Sorrinn returned to The Place Within the morning of the next day. He had to take a breather in the blue meadow once he was there. His brain was so full from everything he learned the day prior. He went in so hard with practicing his letters, he was already starting to envision his inner monologue in Human Common characters instead of English. Albeit it was still in that awkward phase where what he was learning and what he knew clashed in the middle and jumbled themselves, giving him a headache if he thought too deeply about it. That was a good sign. Even the few words of Elven Common he learned were already imprinting themselves in his brain. Toddler neuroplasticity wasn’t a joke.

Once he had his head on straight, he returned to the site of his mystic wealth to investigate the nine channels. As he suspected, each bore varying depths and widths as a reflection of affinity. His Creation channel was the widest and deepest by a considerably broad margin. It could slurp up all of the wealth capacity he had at present and be nowhere near overfilling. Three others were fairly deep as well, but didn’t have the same level of width his Creation channel had. The rest looked functional, like he had a nice amount of route options, albeit shallower than they were deep. It was a shame he didn’t know which schools belonged to which channels aside from Creation.

His plate was starting to fill up between learning to read and write, how to speak Elven Common, proliferating his wealth capacity, and exercising his mystic manipulation. For the sake of keeping things tidy, he decided to schedule his time day-by-day. His greatest priority was Lua’s task—learning the minor spells and mastering them. He was thinking about spell training five days a week while learning to read the remaining two. Learning and mastering the four spells would hone his skills of mystic manipulation too—a two-in-one. Then once he was satisfied with his progress with Lua’s homework, he’d try to balance out mystic manipulation and meditative stimulation to keep his Arcana growth chugging. And his Intelligence would continue to develop as he studied Elven Common.

That said, he stepped back into the physical world. He was still in his bed. He’d awoken, then dove into The Place Within, never bothering to move. His focus for the day was moving mystic energy through the pathways Lua highlighted. It was still dawn, breakfast was a long way off, and that could be accomplished where he was, so he chose to remain cozy, curled up in the soft fleece of his covers. A comfortable smile adorning his face, he snuggled up, closed his eyes as he cast his senses into his focus, and began working on charting those new pathways.

Things went well. Since he then grasped how the process worked, it went many times smoother the second time. The biggest rule was: No matter how much progress was made along a specific route or how familiar with it he became, always approach it with one-hundred percent focus. That way, if for some reason the rate of flow were to stagger or be disrupted, he wouldn’t forfeit any progress from being caught sleeping when a hundred pounds was abruptly stacked onto a fifty-pound weight.

The hours flowed by. Sorrinn sojourned downstairs once the scent of grilling meat permeated the house, the first to reach the table. Then he was right back upstairs in his bedroom after breakfast, pressing his nose to the grindstone. Under that routine, the days passed by. He had his lessons with Orrillimmirr on those two days dedicated to language study. After those two days, it was back to mystic manipulation training.

The first time suffusing energy through the spell routes was the most painful part by far. It wasn’t funny at all. It was so painstakingly slow, arduous, and demanded such a sheer quantity of prolonged concentration, it was absurd. That was, if he was serious about learning the spells in a timeframe which permitted him an adequate window to explore their capabilities before the two months’ end. If he wasn’t dedicating entire sixteen-hour days—wake to sleep—to it, he could imagine the process of permeating a singular minor spell route from start to finish in one go would take upwards of a month by itself—if not more.

Repeated introductions of mystic energy to specific spell routes allowed the energy to flow through quicker each time. Those first steps into the world of magic were like trying to run whilst waist deep in mud by design—a gargantuan barrier of entry barricading the true potential and liberation of the mystic arts from the undevout. Everything was a trial, he was beginning to discern. Once those pathways started to become easier to navigate, permitting him to truly explore new route variations and potentially discover new spells, that image was what kept him resolute in his conviction to pursue the arts. Before that golden image, he wanted to plunge into the depths of magic more than anything else.

The days he spent at the dining table with Orrillimmirr became like recovery days to let his mystic wealth settle. His Arcana was increasing from all of the long days of training, so his mystic capacity was increasing too. He wasn’t sure if it was like muscle-training, where too much could cause harm. Better safe than sorry, he figured.

Some days, he woke up in the morning to his mystic wealth permeating his pathways by subconscious force alone, he’d gotten so enmeshed in the process.

The weeks continued falling by. It was obvious then Lua was simultaneously gauging his talent while also instructing him. Two months felt like, if he were anyone else, it’d be too little time to manage anything meaningful. Enough to get halfway decent with a single minor spell maybe. He was only able to make the progress he did because he happened to have reached The Place Within before his birth, allowing him to study the grand mechanism with his own eyes. For the average person, however, they were driving through fog with the windshield blacked out, hoping for the best handing the wheel to a greater power.

