The heavy metal hand was only a sliver of the original creation but it was more than Otis would be able to handle for now. Although he’d had remarkably quick success in identifying that the materials had been compressed through mana, he wouldn’t be so quick to understand other processes let alone discover how to replicate the feats of engineering.
Tiera smiled softly as she watched Otis become consumed with the remnants of the automaton. Moments like this were sorely missing from The Veil. There were young mages born within The Veil but it was rare to have had the time to help aid their progress if it wasn’t your specialism. Oracles and fateseers who had a passion for teaching and had dedicated themselves to such a cause lay the foundation of large sects but they were in short supply. Already a niche within a niche, these individuals were fate-bound to certain skills and temperaments. They’d taken on the name of ‘fatebuilders’, as they could feel the tug of fate and guide mages to build on the connections they had most fate with.
This foundation within The Veil was withered after the last attack. Whilst the best oracles and fateseers were able to limit their casualties in the last attack on The Veil they had lost their fair share of people. The attacks had butchered every sect, the blacksmiths had lost their most prestigious members and the fatebuilders had lost many of their rank and file; the knock-on effects were very similar. The blacksmiths would have to rediscover lost knowledge, skill paths, and efficient ways of working whereas fatebuilders had the knowledge but didn’t have the time to train up the rank and file.
Now that there was Otis to keep safe, Tiera felt a sense of normality return to the sect. Watching a harmonious union of mages all working towards enhancing their abilities had enthralled her in her youth. As fatigued as she was, she felt the experience soothe her mind.
“I can really keep it?” Otis asked.
Tiera was about to respond but something caught her eye. It was polished and refined, the small corner she could see poking out from the folds of Otis’ duvet was like someone had frozen liquid metal as in some kind of mesh formation.
“Hey, what’s that?”
“This? I made it. I found a couple of old nails in the Smithy and made it trying to figure out what my skill could do. It would have been nice to put more together though, I found bits and pieces that could have made it a whole lot more.”
Enhanced, Tiera’s senses could pick out all the smallest details of the sculpture. Although her sight wasn’t as good as a scout or long-range class, her duelling abilities lent certain buffs to her senses, useful for quick reflex observations over minute muscle fibres. What she saw stopped her in her tracks for a minute.
The sheer level of proficiency was astounding for someone so new to their craft. It would have taken an ordinary talent months to be able to entertain the idea of creating something to produce something like this. Otis had increased the size of the sculpture by using a mesh-like formation. He reduced the expenditure by allowing mana to manipulate the metal through pathways of least resistance. He’d forced impurities within the metal out, creating a shine but also allowing him to better craft the metal with less mana wastage. Whether it was all natural talent or the effect of being in a world without magic that made Otis more adaptable in his thinking, this was an astounding effort.
There had always been rumours about late bloomers. People had said that these individuals were blessed with more power and talent, but it was astonishing that Otis would be so quick to grasp such key concepts.
“I probably should have tried to make something that might keep me a bit safer but it just kind of happened. I rather not get jumped like la-”
“It’s gorgeous, Otis. It’s intricate and well thought through, you should be proud.”
Tiera made the mental note to keep a closer eye on the boy and to schedule another visit to the Smithy. The sect didn’t have the time or manpower to devote to monitoring Otis but at least she could gather some information about his progress. She expected it to be immense.
“So, you sure I can keep it?” Otis asked again, knocking Tiera from her thoughts.
“You better, that’s good metal I bargained for. Besides, if you’re ever going to get strong enough to help the sect you’ll need to be stronger than this,” Tiera said jokingly, wiggling her fingers at him.
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“I think I’m going to need a lot more mana to do anything,” Otis grimaced. “How am I supposed to get better, anyway? The pamphlet didn’t say anything.”
“Absolutely not, little earthling,” Tiera smiled, “you’ve got to figure that out for yourself. There’s never been a strong mage, who’s been given all the answers.”
“But…”
“I’ll have another mission to get to soon, so I’ve got to get some shut-eye too, alright.”
Nearly killed, yanked from the world he knew, and left to his own devices, Otis only felt more overwhelmed. Why hadn’t anyone told him anything? The fact that he still wasn’t entirely sure where he was or what The Veil was was grating on Otis’ mind. There was only so much he could be distracted before his thoughts wandered back to his house, his deposit that was definitely lost, and he’d no way of letting his grandfather know he wasn’t dead, trafficked, or worse.
