddenly, his white array dimmed, and he looked around, finding dozens of line cooks starting [the boil]. Once they started, he couldn’t collect any essence into his core.
[Think of essence like a floating leaf,] said Professor Resling of the Circulation Studies Department during his monthly free lecture, [and your core is like a tornado. If the leaf enters your winds, it’ll be swept into your core. It’s simple, but everyone else has a core, too. Just as your tornado can pull in a leaf, so can theirs, and if theirs is stronger, it’ll rip that leaf away from yours. That’s why you should spare no expense buying essence crystals and building your core. No matter how good you are, you can’t circulate around stronger people.]
Kallan took out a core (a shard of solid essence taken from the chest of a beast or human) and drew essence from it. He churned his core clockwise, gathering wisps of essence and distributing them to his fingers. Then, the array lit up with bright light, and the 200-gallon pot of water started heating. He regulated the temperature. Smooth. Consistent. Even.
“Oh, shit, it’s actually happening.”
“Yo, move aside, Reg.”
“What? Wait, is that—“
“Shhh!”
Kallan tried to ignore the commotion, but when he heard the cook beside him get kicked out of their placement, he knew whatever this situation was, it was geared at hurting him. Bad timing. Convenient timing. Retaliation.
“It seems you’ve improved,” said a familiar voice. It was first-year student Alim Reet, the son of a wealthy financier.
“Thank you for your praise,” Kallan said. His stomach sank, his bones ached—his heart knocked in his chest.
“Oh, don’t thank me,” Alim said. “I actually feel bad. I heard the dean’s eatin’ here today, so I came by to help. It’s a shame I’m stuck next to you. I’m sure your food would’ve come out great.”
A few line cooks sniggered, but Kallan didn’t bite. He just took a deep breath and said, “Thank you for helping us” and continued.
Alim must’ve made quite the face because all the hands oohed (as collective sadists often do before watching executions).
“Well, sorry,” he said sharply.
Kallan’s array suddenly lost its glow when Alim began circulating near him, returning the white light to red paint. With her there, he would never be able to reactivate his array unless he acted fast.
2
Once a year, Dean Trion and other major artifices from the university came to try out food and ensure the quality was up to standards. Today was that day. It should’ve gone smoothly, but a few months before, the kitchen started housing spirit meat (the name of meat taken from animals with a core), and a student named Werna Tres led an operation to steal small amounts and distribute them to the cooks. The meat went unnoticed—the increase in cores didn’t. Chef Rendo noted that Kallan’s core hadn’t changed and trusted him after five years, so he interrogated him. Kallan minded his own business while it happened, but once he was threatened with getting fired, he said, [Fuck you, guys, I’m not losing my job and dream because you fucked up,] and exposed the operation. He gained nothing, but a dozen people got fired, and countless more were under suspension or got their pay cut. Now, Dean Trion was here to do a quality test, Kallan was the cook, and they aimed for revenge—and they fucked him good. Traditionally speaking, there was nothing he could do about her [freezing out] his core.
[So what?] a student had asked Professor Riesling during her circulation lecture. [If someone’s stronger, you’re just supposed to sit down and die?]
[Of course not. If someone is freezing out your core, you first want to maintain distance. Then it’s a battle of magic again. But if you’re too close, you counter them.]
[What’s that?]
[Essence ‘leaves’ naturally spin clockwise, so artifaces create clockwise tornadoes to suck ‘em into their cores. If they’re stronger, you spin your core counterclockwise. The two forces collide, canceling their core’s momentum. Then, it’s up to martial prowess.]
As much as Kallan wanted to deck that fucker in the face for sabotaging him, he had neither a core to counter nor martial art skills. And even if he died, he’d get jumped and killed right after work—because he didn’t have a powerful family or patrons backing him.
Yet he did have something.
Kallan took a deep breath. [I wanted to save this, but… there’s no choice.] He had an ace that he kept hidden for three years, waiting until he could afford a pale essence core. Once he developed a core, he could show it off to a teacher and potentially gain a scholarship. He was almost there, but it was clear that half the cooking department was trying to get him fired, so he needed to act.
Kallan cleared his mind, blocking out sights, smells, and sounds until it was only him and the feeling of essence moving into Alim’s core beside him. He analyzed the flow cycle, studying its pattern, flow, speed, and feel. Then, he began the circulation technique he and his friend Rena had created three years before.
[It’s impossible,] Rena had said as she watched him practice counter circulation. [You might as well yell at the rain to stop.]
[Not trying guarantees failure.]
[Doin’ impossible things guarantees failure.]
