In the common room of the Scribal Branch, a pin could’ve dropped and no one would have been the wiser. The enchanted heaters were on low, the overworked coffee machine finally remained idle and the scholars were absent. It was, by all means, the most silent it could be.
Ears, eyes and everything in between, however, were trained on the ongoing cards game stationed at the coffee table. Both players revealed their hands, and the Auricean girl on the opposite side of Charlee winced. “A loss. Again.”
Hoots wracked the atelier, many taking the time to clap Charlee on the shoulders.
Val shook her head. “Can’t be beaten.”
“Why try,” the Auricean girl wondered aloud, gathering the deck. “Why even try.”
“You never know,” Charlee chuckled. “I’m going to the Initiation hoping for an easy day. We all know how likely that is.”
“Good luck with that,” the girl scoffed. “Anyone else here joining Charles?”
“I am.”
“Same.”
“Easy hours.”
“You look confused and somehow frustrated over there, Val,” Charlee pointed out.
Heads turned in her direction, yet she couldn’t reign in the indignation tilting her eyebrows downwards and turning her lips into a frown. “It’s—I don’t know.”
Val raised her hands in exasperation. “I’m just tired of not understanding anything. Almost every conversation I’ve had so far involves me becoming lost and I’m just not used to that, I guess.”
“And that’s okay.” Charlee planted a supportive hand on her shoulder. “Just continue to ask and eventually, one day, you’ll be the one to answer.”
Lips pursed, she gave a heavy nod. “Well, I’m pretty sure you can guess my question.”
“The Initiation isn’t anything crazy,” one of them said. “Merely a ceremony to welcome incoming Artificers across the city. It’s a one-day thing.”
“People tend to invite a lot of others,” Charlee added. “Therefore, a need for hands on deck.”
“The Initiation is a wonderful event. I truly hope you’ll be a part of it once Monember rolls by,” another expressed, elderly and hoarse. Gazes veered over Val’s head and the surrounding company froze, quick to bow their heads.
She whirled around at the person in question, shooting to her feet. “Master Winsford.”
Fingers laced at the ridge of his spine, his perfectly-cut tweed suit adjusted crisply to his movement out of the room. “With me, Valory.”
“Good luck,” Charlee whispered. Val tapped her shoulder in passing, rushing after the bony stature of the experienced enchanter.
An explosion of sound rattled her eardrums as the pair entered the crowded hub, with scarcely any legroom available. Master Winsford didn’t flinch, wasting not a second free to teach. “Enchantments, like most things, are divided into levels—grades.”
His words settled as a path split itself before him, adventurers taking the time to conduct a mage’s bow. “At ease,” he assured them, a soft smile expressing his goodwill. Eyes soon traveled from the prominent enchanter to the student deemed good enough to snag a spot beside him.
Val decided to focus on the journey to one of the walls, ornamented by hanging talismans as if shoes at a department store. He summoned a pile of books at a moment’s notice, dumping it onto his student’s unprepared hands. “I suggest you read these. Get a feel for the grades and enlighten yourself on how to climb the ranks as Artificer.”
She nudged one open using the tip of her chin, labeled The Shallow Plane of Enchantments. According to the contents, there were nine grades of enchantments, split into three planes: the Shallow Plane, the Mid Plane and the Deep Plane.
Master Winsford eyed the bottom rack and plucked a red-ribboned G1 scroll. “Razor Edge: Sharpens the blade temporarily,” he said, reading the tag dangling off it. “Based on the description, can you tell which type of enchantment is at work?"
It’s only strengthening what’s present, Val observed. "Operative?"
"Correct.” His lips curled up. “And how useful would it be in battle?"
She glanced at the texts in her hands. "According to the book—"
"I asked you."
Val's head snapped up. His brown eyes had a weight to them, and she couldn't help but flee them. Adventurers in the vicinity lingered, taking more than what she'd call a polite glance. It felt like school all over again—a teacher picks on a student and the class swerves their attention unto the unfortunate soul.
It tickled at her the edges of her comfort zones, prompting her to ask one question. Why here? This test could've easily been done in his office, free of the buzz of chatter and the terribly hidden looks in their direction. He's up to something.
