380 days until the Arkon Shield falls

Jan Lin,

Excellent work. And while the loss of our assets is regrettable, the information they’ve uncovered balances the scales. I must admit I grow ever more curious about this human. Find him before the orcs do. If nothing else, he will prove to be a valuable bargaining chip. —Queen Ionia Amyla.

After a few minutes of tossing and turning, I gave up my attempts at sleep as futile. I had rested enough before exiting the dungeon, and my body didn’t appear in need of further sleep.

Deciding to make more constructive use of the time—and anyway, it was only a few hours to dawn—I sat up and turned my thoughts to magic. I had a small cache of spells at my beck now, but Regna’s foray into the moat had made me aware of a glaring weakness with my repertoire: all my spells were focused on damage or protecting myself. I had no magical means of defending my companions.

Like projectile spells, buffs were complicated. They required a caster to wrap a spellform around another living being and modify their spirit weave, if only temporarily. No mean feat in itself.

The little I knew of magic suggested my skill in the various Disciplines were not up to the challenge of casting such spells, much less spellcrafting them. Nonetheless, I decided to give it a try.

Starting with the air magic Discipline, I attempted to construct the spellforms of those buffs I’d read about in the Trials wiki.

I failed. Not once or twice, but on every attempt.

Sighing, I moved onto earth magic and began anew. Once more, I failed. Finally, I tried life magic. The outcome was no different.

After another heartfelt sigh, I opened my eyes and drummed my fingers on my legs. I didn’t bother attempting to spellcraft dragon magic buffs. I still wanted to keep my dragon magic a secret, and I was not yet willing to risk revealing the Discipline by casting its buffs on someone else—even if I could learn any, which I wasn’t convinced I could.

Well, if I can’t buff other players, what about trying to heal them from afar? Healing was different from buffs; the spell didn’t alter a being’s spirit weave so much as repair it. Ranged healing spells were still too complicated for me to learn, but perhaps I could spellcraft a touch-based ranged variant similar to fire ray. Closing my eyes, I began anew.

At first, my efforts were promising. Streams of mana darted eagerly out of my center to coat my hands in a subdued blue-white glow, but no matter how much I attempted to push the spellform off my hands—projecting it as I had a fire ray—it refused to budge.

I ground my teeth in frustration. Damnit, why isn’t it working?

Letting the lay hands spellform lie in my mind, I called up the construct of fire ray and considered the two side by side.

What’s different about them? I wondered, studying the two spells from every possible angle, but no matter how much I stared at them, I couldn’t figure out how to modify lay hands to do what I wanted.

Then a surprising thing happened.

Of its own volition, the mana in my mind transformed its shape from the spellform of fire ray to that of restrained flare. My brows flew up.

Now, why has it done that? Magic was a living thing, and mine seemed like it was trying to tell me something. I drew the two spellforms nearer, holding them closely overlapped while I tried to spot whatever I was meant to see.

Another curious thing occurred then.

The two spells snapped together, forming a new spellform. “What in the world,” I murmured, studying the new construct in my mind.

It contained the underlying structure of restrained flare but also the essence of lay hands. I scratched my head in confusion. What would be the point of such a spell?

To both heal and damage?

That didn’t make much sense, especially not when you considered that restrained flare wasn’t an optimal choice for a damaging spell. In fact, it did almost no—

My thoughts broke off, and my eyes widened as I finally gained an inkling of the spell’s purpose. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that before? Without further delay, I infused the new spellform with mana and lifeblood.

Dragonfire darted out from my hands in reed-like filaments of fire so thin they were nearly invisible. The threads of dragonfire whipped about the air, searching for a target. Letting more mana seep out of my fingers, I coated the flaming filaments with layers of blue.

I grinned as I realized I had succeeded and in a manner wholly different from what I’d originally expected. Somehow, the strands of my dragonfire were acting as a conduit for my healing magic!

“Remarkable,” I breathed. Tearing my eyes away from the intertwined threads of blue and red, I finally attended to the Trials message waiting patiently for attention.