[Then what should I do?]
[I wonder….] Rena created a water ball on her fingertip. In an instant, Kallan’s eyes focused on her finger with his full attention. [What if you reversed an eight?] She created a three-dimensional infinity sign with sparkling water, a figure eight created by rotating her wrist. The water remained in droplets. [Then you could yank out a sliver of essence and bring it into your core’s rotation. Skim off trace amounts.]
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Kallan snorted. [Putting aside whether that’d work, do you know how much skill it’d take to do that?]
[Well… considering you can practice it every second of every day, you’re in an ironically good position to learn it.]
Kallan was dumbstruck. It was true. Kallan’s core had no pressure, so he could literally walk around in public, practicing on every single person he met without them noticing. If he even got trace amounts, it would be better than getting none—as he was getting.
[I’ll try it,] he said.
It worked, and for the next three years, he practiced rotating his core in a reverse eight-pattern, only using regular circulation at work. Then he saved almost all of his money to gain a small core before his big reveal. Now, he was in a position where he needed essence around high pressure to save his job. There was no choice.
“Alright, let’s go over some tips,” Alim taught a group of line cooks beside him. “Circulation’s all about consistency. The trick’s to speed up your circulation and then slow it down to the right speed. It’s harder to build momentum than it is to retain it.”
Kallan studied Alim’s circulation pattern—
—and began the counter-eight rotation.
3
Kallan took a deep breath and then suddenly cranked his circulation clockwise, making Alim gasp. It wasn’t a [Wow, that was amazing, Kallan!] type of gasp. It was a half-scoff at the audacity of a kid trying to freeze out an aspire during his lecture. Kallan didn’t care. He was just excited that it worked, and he could feel the warm energy of the array on his fingertips.
“It seems someone’s testy,” Alim said, who was obviously too flabbergasted to notice that Kallan’s array was lighting up again. “Great opportunity. What do you do when you’re trying to do your job, and someone starts moving counterclockwise to spite you?”
The atmosphere turned electric as he spoke, a quarter excited, an equal amount nervous, and the rest petrified, as a formal complaint could get them all in trouble on the day the dean came. He could only imagine the ring leader’s smirking face draining blood like a hung pig with its throat slit, praying that he’d stop. Yet Kallan wouldn’t. He wasn’t trying to get anyone in trouble, but if he was getting fired, he didn’t care if there was a firing massacre. He didn’t do shit to these people, and they tried to ruin his life—so fuck them.
“No one?” Alim hummed. “Fine. I’ll tell you: you break their core.” Suddenly, he churned his core as fast as it would move. The air in the room stilled, becoming stale and bone dry as the elemental pressure multiplied. “Countering causes backlash,” he explained. “If someone’s core is too weak to handle it, it’ll send a wobble of essence right into their core like throwing a wrench into a steam engine.”
Kallan grimaced, but it wasn’t because of backlash. He had spent three years stealing essence from experts, professors, and beginners alike. The higher up they were, the less they noticed. The problem was that Alim was terrible at circulating, so stabilizing his essence was like trying to drink water on a horse limping on a broken hoove.
“As you can see….” Alim paused. “Wait… it’s still activated… what the hell?” He increased pressure again, but Kallan didn’t budge. The only thing holding him back was cooking through the turbulence. “What type of treasure are you using?” Alim referred to the name for high-level magical items—as if he could afford one.
“I’m not using anything,” Kallan said. “Now can I back to work? I’m cooking for—“
“I don’t care who you’re cooking for! The dean’s coming, and you all need lessons, so you don’t fuck it up. That’s all that matters, and you’re countering me in broad daylight!”
“I’m not countering you. If I was, how would I activate this?”
“Oh, I swear on Ingara’s name…. Once Chef Rendo gets back, I’ll see you fired for this.”
Kallan fell silent. As much as he wanted to say, [Go ahead,] he knew that Alim would jump him later if he learned that Chef Rendo didn’t actually discipline him.
“What was that?” Alim lifted a hand to his ear. “You’re not so tough now, are you?”
“Please….”
Suddenly, the door opened, and Chef Rendo’s voice came in. “Here’s the kitchen. As you can see, it can accommodate 48 line cooks, and fourteen bakers at any time.”
“Oh, call on the gods, and they shall come,” Alim said. The atmosphere turned grave, silent, still, and stretching as if the world had disappeared. Even the sound of simmering lowered, and the humidity lowered.