Either way, an answer was required, so she spoke. "My guess? Not that much.”
"Precisely. Scrolls under G3 are lightweight. Helpful, yet not life-changing in most situations—and profitable." He cut across the scribal center, towards the foyer. “Many want to have a piece of the pie, but few can become Apprentices. The requirements dictate one be able to inscribe a G1 enchantment. Any type meets the conditions.”
Juggling four tome-like books, she chased after his heels.
“Unfortunately, nothing exists for an enchanter more difficult than their first operational rune,” he lectured, rolling a hand at the elevator.
Val accepted the invitation and stepped into its transparent confinements. “How difficult are we talking here?”
“One in two so-called Apprentices, well, never enchant.” He unloaded the textbooks off her hands, the weights disappearing into a storage ring.
“Master?” she questioned, unsure she heard correctly. Fifty percent?
“These numbers are the least of your concerns and so are these books. They’ll be waiting for you after class.” He smiled, pressed the ground floor button, and backed away. “Have fun in there.”
Val slowly nodded her gratitude as the doors closed. Save for the company of soft-yellow particles, she was alone with her spiraling thoughts. In the action of whisking a hand through her hair, her ink-formed ring caught her attention.
Tapping the dormant artifact on her finger, a small screen the size of a palm extended out of the top, creating a holographic window. After leafing through the pamphlet she received long ago, she spotted a few handy features packaged in the auxiliary functions.
Wielder Info
Aether Strand Count: 11/11
0/16 Nodes Open
Aether Channel Density: N/A
Soulstake and Channel Fusion [Error: Unable to occur]
LOCKED
LOCKED
LOCKED
Her ASC refused to budge despite her greatest efforts.
Focus and determination may get her through the impossible, but little could be done to push through the inevitable. Every five seconds she had been shaken back to reality, unable to recede into the same level of concentration prior. Sure, she’d made progress, if decimals counted.
Reminders dogged her every step as her fellow recruits swiftly approached one hundred. Got a while to go.
Ignoring the extra information displayed, Val tapped the crown of the ring and the monitor vanished. The elevator dinged, inviting her to the ground floor. Butterflies bloomed in her stomach as she thought about the lesson today. The main topic?
Spells.
----------------------------------------
Val ran.
Casting a glance behind the shoulder, she gulped as voracious dogs made of clouds bounded at her heels, mist-like saliva dripping out of their gaping maws. Refocusing on the path ahead, she ignored her screaming muscles—aching at the stress of lugging around an anvil-like pack—and kept up her pace.
They’d changed rooms today and instead of the spotless, near-edgeless white of the EC-room, a narrow chamber of stone confined her choice of options. The other end of the room looked to be miles away, though she wasn’t complaining.
More time to escape.
Adjacent to her, Alfred shouted a curse, collapsing to the ground and clutching his calves. The cloudhounds were merciless, barking as they leaped onto him in droves. He fell into a violent coughing fit as they surrounded him, yelling for help for as long as he could. A deafening silence overcame him ten seconds in, motionless and still.
Val kept her pace, her combat boots tapping on the hard floor. A crack in the stone caught the tip of her toe and she tumbled to the ground. Her heart dropped so far into her stomach, it stayed in her gut. Heavens.
The beasts’ eyes seemed to gleam as their next meal drew nearer. She threw her arms up as a last line of defence, hoping that it’d be enough with nothing else on her to help.
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“Time!” Instructor Hawke thundered. In an instant, her summons disappeared with a flash of light. Falling over onto her back, Val’s listless gaze found the stone ceiling, ornamented by giant shards of luminous crystals. Too close for comfort.
“You all are weak," Instructor Hawke appraised. The brunette stripped her glasses and hollow irises stared back at the students, narrowed and fierce, but lifeless. Clambering her way to a stand, Val paused. Was she…?
"Let this serve as a reminder of how easy you are to kill." Like her dogs, the instructor's words were void of leniency. “Rid yourself of any lingering arrogance at passing the Tripartite Trial. Realize you have a long way to go and use that anger like fuel as you embark on the struggles of casting.”
During the lecture, the trainees picked themselves up, collected their luggage and circled her, a burning desire for payback evident on their faces.