You have spellcrafted a touch-based spell from the Discipline of dragon magic. The name assigned to this spell is flared conduit. Flared conduit is a persistent spell that forges a link between the caster and a friendly target, allowing touch-based life magic spells to be cast as if the target was in physical contact with the caster. Its casting time is average, and its rank is uncommon.

You are the first player to have spellcrafted the dragon spell: flare conduit. For this achievement, you have been awarded dragon lore and four Marks.

Lore note: A single dragon is an awesome force all on its own. A flight of dragons is something else to behold altogether and far more than simply the sum of its parts.

Dragons fighting in groups often weave threads of magic between themselves, strengthening and enhancing each other and making it nearly impossible for a foe to defeat any single dragon without first severely damaging the entire flight.

The foundation on which a flight’s unity is built is the flared conduit spell.

I smiled in satisfaction as I digested the lore note. I might not have any fellow dragon mages with whom to interweave my magic, but with flared conduit, I had finally gained a means of healing from afar. Until I reached Trainee rank, the combo of flared conduit and lay hands would make for an adequate substitute for a real ranged healing spell.

I glanced at the cave mouth. There were other spells I wanted to attempt crafting—like dragonhide armor—and experiments I wanted to conduct on the elemental fragments but first, I needed to check how much time I had left.

To my surprise, I saw that the sky had lightened considerably. Dawn had come and gone. I shook my head ruefully at the lateness of the hour. At times, it was all too easy to lose myself in magic.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Rising to my feet, I walked to the cave mouth. The distant fire had burnt itself out, and in its place were thick plumes of smoke. Whatever mischief the orcs had been up to last night appeared completed.

They must be long gone by now.

Heading back into the cave, I retrieved my sled. Further spellcrafting would have to wait until later.

✽✽✽

Before getting going again, I scanned the region repeatedly from my elevated vantage point. Nowhere did I spot any sign of movement in the foothills to the south, orcish or otherwise. Finally satisfied that it was safe, I set out.

Drawing my cloak tight about me, I hobbled down the valley slope, dragging the sled behind me. A solitary figure on the barren mountainside, I was sure I could be easily spotted from afar, but there was nothing I could do about that except to remain vigilant.

Despite my concerns, the hours passed without incident, and shortly before noon, I reached my destination. Topping the crest of a hill, I stared down at the scene of devastation below me.

In a deep hollow formed by the surrounding circle of hills was a huddle of buildings. Or rather their burnt-out husks.

A dead settlement.

The dense cloud that had marred the sky earlier had thinned to grey wisps of smoke, laying bare the destruction within. The tiny settlement had consisted of no more than a dozen low-lying, flat-topped stone houses cunningly constructed from loose rocks.

A knee-high wall made from pebbles and yet more rocks demarcated the settlement’s boundaries. The only other structure of note in the hollow was the large purple monstrosity occupying pride of place in its center.

A dragon temple.

But like everything else in the hamlet, the temple was also scorched, blackened, and scarred. I let the sled’s reins fall free from my shoulders. Feeling weak at the knees, I leaned heavily on my staff.

Humans had lived here. Once.

How had we not known? How had Sierra’s scouts not found this place? But given how deep the hollow was buried in the surrounding hills, it was understandable why the scouts had missed it.

Still, the settlement had been less than a day from Sierra. If we’d known about it, perhaps we could’ve—

My thoughts ran aground. We could’ve what? Saved them? I doubted it.

A company of orcs had done this. Even with all of Sierra’s soldiers at my back, I wasn’t strong enough to stop that many orcs.

Not yet, anyway.

With a weary heart, I scanned the dead settlement again. The only solace I could take was from its size. Not many people had lived here. Expelling a troubled breath, I took up the sled’s reins again and made my way into the hollow.

Someone had to take toll of the dead, if only to acknowledge their passing.

✽✽✽

There were forty-eight bodies in the settlement.

All of them were human. And ten were children. All the remains bore evidence of the orcs’ savagery and the fire’s touch. But no matter how burnt, bloodied, or hacked apart the body parts were, I gathered them together in a pile in front of the dragon temple.

It took me hours, but I kept at it. By the time I was done, my face was soot-stained and my mouth was set in a tight line. I was covered from head to foot in muck, grime, and blood.