“And this is Kall…” Chef Rendo stopped walking with another and looked in Kallan’s direction—Kallan didn’t stop cooking. “Aspire Reet… what are you doing in here? It’s not a good day. The—“
“Dean’s eating here today,” Alim interrupted. “That’s why they asked me here to give them tips. That’s what I did, but this idiot’s been countering me!”
Kallan’s heart galloped, pumping blood to his ears as he continued circulating, unwilling to slow for an instant out of fear of getting in more trouble. Yet it was difficult. He could feel the cold gaze of the person beside Chef Rendo on his back, staring through him, eyes fixed on his core with vicious intensity.
“So?” the person beside Chef Rendo asked. It seemed it was a stern, cold woman.
“So… what?” Alim asked. “I’m trying to help, and he’s trying to freeze me out!”
“A-Aspire Reet. That’s Kallan Rokus. He’s the person who’s—“
“I don’t care [who] he is. Countering a person during lectures and official operations is a markable offense. He’s breaking the rules. I demand—“
“Can you not circulate with him there?” the woman asked.
Kallan felt deep stress cut into his bones. The woman’s voice felt smooth as ice yet sharp as a blade. The authority in her tone only made it stab harder into his lungs, making them seize as he fought to keep circulating.
“What? What type of question is that?” Alim asked. “Of course I can!” He started circulating at maximum speed, yet Kallan didn’t budge—he had adapted to it. And, just to prove that the world didn’t specifically hate him, the steaming pot started to boil at that moment, making Alim stammer out a dumb, “Wait, what?”
“How interesting…” the woman muttered. Then her voice shifted to Chef Rendo. “I thought you said you fired all the thieves.”
Kallan’s heart froze.
“He ain’t no thief, ma’am,” Chef Rendo said. “That kid’s core’s hasn’t changed the last three checks. Just damn talented.”
“Interesting….” She turned again. “What’s your name.”
“I’m Alim Reet of the Reet Finance—“
“You’re suspended for interfering in official operations.”
“Wait! Who the hell are—“
“Master Ember. I head the Alchemic Research Department. I want a list of every person responsible for you being her on my desk by sunset, or you’re expelled.”
“W-Wait! I honestly didn’t know that he was cooking for Dean Trion. I just heard that some uppity kid needed a lesson, and people were paying. So I just thought I’d show up for a half hour, set him off course and he’d get in a little—“
“Your honesty won’t save you,” Master Ember interrupted. Her voice was chilling, carving Kallan’s lungs like razor blades. “So save your breath.” Then she turned, and Kallan could feel her penetrating gaze on his back again. “As for you….”
Kallan cut his array and turned to her. The woman was just as uninviting as her voice suggested. She had sharp black eyes that shone brightest while glowering, and her stern frown looked as natural as trees in a forest. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I want you in my office tomorrow morning,” Master Ember said. “7 a.m. Don’t be late.”
Kallan swallowed. “Yes…. Absolutely.”
“Good. Now carry on. Dean Trion will be here in an hour. Fuck up again, and you’re getting listed.” She tried to leave, but Alim stopped her.
“M-Master Ember. Have mercy. Suspensions are a mark. If you do this, I’ll never be able to hold council.”
Master Ember paused and thought about it, growing more stunned by the second. Then she looked up with her mouth open. “The dean’s eating here today…. What the hell’d you think was going to happen?” She scoffed and left the room.
Alima sent Kallan a warning glare. Cooks started crying. The food came out perfect. Dean Trion sent his compliments. Chef Rendo clapped him on the back. For a moment, Kallan thought that he might survive the backlash from unintentionally damaging Alim’s career. Yet once he walked back into the courtyards and saw a student standing where the first-years were practicing water shaping exercises that morning, ripping the core out of a dead student’s chest, reveling in the cheers of students talking about the duel, Kallam remembered that Junolyx University wasn’t a school—it was a military breeding ground where killing was acceptable within proper restraints—and often ignored outside them.
4
Rena Elsca was the only important person in Kallan’s life. She looked twenty-one, eerily matching his age like twins but visually different. Beyond their gender, she had straight blue hair dyed blue to the point that there wasn’t the slightest amount of blonde in her roots. Just like her face and terrible personality—it was perfect.
In all ways, Rena was Kallan’s exact opposite. She refused to talk about magic and spent the last three years (literally since the first day she met him) lounging on his bed, complaining about being bored. She spoke of the world, teaching him about wondrous creatures in far-out deserts and continents overseas. That day wasn’t much different than the last three years; she was still lying on his bed, but today, she silently traced hearts toward the ceiling as he recounted his meeting with Master Ember. The hearts told half a story of their relationship’s tension—the sadness in her eyes told the rest. She was born into old money, but when her parents died, her uncle seized her real estate empire and sent her to Junolyx University. So while she never told him why they couldn’t be together, Kallan assumed it was because a powerful real estate family would force her into a political marriage someday, gaining a claim to her rightful empire. It fucking sucked thinking about it, so while he didn’t hold her feeling against her—
—he wished she’d stop tracing hearts.