Sorrinn managed to suffuse each of the four spell routes once from wealth to surface in the first month. The fact the flame Creation spell shared most of its pathing with the spell The Mystic Force guided him through helped immensely. Days worth of hours were spared for that fact alone, and he reached the finish line for that spell ten-times as quick as the others.

He spent an extra week after that doing repeat suffusions through the established pathways to further boost their permeation efficiency as much as possible. The goal was to be able to conjure the spells without delay due to needing to concentrate on directing them first. That was the only means in which those spells would become viable tools. If he needed to concentrate for five minutes to evoke a spell while someone was rushing him with a knife, they were worthless as tools and his throat would have been slashed five minutes ago. He may as well have picked up a sword, at that point.

*Bing* *Bing* *Bing* *Bing*

[+3! Arcana has increased to 38!

[+1! Intelligence has increased to 58!]

[+1! Wisdom has increased to 46!]

[+2! Dexterity has increased 19!]

It was in the second week of the second month that he decided to shift from optimizing mystic flow to making a practical effort. But first, he was curious about one thing.

That morning, Maeve was up earlier than usual. She was helping some lumberjack-looking man with a godly, auburn-hued beard put the finishing touches on the storeroom’s wall. The damage was so extensive, it was easier to demolish the old wall and build a new one. They’d been filling the house with quite the raucous ruckus the last few weeks as a group of men took stone hammers to the damaged wall, brought it down, cleaned up the edges pretty, and installed the replacement wall brick by brick, panel by panel. It appeared they were done. He could finally roam his house without getting slapped by a smotheringly daddish joke about how such a small person caused such gaping damage for the nth time. The man named Ferguson installed the segmented, circular pane into the vacant space where the window once was to finish the job. It was like Sorrinn had never committed arson.

He ran up to his mother and tugged at her shirt dress as she cleaned up some of the debris from the construction. “Mama?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

She focused on him, inquiring through the arching of her brows.

“How do you do magic with an instrument?”

Smiling, she gave his little chin a loving squeeze. “Sorry, lovely, but I honestly have no idea. It's how Mama’s always channeled her magic. I don’t know any other way.”

So Maeve had never used gestures and body motion at all to actualize her spells. That poured more questions in than it fished them out. Was he stuck using gestures and motions because it was the first actualization method he dipped his toe into? If so, that was unfortunate. He was hoping to be able to bypass the gesturing part entirely to save on cast time.

It was as it was. Bypassing the gestures would only save him decimals on the second once he fell into the flow of them, anyway.

Speaking of gestures, he didn’t know the ones which actualized his spells. All of that path-optimizing was pointless without the part that brought the phenomena into existence.

After breakfast, he asked if Orrillimmirr could take him to Lua’s house so he could finish the puzzle. But his father declined because, according to him, the woman hadn’t finished the puzzle by intention. It was another test. If he truly did inherit the mantle of the Luminary of Creation, The Mystic Force would shepherd him to his destination once he’d climbed the mountain.

Made sense, he supposed. All of the tests were getting tiring though.

When Asammirr headed out to do whatever he did with his days, Sorrinn walked at his heels. He was banned from using magic indoors—understandably. Wherever his older brother ended up was to be his training grounds for the next three weeks.

Asammirr didn’t make a fuss about it, but he was evidently perplexed, glancing over at his little brother where he sauntered beside him. “Why are you following me? You coming to play with me and my friends?” He didn’t sound too opposed to the idea, to Sorrinn’s surprise. Older brothers never wanted anything to do with their little brothers. He never caught the sense Asammirr was super interested in him. Asammirr made like a ghost the moment breakfast was over the majority of days and hadn’t seemed all that close with Maeve or Orrillimmirr. Not any closer than an average son, anyway. Maybe he was wrong. He was still only four, and he’d only gotten on the other side of his blackouts recently. It could’ve been that he was waiting for Sorrinn to grow up more.

“Nope,” Sorrinn answered as he swung his arms at his sides. “Mama says I have to go with you if I want to practice magic.”

If Asammirr had liquid in his mouth, it would’ve all come gushing out through his nose, he was so shocked. “Huh!? When could you use magic!?”

“When I— Uhm, when I made a fire and it went,”—Sorrinn animatedly threw up both arms overhead, doing a hopping spin—“BOOM! BWAH! and burned a hole through the wall. And I went WOOSH! AHH! THUNK! CRASH! and I almost, uhm, would have died but Mama saved me.” He expressed all of that in a series of exaggerated hand and body movements, hopping, skipping, bouncing, and throwing himself left and right as he flailed his arms like he was an animated character. He had to clutch the side of his head after the matter. He was having PTSD flashbacks. “It was very stressful. I need— I needed a nap.”

“You were the one who did that!?” Asammirr split his sides laughing a beautiful, belly-trembling sound. He shot Sorrinn a thumbs-up amidst it. “Nice. You must be pretty good then. I never understood all of that magic stuff Papa’s always yapping about. I guess I’m no good at it like you.” His features lit up. “Hey, you have to show my friends the spell you used to blow up our house! They’ll all be so jealous my little brother is cooler than their little siblings.”

