The pursuit of mastery in the art of forging stands as a major cornerstone of magical craftsmanship, and its importance cannot be overestimated, particularly in a kingdom as illustrious as ragnarok, whose major resource lies in the export of ragnar steel. Learning to create magical items is a significant and noble profession, Regrettably, amidst the corridors of nobility, such esteemed craftsmanship is often relegated to the realm of the plebeian, a shortcoming in their discernment that warrants contemplation.
Alfrit Demodred.
Forge master of the 5th academy.
Sector 5, Ragnarok.
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Aodhán jerked awake about an hour before dawn, his heart racing as the nightmare-induced terror slowly loosened its grip on him. He shut his eyes tightly as he tried to purge the flashes of blood and gore from his mind, but his efforts were futile.
He didn’t need a therapist to tell him that the nightmares were manifestations of his guilt and that they were a way his mind was attempting to process the emotional turmoil and cognitive dissonance associated with the event of the Raventhorn.
He knew all that, and although he wasn’t plagued by the dreams daily, he’d had four different versions of the same nightmare in the last two weeks alone.
Perhaps I should be thankful they don’t occur daily. Aodhán thought to himself as he settled down and sighed. He stared at the ceiling for a long time and whispered. “It’s not your fault, Aodhán. We’ve been over this; it would have happened anyway.”
A few seconds later, he repeated the words again, and continued doing so until his guilt receded and he could finally focus on other things. He turned to check the time and sighed when he realized that he only had about forty-five minutes left before he had to be at the gymnasium, so although his body protested, he climbed out of bed and made his way to the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed in his extracurricular uniform. He took his time lacing up his boots, but after properly adjusting his storm scarf, he realized he still had about twenty minutes left, which was more than enough time to make it to the gym.
Rather than fly towards the gym on a construct like many others were doing, he decided to trek instead, and with a thought, he reviewed his status.
….
[STATUS]
Name: Aodhán Ashoka-Brystion.
Title: Neophyte, Storm Spirit, Bronze, Origin Marked.
Class: Evolved storm awakened: 99.9% (PENDING)
Tier: 18-26. 63%
Glimpse--->Grasp----> Opening: Increases elemental affinity and abilities by 2.5%
Techniques: perfect will imbuement (5).
Skills {Innate}: [Storm creation and manipulation] [Lightning creation and manipulation]
{Other}: [Lightning surge] [Lightning beam] [Lightning descent] [Create constructs] [Absorb lightning] [Spear rain—Lightning] [Spear rain—Storm].
Bloodline: Origin Storm supremacy. {Unique}
• amplifies storm abilities by 3%
• Grants major resistance to lightning
• Aura of Origin supremacy.
Familiar: Dragonkin {Storm Fury}
Perks: psychic bond.
…
There were no new changes or upgrades, but it was good to see how far he’d come. He was now so much stronger than he’d been just a month ago, and that was something to be proud of.
He didn’t bother calling on Andrew or Daruk, wanting to enjoy this trek without their squabbles and constant bickering which, though, was usually enjoyable, he wasn’t in the mood today.
He felt somber, maybe a little depressed after the nightmare, and he really just wanted some peace and quiet.
He arrived at the gym with about four minutes to spare, and after a nod to coach Harvey, he walked towards the assistant coach, Miss Greene, and collected his null armor.
He began his laps a moment later, and although he tried to focus on his current activity, his mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions that made it hard for him to even think.
He finished the laps about an hour later, cutting an entire half hour from his initial run, but the victory brought him no joy, sadness, or anything; he just felt empty.
Somehow, Daruk and Andrew realized he was having a crappy day, so they let him be, although Daruk still knocked on his bath stall to ask if he was alright.
“I’m fine.” Aodhán replied. “I'm just having a bad day, but I’ll get over it.”
There was a beat of silence as Daruk hesitated for a moment before replying. “Okay, if it’s what I think it is, try not to blame yourself too much.”
Aodhán didn’t respond, but he let out a quiet chuckle. Daruk knew him too much, too well, and sometimes it was uncomfortable, but right now, it made him feel seen and warm. It was as if knowing what was wrong had lifted half the burden from his shoulders, and he suddenly felt much lighter.