Yet even as he worried about his fate with Alim and Master Ember, he wish she’d continue doing it forever. Because he loved her since she dusted off her skirt and sat beside him in the servant’s courtyard three years before.
[It’s worthless, you know,] she had said.
[Thanks for the confidence,] he said.
[You’re welcome.]
He could still remember how frustrated he was that a pretty aspire sat next to him. He still had a bruise on his cheek from some kid who failed a test and wanted to take it out on someone, and now he’d be beaten by jealous students for “harrassing” a student. It felt cruel. So he remained silent and circulated (something that was mysteriously possible despite being beside her) for ten minutes before she said:
[It’s a shame, you know?]
The corner of his mouth twitched. [That what?]
[That you’re so talented, and you’re not gonna amount to shit here.]
[I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an attack.]
[It’s just the truth. This place blows….]
[So what? I should just give up?]
[Nah…. We just gotta find a way to help you grow, but I can’t think of one…. It’s so frustrating.] Rena pouted and waited for his response, but he was too shocked and confused. Three minutes passed before she said, [This is boring. Let’s eat.] She stood and offered her hand. [I’m Rena. What’s your name?]
[Wait… what?]
[Your name.]
[I…. No. What’s going on?]
Kallan was so stunned he didn’t offer his hand back, and that made her fold her arms and huff. [Food. Eat. Now?]
[Yeah, I get…. Listen. Thanks for the offer, but I’m gonna get my ass beat if I eat with a student, let alone you.]
[Why? ‘Cause I’m~cute?]
Kallan’s eyes blurred, and he looked past her. [Are you going to beat me if I refuse?]
[Of course not!]
[I refuse.]
[Get up!] Rena grabbed his hand and pulled him up like he was a shovel. [The Mess’s gonna give out leftovers soon, and we can’t miss it.]
Twenty minutes later she followed him into his bedroom with a cup of soup. [You gonna tell me your name yet?]
[You gonna tell me why you’re clinging to me all of a sudden?]
[You keep acting like it’s some broad conspiracy.] Rena thrust as spoon at him. But when they locked eyes, she blushed and looked away. [It’s because it’s beautiful.] He froze and she looked up with earnest eyes. [Your circulation… it’s beautiful.]
Kallan blushed and looked away. [I’m Kallan. Kallan Rokus.]
[See?] Rena said. [That wasn’t so hard was it?]
Kallan returned to the present with a rueful smile, remembering the love for magic he saw in her eyes that day, seeing her love for him in her tracing hearts in the present, and yet looking so sad and hollow after he told her about Master Ember.
“Kallan.”
Kallan snapped out of his reverie at her strange tone. “What?”
“You’re way too talented.”
“What’s that supposed to mean.”
“Remember when I said that I didn’t have any money to buy resources?”
He felt his chest tighten. “What are you sayi—“
“I lied.”
Kallan knew that what would follow was going to be something extremely reasonable, but knowing that his closest friend lied for years and refused to help him with his core all this time felt like a betrayal of the highest order. “What…?” he said, taking a sharp breath that inflated his lungs to the maximum.
“You’re too talented….” She bit her lip. “And I couldn’t help—“
“What the fuck do you mean you couldn’t help? You didn’t have to help, but you [could’ve] helped!” He was so hurt by her [lying] that he lashed out at her with the first ammo he got. He almost got fired and died that day—now he was getting a potential promotion, and now this? It was unbelievable!
“I’m sorry.”
“Why’d you lie? I didn’t expect shit from you! I’ve never asked [anything]. Why couldn’t you have told the truth?”
“And admit I was keeping you down?”
“Oh, yes. When you put it like that, it sounds extra bad.”
“Listen!” Rena screamed, and he paused. [You’re not just [a little] talented, Kallan. You’re not even in the same league as the people your age. If you built a core, every rich kid with an ego would force you into duels until you were dead.]
“Do you think that I didn’t prepare for that? I know!”
“No, you don’t know! You think you know. But you’re not gonna know until you’re choaking on your own blood.”
Kallan scoffed. “I don’t know? I almost died for cooking today! Fuck. I’m so sick of your negativity.”
“I’m not being negative, I just—“
“You sure as fuck are negative.”