Those ears were a pair of satellite antennas communicating with orbit. Sorrinn was pressing X to doubt Asammirr lacked mystic aptitude. He was only a Half-elf and looked more Elf-like than their full-blooded Elf father. He probably just hadn’t found his method yet, the same way Maeve couldn’t cast spells without actualizing it through an instrument.

Sorrinn shook his head. “No, I have to practice. Later maybe.” He held up a lone finger to emphasize, “Maybe.”

“Okay, don’t forget.” Asammirr’s hands joined behind his back as he inched onto his toes, flashing that mountain-moving smile his little brother’s way. The passing breeze made his back-length, high pony-tailed hair dance a graceful motion behind him. “It’s a promise.” He skipped ahead once. “By the way, what have you and Papa been doing so much with all of those books?”

Sounded about right. It was bathe, dinner, then crash when he made it home. He had no clue what was going on with anything.

“Paba’s teaching me how to read and write,” Sorrinn proudly declared, chin notched upward.

Asammirr blew an incredulous trill over his lips. “I really need to stay home one day. I’m missing everything. How didn’t I know Mama could use magic?”

Sorrinn’s child-like enthusiasm brightened his features. “Yeah, she can when she plays an instrument. She sings pretty too.”

“Why are you learning how to read and write though?”

A shrug. “Why not?”

“Uhh, because you could be outside playing and having fun instead of doing something boring like reading.”

Fantasy worlds were scary places. Then again, no; that was his modern-mindedness talking. The majority of people in the village didn’t know how to read or write, yet they were managing fine. They wouldn’t be becoming scientists or making any groundbreaking discoveries to the benefit of society, but they were happy and content in their simplicity. How many people on Earth could say the same, having discarded a quarter of their lifespan in school to become a corporate slave hooked on antidepressants, knowledge and medical progress the very shackles extending their sentences to its uppermost limit for the one-percent’s gain?

Progress wasn’t the end-all, be-all. Sometimes progress was the poison humanity couldn’t resist the allure of even at their own detriment and suffering. What good was a long life if it was a miserable life?

But, Sorrinn was as he was. He couldn’t deny the influence his knowledge of the modern world bore on his developing brain. He was someone raised to pursue wisdom and progress no matter what, because that was what attributed a person their value in society. He grew restive if his brain wasn’t being cognitively stimulated in some manner at all times. So the simple answer to that was: “I just like to read.”

It was evident Asammirr didn’t understand a lick by his subtly questioning expression. To him, it was still like someone choosing a girl over a day hanging out with the boys. That said, he just tossed up his shoulders, smiled that ethereal smile of his, and accepted that his little brother enjoyed what he enjoyed. “That’s cool. Papa likes to read too. As long as you don’t sneak up on me to tell me ‘fun’ facts about plants.”

The two continued idly chatting all the way up the path, where they diverged onto a path through the crop fields and out to the village outskirts. There, a band of five other children around Asammirr’s age were taking turns play-dueling with sticks. Two were Human, two were Beast-blood—a red-haired Fox-kin and buck-toothed Mouse-kin—and the last was a Canid Eldradimon pup with a dark silver coat and striking blue eyes. The ones unoccupied with fighting waved when they saw Asammirr amidst the susurrating blades of grass. Beneath the morning sun, the scene of the crops, the village, The Giving Tree, and the northern highlands’ tall, green-capped mountains in the background, it was a peaceful, all-nourishing, all-contenting image encapsulating the beauty of their humble lifestyle in the deep country. Sorrinn could understand why his older brother rushed to it every day without fail: Asammirr was making the absolute most of his childhood in his own way. He could respect that.

Seeing his friends waving, Asammirr jumped and waved back before his pale blue-green eyes fell at a slant toward his little brother. “Sure you don’t wanna play with us? It’ll be fun, I promise.”

A sharp, lone nod bounced Sorrinn’s head. “Yep.” Maybe one day when he needed a break or just wanted to hang with his brother.

Asammirr shrugged, saying, “Suit yourself.” He verged on skipping off, but he stopped in his tracks, turning around. “You won’t run off and get lost or anything like that, right?”

Good old Map-kun confirmed Sorrinn would never get lost. He shook his head side to side as he hummed his declination.

That was satisfying enough of an answer for Asammirr. He ran along to join his friends over yonder.

Even if Sorrinn were to wander, the plain was so flat and he was so pale, it was impossible for Asammirr to lose track of him. His white blond hair was like a radiant torch in the sunlight. For his brother’s ease, he’d keep close. He found a good spot to do his own thing in, distant enough to not catch them in the crossfire, close enough to easily be seen at a glance by any concerned eyes.