“Tiera, you’ve got to tell me something, though?” Otis croaked, “I’ve got to know…”
She had grown up here, she was respected here, and she’d become part of the higher echelons. Looking at Otis’ wide-eyed, desperate, expression she realised that he didn’t have the privilege of knowing what any of this was. He knew the cursory pieces of information he’d been given and that was all he could possibly know. Less than ten hours into this new life and he was starting to crack. Otis was trying but this wasn’t his world and from the profile she’d gotten from the oracles before her rescue mission, he’d not had it easy there either.
“Otis… Look, there’s just not that much I can tell you at the moment. You level up more and… maybe, but right now there’s not much I can tell you.”
As it sunk, Otis realised he’d be stuck in a place he didn’t know with people who didn’t want to know him. It made sense that The Veil would demand something for the safety it provided him, loyalty and eventually a soldier or supportive mage would be useful to them. He could just as easily have been tricked though. Tiera made it seem like everything was carnage on Earth but that field of compressed space could have been staged and acted, everything an illusion. Whatever they told him would be indisputable anyway. Otis briefly wondered if this is how people under Stalin had felt, everyone only knowing what they were told to believe.
“Can I at least get a message to my grandpa? He’ll think I’m dead…”
Tiera shifted awkwardly on her feet. It dawned on her that the intricacies of the world she’d grown up in weren’t immediately obvious to outsiders. Mages had operated on Earth for as long as it had been a viable source of new mages but their presence was entirely covert.
“No one thinks you're dead Otis,” Tiera smiled. “The field of compressed space did manipulate a specific area of reality but in order to pull you in we created a separate layer, like a replica world around you. The initial recon and oracle squads that act in tandem would know more about it but if we’d have had the time we would have observed you and got a proper baseline for your talents.”
“So what, nothing was actually destroyed? No one knows I’m missing…?”
Otis had a thousand-yard stare. He was further away from everything he’d ever known. He’d been worried that his grandfather would be scared, that there would be pandemonium about a house in Liverpool imploding. Instead, life went on. No one knew he was missing. There was every possibility that he wasn’t even on Earth anymore and no one knew… it was terrifying.
“I mean yeah, but at least no one’s worried. There’s a lot of scary stuff in the world that it would probably be better if they didn’t know about. Stuff that, right now, you couldn’t dream of protecting them from.” Tiera levelled her gaze on Otis, her demeanour suddenly more serious, “if you want to get help them, if you want to help yourself, you have to get stronger.”
“But how? How do I do that? I’m pretty sure I’m still level one and I don’t know what I’m doing, Tiera!”
“I can’t-”
“Why not?!”
“I can’t tell you how it works specifically for you,” Tiera paused, “but think, what would you do if you can’t up your level?”
Otis thought for a moment, the wheels of cognition grinding back up. He’d had so much to think about about his first creation. Slowly, churning through the fatigue that weighed against him he fought to slip back into this previous stream of thought. He had to focus.
“I guess, if I couldn’t upgrade my level generally, I’d focus on improving smaller things. Maybe, I could improve my fundamental physical and mental stats as well as other skills. Maybe, if I did something major enough, I could unlock specific… what did it call them… characteristics.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Tiera soothed.
It wasn’t much to go on. He didn’t know how to improve himself or his skills. He didn’t know how to measure his progress or how long it would take to improve any one aspect of himself or his skills but it was something. Thinking back to the Greek myth of Pandora’s Box, he understood why it was so important that hope was left. This iota of information was enough to keep him going. There was no set path, no guidance, and a definite threat of dying prematurely but it was the hope of something more that would keep him going.
“It’s a lot to take in right now, but it will get better. I know it’s not easy right now but try your best.”
Tiera began to weave through the forest of bunk beds, “looking forward to seeing what you can do, Earthling,” she called out as she left Otis in his thoughts.
Mulling back over everything, the attack of the automaton, his rescue, Thescene, his first use of mana, all of it. For the first time in a long time, Otis felt the burning desire to accomplish something. He would show Tiera what he could do. He would show Thescene that he had more than a couple of brain cells. He would show this new world what he could do. Finally, he had an idea of what to do.
Focusing his mind, Otis placed his sculpture on his pillow and made his way back to the smithy; he had work to do.