“I’m not negative! I’m just a realist, and I just needed time.”
“For what?”
Rena paused.
“For what, Rena?”
Rena got off his bed and walked up to him like all the other times he was frustrated. He stood up as usual, but his eyes were cold, preparing to tell her off. But before he could, she placed her hands on his chest and kissed him. It felt heavenly for a split second before his chest heated up, and a pulse of energy hit his core. It was so intense it felt like his soul shot three feet out of his body, allowing him to view himself from a distance before snapping back into place.
Kallan dropped to his knees, tasting the metalic twang of blood on his lips as something… strange… carved itself onto his core. Normal people might not have noticed, but he did.
“I just needed time,” Rena whispered. “Then I couldn’t….” She turned away.
“Rena….” Kallan wheezed as she opened the door.
“I’ll be waiting for you, Kal,” Rena said. “No matter how long it takes.” She shut the door and disappeared forever. When he later looked for her, she learned that “Rena Elsca” wasn’t on the state registry—she never existed.
5
Kallan saw Master Ember the next day. He wished he could say that it was a [Wow, Kallan. You’re extremely talented, please boost our alchemy department,] meeting, but he found himself in an interrogation.
“Where’s you get that technique?” Professor Ember asked.
“I didn’t use a tech—“
“That’s a lie.”
“It’s true….” Kallan looked her in the eye. “It’s just an eight. I know it’s useless for threading, but it’s not particularly difficult.”
“Just an eight.” Ember nodded a few times, rubbing her face, pinching the brim of her nose and then looked at him, eyes fierce and bloodshot with frustration. Then her iris flashed green from a divination spell (a spell that allowed her to see essence) and said, “Clockwise circulation. Go.”
Kallan panicked and circulated conventionally. She raised an eyebrow. “Counterclockwise.” Then vertical. Vertical counter. Eight. Reverse eight. By the end, her eyes were distant, perplexed yet vibrant.
“Ma’am?” he said after a long silence.
Master Ember responded by pulling out a piece of paper and a pen.
“Can you write?”
“Yes.”
“How’s your memory?”
“Decent.”
Ember pulled out a quill and pushed an inkwell to Kallan. “You’re going to write down every person that’s antagonized you. I expect at least fifty, but I want all of them.”
Kallan’s eyes widened. “Wait…. If you do this, I going to—“
“If you don’t give me this list, I’ll see you escorted off campus by nightfall. And I’ll write every single Clan in every continent, telling them that you assaulted a first-year student.”
Kallan slouched into his chair. “Wait. Why?”
“Like it or not, you’re joining the alchemy department. It’s non-negotiable. But the moment it’s announced, all your bullies are gonna panic, and they’re going to shell out [quells] by the handful to have you killed. Because if you’re talented, you’ll get patrons, and if you get patrons, you’ll take revenge. And just like Alim, they’re gonna get suspended or expelled and barred from holding countless positions in the future. This’s a cutthroat world, Kallan, and if we don’t write letters to every single student and family warning them that they fucked up, and retaliation’s gonna be met with mass expulsions, you’ll be dead by nightfall. Even then, it’s gonna be a nightmare.” She tapped the page. “Now write.”
Kallan felt confused, conflicted, and scared, bitter that he was outting people again right after bearing the consequences of the last time—but he did it—and thank Ingara’s generosity that he did.
The next week, he showed up to an Alchemy 101 course, and he was spat on and challenged by people saying, [What? You got here on merit? Let’s see it.] He declined, they showed up, and then all his past enemies jumped in to stop them, knowing they’d get suspended if Kallan died. It kept him alive, but the hatred from his bitter protectors was lethal and laced with promises to kill him after the two-year mark ended.
Yet he didn’t despair. Talent got him into the Achemic Research Department, and it was the only thing keeping him alive. So he didn’t hold back. Turned out, boiling and stirring water in 200-gallon pots wasn’t much different than alchemy if you treated expensive herbs, fungi, and extracts like food, and with his circulation, he quickly mastered basic healing and cleansing elixirs. They weren’t much, but it was enough to win him an audience with Dean Trion—
—something extremely uncomfortable. There was smiling darkness in the woman’s eyes, expected of someone who had murdered his way up the food chain, being the seventh most powerful artiface in the Junolyx Clan and in the top twenty on the Elusisn Continent. Despite that burrowing gaze, he lavished Kallan with praise, stating, [You’ve created quite the buzz. With your unique system, the Circulation Department has been creating techniques to counter stronger opponents. You can’t research yet, but you’ve been given a sizable stipend for your time. Keep up the good work.]