“I like those eyes.” Instructor Hawke grinned. “It’ll carry you through the month.”
Nebulous limbs of clouds wriggled about behind her, flimsy papers gripped at the ends. Moving about, a cloud extremity passed Val an object under her confused gaze, as well as the others.
“Sand Confluence,” Caro muttered beside her, eyes flickering back and forth as she read the paper in her hand.
“These are spellsheets,” she told the group. “Since we haven’t run the Discipline Corridor as of yet, the definite discipline you’re tailored to is unknown. I’m using my knowledge to estimate which discipline you might be inclined to. Be wary of mistakes.”
Mistakes how? Val wondered. What would be the repercussions?
“To make my life easier, all those with the subtitles invocation or manipulation, step to the left of the room,” she instructed. “Everyone else, get going. Now!”
“Last one to cast buys dinner?” Val raised an eyebrow at her friend.
Caro grinned. “Hell yeah, you’re on.”
The girls fist-bumped and split. It was hard to find a corner inside a room lacking ends, but Val made it her task to venture toward the distant walls. She wanted no distractions to trouble her first steps to becoming a full-fledged mage.
So, putting the breathing techniques learned yesterday to use, she crouched down into a comfortable position and looked down at the spellsheet in her grasp.
{Conjuration} [Metal] Tier 1 — Metal Orb
Type: Utility
→ an orb made of the mage’s bound metal.
Core Hex Criterion
Offence:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Defence:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Agility:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Malleability:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Health:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Special Effects:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Minor Hex Criterion
Range: N/A
Incantation Tempo: Untroubled
Energy Required: 5 AS
Val frowned. Zero points in all categories.
Disappointing couldn’t begin to describe her thoughts on the Tier 1 ability. Though let down by the sheet in her hand, she shrugged it off. A spell’s a spell. At the end of the day, she couldn't complain. Yet, every time she was on the verge of subsuming the spellsheet, Instructor Hawke’s flashy tracksuit would ward her focus.
On the left-hand side, she visited each trainee, summoning items like a terra cotta full of roses for Novice Greene to a Tupperware bowl packed with sand at Caro’s feet. Val strained her ears, narrowly catching the instructor's words through the blasts of spells starting to fill the room.
“Invocation and manipulation are directive,” she said. “They are the sole parts of the Magic Disciplines that require the element to be present to cast a spell under its influence.”
That’s interesting. The fact alone made those disciplines deadly in areas burdened by a certain component, but also dependent on them.
“Get to work, Novices.” Instructor Hawke left them be and, to Val’s shock, began walking in her direction. She scrambled to appear focused, attention returning to the paper in her hands.
“Save the act, I know you were listening in,” Instructor Hawke said, passing another tea-stained paper. “Here’s the spell you’d want to have in your spell cache. I gave the first as a test run that, it seems, you didn’t attempt.”
“Apologies, ma’am.”
She waved it away. “Your tool’s taken the shape of a blade,” she glanced at the dark ring, “which leads me to believe you’re inclined to the offensive disciplines in contrast to the others.”
Val tensed.
“Relax. I’m on the committee,” she said. “Focus on casting for now.”
Throwing the lady a long side glance, Val observed the spellsheet in her hands.
{Conjuration} [Metal] Tier 1: Metal Spike
Type: Combative — Offensively-skewed
→ an enhanced version of a metal orb, sharpened at its front to give it a boost in speed and piercing. Note: since conjured, it is harder to mould while the spell is live.
Core Hex Criterion
Offence:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Defence:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Agility:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Malleability:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Health:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Special Effects:
❙❙❙❙❙❙
Minor Hex Criterion
Range: Linear, Close-ranged
Incantation Tempo: Standard
Energy Required: 10 AS
The difference in spells was glaring. Four points in offence and one in agility would serve her sufficiently next time cloudhounds ever wanted a bite out of her. She winced at the energy cost. That’s practically all my reserves.
“Get to it, Novice Efron.”
Val turned to respond to her instructor, only to find her across the stone chamber. “Novice Flamesworth, control yourself!”
“Sorry, ma’am!”