He wondered how Daruk dealt with his own trauma, as the event had definitely scarred him too, even if it wasn’t as deep as his own. Now that he wasn’t so engrossed in his own problems, though, Aodhán suddenly realized that he hadn’t even asked Daruk how he was faring, both mentally and emotionally, and he felt a pang of guilt.
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He needed to change that and do better. He’d been so focused on his own problems that he’d forgotten to check in on Daruk, his own brother!
“Life is hard.” He muttered to himself as he stepped out of the shower, cleaned himself, and put on his uniform before making his way to the cafeteria, where he had a quick but filling breakfast.
After that, he made his way to the forge hall, where the class on forge mastery would be held. The forge hall was a forge that was barely large enough to comfortably accommodate more than fifty people at a time.
As expected, the forge was hot and stifling, causing him to immediately break out in sweat. He was at a much higher tier of advancement, so the heat wasn’t quite as uncomfortable as it had been when he’d walked into the forge back at the Warren.
Still, it was a terrible environment, only suitable for those who had at least a minor resistance to heat or those who could reduce the temperature of the area around them, like Daruk, who was also in the forge.
The number of students currently within the forge was even smaller than those who’d attended the class on runic theory, and when the forge master finally arrived, Aodhán counted a total of thirteen students, including himself.
The forge master moved to stand before the massive runic forge in front of the hall, and after scrutinizing the gathered students, he spoke. “I won’t sugarcoat things; if you do not possess at least medium resistance to heat, this course is not for you.”
The man glared at them, his black-ringed orange pupils piercing and stern. He was tall, with skin the color of lava and hair as black as coal.
“In fact.” He raised a finger and continued. “If you have an affinity other than fire, heat, solar, light, and lava, you do not belong here because I have no interest in the torture of innocents. Leave now, while you still can.”
Aodhán sighed, grabbed his books, and was preparing to walk out of the class when Daruk asked. “I have an ice talent and a forge skill, sir. Can I stay?”
The forge master observed him for a moment before he responded. “You can stay, but I doubt you’ll gain any practical experience from this class. We’ll be working on metals and shaping them with heat, which is the opposite of your affinity, but like I said, you’re free to stay.”
Daruk chose to stay, and Aodhán stepped out of the forge a minute later. He sighed of relief as a cool breeze touched him before making his way to the library. He hadn’t really been interested in the forging part of the class, but in the process that usually came after, which was energy imbuement, It wasn’t much of a loss, though, as the topic would also be discussed in runic theory.
As he made his way to the library, he created a mental list of things he wanted to read about. First, he needed more information on how to better control Varéc to prevent the loss of control that usually comes as a result of the intermingling of their emotions.
That was the first and most important thing he wanted to figure out, but the Attilan continent and the curse were a close second. When he reached the library, he moved to the shelf housing various maps first, and began searching for a world map.
One would think such information should have been widely spread, but it took him almost half an hour of searching to find it. He moved to his usual table beside the window and spread the map open.
Ten minutes later, he realized that there were a total of 12 continents on ÆFLYM, and Lutia was the smallest. The others were large, gigantic even, considering Lutia”s landmass. He searched for a while and soon found the Attilan continent, which was almost double the size of Lutia and was considered the 7th largest continent on the planet.
A vast body of water separated it from Lutia, but a Tier 75 spatial elite should be able to make the jump easily. Why then had Attilan left them alone without any sort of supervision? How was it possible that they remained ignorant of the fact that Lutia had broken free of the curse? More importantly, were they ignorant of it, or was something else at play?
He returned the map after several minutes of studying it and began searching through the history books for any mention of the Attilan empire, the curse, or the war that had taken place hundreds of years ago. He found nothing, save for a few scraps of unimportant information regarding their culture, cuisine, and ‘legendary’ beauty.
It was like the war never happened, like a part of history had been ripped out and replaced. After riffling through more than a dozen books, Aodhán began to doubt the accuracy of the principal’s words, but he felt that she had told him the truth.