Sizable stipend meant 100,000,000 golden quells. Housing cost one quell, and he earned two a month—
—he was rich.
[Unfortunately, we’re not prepared to protect you yet, so I’m forbidding you from buying or using cores until next year.]
Kallan was disheartened—but it was just one year. So he finished strong, and at the end of the year, he was given the student of the year position at the [Nalsha], the annual tournament where people could vie for higher positions in the clan. Someone challenged Dean Trion that year, so he found himself in the sky bleachers, bleachers hovering six hundred feet above Nyx Valley as Dean Trion faced off against a formidable woman named Salam More, the Master of the Elemental Magic Department. It was a fierce battle fought mostly with the two fighters flying in the sky, and it destroyed most of the valley and a nearby mountain peak. Salam created thousands of ice spears and sent them crashing down on Dean Trion; they bent, chasing after his every movement, but he used martial arts to break them. It seemed like he was just showing off until she created a fireball the size of a sun, crashing it down upon him. It hit, sending him into the forest, which burst into flames, creating a fiery hellscape that sent the crowd into a fury. Dean Trion burst out of the flames unharmed, flying into the sky and throwing invisible kinetic blasts that looked like brief distortions before the slammed into mountains, making large chunks explode. It was indeed a close battle, with Dean Trion suffering grave injuries that matched the shattered, scarred, and gashed landscape burning below, but he was soon healed. Salam More died that day—as there’s no such thing as a friendly spar. He then ripped the core out of her chest to integrate later, something that would undoubtably raise his rank. He was a monster amongst men—
—but that left Kallan excited. For the first time, he saw what he would aspire to once he learned elemental magic.
Two weeks later, the semester concluded, and Kallan could officially buy a core and gate-opening elixir to build his core and open his elemental gates to use magic. Before he did, he got an immense surprise.
“Kallan Rokus,” Master Ember said before the graduation crowd. “In light of your extraordinary achievements in alchemy and circulation, we award you the Golden Spire, the award for those who achieved something that other students have not. Not only have you proven that the reverse eight has combat applications, but you’ve inspired research to find practical applications for the technique. We expect nothing but the best for you, and for that reason, the school has decided to award you a fifth-tier gate-cleansing elixir to start off your journey of elemental magic!”
Kallan’s eyes welled with tears as he accepted the aquamarine elixir housed in a glass helix bottle stamped with the word [Synmare], denoting it was from the most prestigious elixir company in the world. It looked so small in his hands, but it had housed his dream. “Thank you,” he said to Master Ember, who looked just as stern and intimidating as the day he met her. That made him smile, but he broke down when he saw Chef Rendo and half cooking department cheering and clapping louder that the rest.
Kallan Rokus didn’t know how it happened—
—but his dream had come true. He vowed to make the most of it and reach the top—no matter what it took.
He had four hours to live.
6
Kallan returned to his [suite] after three hours of prestigious people approaching him to build favor. His housing had been upgraded. Far from the white room he had in the worker’s quarters (which housed a single cot and communal bathroom), he had a suite with a massive bath he practiced circulation in (because why not), a feather bed, and an entire room with internal arrays that allowed him to practice battle magic without destroying anything. The room was useless at present, considering that he only had one lecture in a class he was a test dummy in, but it would change next semester as part of elemental magic training.
Kallan stared at the aquamarine elixir in his hand, feeling his stomach shifting between feeling hollow and feeling too full. Seeing his bed changed that. He imagined Rena lying on his bed (just like she had for three years), complaining about how bored she was as he circulated. Rena—the woman who was somehow well known at Junolyx University but was never admitted or had classes. The ghost who the school had allegedly tried—and failed—to talk to, following her into buildings only to find she had disappeared. Rena—his friend.
He sat down in a chair facing the bed and looked at the elixir. A long period of silence followed until his emotions were raw. “I… was lucky….” He said to Rena’s ghost—praying she was listening. “There’s been a dozen expulsions, a few dozen suspensions, and fourteen people have died attacking me in the last year.” He laughed and shook his head. “Most’ve them were meant to be warnings, but with all these richies’ lives tied to my life, people’ve taken a violence first approach…. Heh. When I put it like that, luck doesn’t have anything to do with it—I’ve experienced a miracle….”
Kallan gripped the bottle and took a deep breath.