She was gone from her presence in a blink. Yeah, I’ll never get used to that.
Shaking off the bizarre use of magic, Val concentrated on the one thing she wanted to do since she could walk: cast a spell.
“Absorb,” she whispered. A flash of pink enveloped the sheet in her hands and information streamed into her brain. Foreign words pranced on her tongue as if spoken thousands of times. Parts of the incantations became as known as the notes in the songs she strummed on the guitar, aspects that took months in some cases to learn.
Val winced at the oddity. The experience was somehow familiar yet she couldn’t quite place her finger on where it could have occurred. Letting the matter drop, she honed in on the new words embedded in her brain, like a distant dream she had trouble remembering until someone unveiled it.
Her lips quivered with anticipation as she muttered the incantation under her breath. “Metal Spike!”
Head swerving for any indication of success, she frowned at the appearance—or rather, the lack of appearance—of the spell. Air full of nothing greeted her, furrowing her brow.
An episode of convulsing discomfort racked her torso and she dry-heaved. Thankfully, nothing more came out than a monster-like gasp.
Caro was by her side in a moment, rubbing circles on her back. “Holy shit, Val you good?”
“I’ve… I’ve been better.”
“Shit,” Caro cursed once more. “Those rebounds are vicious.”
“Tell me about it.” Val inhaled deeply, glad the pain seemed to be clearing out.
Metal Spike seemed to be an ounce too high for her level. With a grateful nod toward her friend, she bled out the rest of the rebound with a jolt to the body. “You didn’t get one? A rebound?”
“Sorry to shit on your parade, but…” Caro grinned and opened a hand, grains of sand laying along the creases of her palm. “Guess you’re buying.”
“Dug that hole myself, didn't I?” Val received a smirk as an answer and she shoved Caro away. “Shoo!”
“I want roast pork!” Caro called over the shoulder, jogging to a space of her own.
Val stifled a smile, focusing on within. An amateur new to expending energy, she found it hard to wager how much aether remained without the help of her artifact. Half, right?
As someone who’d always rather be safe than sorry, she took a seat in a lotus position and rested her laced fingers upon her lap. Glimmering particles of blue light gravitated toward her as she breathed. Before long she was filled to the brim, ready to give casting a second shot.
A spell was a command—a candid order to an element. Interwoven into it were little steps to complete what was desired, frames. Val broke them apart, memorizing the mystical syllables and comprehending what goes next and why.
In her mind’s eye, positioned far in the distance, a floating gate demanded presence, demanded to be known. Taking her time to weave her will into something it could grasp onto, she pulled out the desired shape. “Metal Spike!”
As soon as Val finished the last syllable, a headache hammered at her skull like a smith striking an ore into shape. Hissing at the pain, she let the rebound take its course. Again.
Deciding to cast the spell with the length of only one frame, Val said, “Metal Orb!”
Her head rested between her legs as she rode the next wave of the rebound. Again.
“Metal Orb!”
Another headache. Val sipped at the bottle Caro handed her and dashed it aside. Again.
“Metal Orb!”
Nothing.
A spell she’d held a cup’s worth of disdain was kicking the absolute crap out of her, refusing to be cast. Anxiousness unraveled internally at the indication of struggling at the basics—a step before the basics. Fireballs were being hurled above her, others strained to stretch their elemental shields, and she sat defeated by the Metal Orb.
She thought herself ready, primed to deliver the four-framed Metal Spike on the first go. Failure there was acceptable, she ran before she walked. How about the one-framed spell? If that gave her the same difficulty, what of the later spells with ten frames? Twenty?
Val curled up into a ball at the prospect.
She was tired of knowing nothing, of lacking the tools to solve her problems.
Despite it only being week one, she was tired of playing catch-up. As the prodigy of Vexal Prep, she’d been the one to lead. To put in twice the effort as her peers and receive a quarter everyone else was reaping was absurd and she was tired of it.
Tired of it all.
Yet, Life’s Hymn needed finding. The ingredients weren't going to collect themselves. The more she searched, the more she understood that power brought status, and status earned luxury. She couldn't care less about the money or comfort, but the luxury of connections was what would get her Mom’s cure.
And with that, Val rose. Again.