Perhaps, just like with the limit, the truth has been kept from the masses. He could think of a few reasons why such an action was taken, but one question kept troubling him, and he asked himself. Why were the kingdoms fighting amongst themselves when they had a common enemy? What did they stand to gain from this war? Was it a plot or a scheme meant to fool Attilan, or was it just foolishness?
He gave up several hours later, and since he was still hesitant to go up to the 2nd floor alone, he decided to tackle the third issue on his list, which was the scripting of runes. He moved to the shelf dedicated to runes and began browsing through the available books.
Fifteen minutes later, he placed three small books on the table and began to read. The first was a slim brown book, the width of his thumb simply titled Rune scripting tips, while the other two were focused on tricks and shortcuts to runic mastery.
He spent an hour and a half reading through the three books, and in the end, he came to the conclusion that there was no shortcut or trick to runic mastery save for long and torturous practice.
The books held a lot of helpful tips, though, ranging from proper pen handling to various visualization techniques. One even mentioned the use of a certain tool called the Baruch, forged from a transparent crystal commonly found in the Calodan desert.
The tool was used to teach beginners, but it was insanely expensive, with each set costing about a hundred gold or more. Aodhán took down a few tips he wanted to try out and took comfort in the knowledge that the scripting of runes would become much easier the moment he mastered the first rune.
He stood up and returned the books an hour before control training, but just as he stepped out of the library, the ping of a notification echoed in his mind, and he opened it to find a message from the principal asking him to come to her office immediately.
He paused as fear curled in his guts, but it was soon replaced by anger, and in a bout of rebellion, he took his sweet time, walking slowly as he made his way to her office. When he finally arrived, principal Zatya smiled and gestured to the seat opposite her. Aodhán hesitantly walked forward, reminded once again that this woman was a Mythic, capable of grinding him to dust with a wave of her hands. Her pupilless eyes followed his movements carefully, as if studying every unconscious action he made.
When he sat down, principal Zatya asked. “So, have you accepted my offer?”
Aodhán frowned in confusion. “You didn’t give me much of a choice. You—you threatened me.”
Principal Zatya chuckled and waved her hand dismissively. “That is true, but what good is our deal if you do not accept it?”
“Are you giving me a choice?”
“No, but even when bad things happen, we have to accept them; besides, you’ll gain nothing from our training if you do not accept it.”
“I’m not against the training.” Aodhán’s hands tightened in anger as he glared at the principal. “I’m against the fact that you want to create a monster of me against my own will.”
Principal Zatya frowned, and a tiny wisp of her aura leaked out, causing Aodhán to freeze. His body refused to move even an inch lest it offend the entity seated before it.
Principal Zatya glared at him, and in a low tone, she said, “I want to mold you into the best version of yourself, to train you so that the mention of your name instills fear in your enemies. I want to remake you into a weapon for this continent; you should be honored.”
She dismissed her aura, and the fear that held him captive subsided enough for him to speak. “I don’t want to join the war; I just want to live and grow in peace.”
Principal Zatya chuckled and leaned back into her chair. “Child, you do not have a choice about the war; whether I force you or not, you will join it eventually. You’ve caught the attention of too many to be simply left alone. I’ve had to fend off calls and questions concerning you since the beginning of the term, and the moment you step out of the academy grounds, I won’t be surprised if you’re immediately approached by agents of the 1st and 2nd academies, not to mention several media personalities who are extremely curious to figure out how an evolved class awakened managed to bond a familiar of such caliber to himself.” Her gaze darted to the chain around his neck before she continued. “We are at war, Aodhán, and the sooner you accept the reality of things, the better for all of us. You have too much potential to remain on the sidelines; if you do join this war, it will come to you wherever you run.”
Aodhán sighed, knowing deep down that she was right, and after a moment of silence, he asked. “What are your plans for me?”
Principal Zatya grinned. “Oh, nothing sinister; in fact, from now on, we shall train on Sundays. I expect you to report to my office by 7 a.m. every Sunday morning.”
“Will you be training me yourself?”
“No darling.” Principal Zatya smiled. “I’ll be supervising.”