“So you were right,” Kallan said. “And I’ll be honest… I fucking hate this place. I walk into class, and people avoid me, fear me, scorn me, and spit on me behind my back. Academics sneer at me for my achievement—not knowing it’s yours—and families are eyeing me like prey. Everywhere I go, death follows, and even small recognitions for my merit are political maneuvers or scandals (depending on who you ask).” He whispered the last part with venomous emphasis. “I mean, I got a hundred million quell in some vault I can’t touch, but it’s been illegal for me to buy resources…. And now that I have an elixir and I can finally live out my dream….” Tears dripped onto his pant legs, and he took a deep, defiant breath. “All I can think about is how much I wish you were here…. Call me selfish, but I just don’t want to be so lonely anymore…. So please, Rena. Tell me where you’re waiting…. Or just come back. Please…. come back.”
Kallan sat in silence for thirty minutes before wiping his eyes and saying, “Oh well. Your butt was too small, anyway.” He chuckled and listened, praying she’d materialize out of nowhere and smack him around—but he got nothing. So he sighed. “It was worth a shot.”
He squeezed the gate-opening elixir in his hand and turned to the bathroom. “Well, it’s not gonna cleanse itself.” His heart pounded as he undressed, entered the bathroom, and used arrays on the bathtub’s floor to fill the tub with water and another to heat and sustain it at body temperature—the perfect amount to make it feel like there was no water around him.
Finally, he opened up the elixir and smelled the pungent aroma. It smelled toxic, lethal, and altogether bad for his health—just like every other form of medicine. So he sighed, took a deep breath, and swallowed it down.
7
Kallan knew something was wrong long before he swallowed the potion. It was supposed to have the tart taste of jemma berries mixed with powdered medicine—not corrosive acid. He tried to spit it out, but he swallowed the slightest amount, and his core ballooned, sending energy jutting out his limbs as he screamed. He plunged into the water—but it didn’t help. Bubbles shot up around him as he screamed underwater, and then he blacked out from the pain. Suddenly, he found himself in the courtyard with Rena, watching her tuck a lock of beautiful blue hair behind her ear. It was so vivid and real that he forgot that he was drowning.
“Hey, Kallan,” she said.
Kallan opened his mouth to answer, but his consciousness abruptly returned, and he was in the bathtub. His lungs were filling with water, so he shot up and coughed it out, only to blackout again.
He returned to that sunny summer day again, watching Rena hugging her knees on the grass with a bright smile as if nothing had happened. It was beautiful out, and he could feel the warmth from the sun on his shoulders.
“What’s up?” Kallan answered—
—but didn’t. It was his voice, but he didn’t speak it. It was a flashback—a lingering memory, frozen in time.
Rena looked at him with deceptively innocent eyes that seemed so genuine and asked. “I don’t think you were meant to be here.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your dream just feels so… wasted… here,” Rena said, gripping her knees. “I mean, even if you get what you want…. People just murder each other here. It fucking blows.”
Kallan suddenly awoke in the present when people dragged him out of the bathtub. Master Ember was there, screaming, “I don’t care how you do it—save him!” His primal instincts took over, and he wanted to survive. He tried to keep in the present, but he blinked, and he had returned. Rena was hugging her knees again, speaking about how shitty the world was.
Kallan laughed at her cute fatalism. “Yeah. It sucks.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Do you think you’re meant to be somewhere else?”
“Look. I don’t like daydreaming. Okay? This is as good as it—“
“Just answer me. If you had a chance to go somewhere else, a place where you could use magic freely without all this… bullshit… would you?”
“Of course I would.” He rolled his eyes at the audacity of the question. “Why would you even ask?”
“Even if you got your dream here?”
“You’re being annoying.” Kallan got up. “I gotta go.” Break time was over; he had to return to his shift.
Suddenly, Kallan awoke and heard a trailing voice saying, “I’m trying! He drank necrotic poison!” before blacking out again. Then he found himself walking back to Restam Hall again. Suddenly, the two worlds blended, and he realized that Rena had disappeared, he was poisoned, and he was dying. So he quickly turned back to see Rena on that grassy knoll but found himself in his bedroom instead, clutching his chest after she kissed him. Somewhere in the far distance, he heard someone asking, “Why’s it doing that?” and another replying, “I don’t know….” Yet he didn’t awake. He could still taste the metallic twang of blood and hear the sound of Rena’s breathing. The worlds were blending, and that strange rune that he felt on his core started burning hot in his chest, making him clutch at it. He tried to ask, [What… is this?] but no words came out. Instead, he looked up and saw Rena standing at his door, staring at him with lonely eyes.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” Rena had said. “No matter how long it takes.”
Kallan felt his body give out for good, and darkness clouded his eyes.
8
Kallan expected to be veiled in black velvet when his soul launched from his body or to simply cease to exist. In the event that life was just a series of trials preparing someone for a virtuous afterlife, he imagined he’d wake up in a meadow somewhere, feeling the shade of a rustling tree above him as his parents greeted him. Then, after dinner, he’d use elemental magic and say, [Damn. If I knew it’d be like this, I would’ve come here sooner,] to roars of obligatory laughter.
None of that happened. Dozens of potential options failed, and something bizarre and twisted happened instead:
Kallan Rokus lived a completely different life from birth to an equally shitty death—in a matter of seconds. It was a paradox, but Kallan was born on a different side of the world and had a peaceful life with loving, [living] parents. His name was Alivan and he had two sisters—Tira and Elam—who loved him when they were four and five, hated him when they were twelve and thirteen, and then loved him again at eighteen and nineteen. His mom cooked strange pies that tasted delicious, and his dad would fly kites with him on hilltops when he was a kid. When he was twelve, his dad taught him to fight with a sword, telling him, [If you wanna catch like your mom, you gotta be an adventurer. Girls love guys with flash.] Unfortunately, Alivan was anything but flashy. He got decent with swordsmanship, but he wasn’t talented with it. He fell behind as an adventurer and became a musician instead, a talent that barely earned him meals at taverns he played with after he got out of school. But he pursued that dream until a young woman entered the tavern he was playing at one day, and he fell in love at first sight. Her name was Raign, and she was unreasonably beautiful for an adventurer—a very pertinent detail. Since Alivan didn’t know his place, he struck up a conversation and made her giggle. It turned out that she was an adventurer waiting for a party member. Then, a lot of conflict, drama, and uncertainty later, Alivan found himself traveling with their party. He carried twice their packs, held his own in battle against non-spirit beasts, and played the party music at night to the chagrin of a famous tournament artiface named Trovai Iska, who Alivan knew hated him but thought was reliable enough. Everyone loved Alivan’s music and cooking, if slightly jealous of his blossoming relationship with Raign, and lavished him with praise—something Trovai didn’t like. But Trovai kept his smile until an opportunity came up. A new dungeon was recently discovered, and he suggested they go. It was a high-level dungeon that countless artifaces would go to, so Raign and the team said they weren’t ready, but the Trovai released a devastating strike that carved the countryside without a scratch and said, [You’ve got me. A few days of me holdin’ the team, and you’ll all be five times as powerful.] Raign disagreed, but, naturally, Alivan wanted to gain the power to stand at Raign's side, as was only natural for men in this world and the next. And so they traveled for two months of fields and rock and stream until they reached an excavation sight with thousands of people—only to find that the dungeon was closed off. The mysterious stone steps left behind by the ancients had partially collapsed, and full sections had been cut off after the second floor. Luckily, the dungeon crew was only a few weeks away from breaking through to the third floor when they arrived, so the group said they’d stay. As they were prepping, Alivan his other party members that he planned to propose to Raign after he obtained his first cleansing herbs, allowing him to start his journey with magic. Trovai heard and abruptly said it was a wonderful idea and said they should scour the first two floors for something that Alivan distrusted. Each floor of the dungeon was like a doughnut, with the center being a well that extended downward into a pitch-black abyss. Still, Raign signed off, so he went, too, and that’s when disaster struck. He was hanging out with the group when a random worker asked him to check out something, wanting to have a fresh pair of eyes on something near the well. He went—and fifty feet from the well (he was deathly afraid of heights), he was jumped by a man who requested his eyes and a woman. They dragged him to the edge as the man said, [It’s nothing personal, kid. But the money’s too good to refuse.] They threw him over the edge, where he fell at least five feet before hitting a ledge with a sickening crack—
—and darkness clouded his eyes.
Then he woke up.
[Who] woke up was up for debate because when Kallan opened his eyes, he found himself in a bed of flowers—bone fragments sticking out of his body—covered in blood. If he had to guess by his situation and the overwhelming pain, he’d guess Alivan. Judging by the pure, unadulterated angst and callous hatred he felt after dying twice—fucking twice!—in an evening, he’d guess he was Kallan. Whoever he was, he was supposed to be dead from a two-hundred-foot (or greater) plunge into oblivion, but somehow he was alive—
—and screaming.
Kallan blacked out from the pain.
An unknown period of time passed before he woke up again—if he woke up at all. In his delirious state, he would’ve sworn he heard [Rena] saying, “You think he could’ve poisoned him or something, come on,” before falling victim to sleep again.
When he next awoke, he forgot he heard anything at all.