But I didn’t care.

The image of Ma hung at the forefront of my mind. I had not been able to lay her to rest, and I was adamant the same would not be said of these people.

I would give them peace. In so far as I could.

I would cleanse them of their mortal wounds. To the extent that I could.

I would find their killers and force them to atone. But that was for later, now I had to see to the dead.

Dropping to my knees before the pile of corpses, I summoned dragonfire and gave the dead to the flames. Fire roared out my hands and transformed the heap into a raging bonfire.

I kept the magic pouring out, uncaring in that instant if anything beheld the conflagration. Clothes turned to cinders and flesh melted. Bones whitened, then blackened, before finally crumbling to ash and swirling away in the sky. I only stopped when nothing but scorched ground remained.

Slowly, I creaked back to my feet. It was done. About to turn away, a glint of something in the ashes attracted my attention.

I frowned. How could anything whole still remain after all that dragonfire?

Hobbling forward to where I’d spotted the gleam, I prodded at the debris with my staff. The wooden end stuck something hard. Bending down, I brushed aside the ashes and picked up the item buried there.

It was disc-shaped and very much like another object I had seen before. Holding up the medallion to the light, I cast analyze upon it.

The target is the settlement core of the former mountain hamlet, Doran’s Retreat. Current state: deactivated. The special properties of this item are: unknown. Your lore skill is insufficient.

A mountain hamlet.

Hamlets were specialized settlements that could only be formed under specific terrain conditions. Their evolution path differed significantly from a village’s and from what I recalled, a hamlet’s size was severely constrained—which perhaps explained why this settlement’s population was so small. The population restriction governing hamlets had likely prevented Doran’s Retreat from receiving the same deluge of new people that Sierra had during Earth’s last hours.

I glanced down at the settlement core in my hands, not sure what to make of it. It was quite the collection of cores I was gathering. Three champion cores, and now one settlement one.

I pocketed the item. Whatever its purpose, I sensed it was too valuable to leave behind. Raising my head, I checked the light remaining in the day. The sky was beginning to darken, and night would fall soon.

It didn’t make sense to continue on to Sierra. At the pace I could manage, I would not reach the village today. Turning around, I made my way to the entrance of the ruined temple. With nothing between Sierra and me but open plains and rolling foothills, I doubted I would find anywhere better to shelter for the night.

The lintel over the temple’s main door had fallen, halving the size of the entrance. Going down on all fours, I began to crawl under.

I had barely managed a few inches forward when I felt a sharp, painful sting. “Ouch!” I cried, retracting my hand. It had bounced off something hard and sharp.

Cradling my right hand in my left, I inspected it for damage. My fingers were still tingling but seemed otherwise unharmed. Frowning, I looked down, trying to spot what had struck me.

There was nothing there. Only dirt.

My frown deepened. Perhaps, I was mistaken; perhaps nothing had struck me. And maybe all that smoke and fire have addled my brains. I stared at my right hand again. It still tingled, and I hesitated to go on.

There was nowhere else for me to take shelter, though. Uneasily, I set my hands down and resumed my crawl.

Something brushed over me and I froze.

This time, I was left in no doubt of the sensation. It had felt almost like a light breeze, but there was no wind. Am I going crazy?

For a moment, I stayed locked in place, wondering whether to continue. Perhaps sheltering in a temple was not such a good idea, after all. I banished the thought. As strange as it was, the second sensation had not harmed me, and I really needed a safe place to rest.

With an uneasy shrug, I forced myself onwards. This time, no errant breezes or sharp stings stopped me. Ducking out of the small tunnel formed by the rubble, I rose back to my feet.

I’d not seen the inside of a dragon temple before. When I entered the one at Sierra, the doorway had teleported me to Wyrm Island before I could cross its threshold. That did not happen here.

Dusting off my legs, I surveyed the temple’s interior curiously. It was one large open space and had neither windows, furnishings nor any other doors. The walls were marble, and the floor was covered in purple flagstones. The roof and three of the walls were lined with cracks but still stood.

The fourth wall was unmarred. More so, it was not empty like the others. Covering the entirety of its thirty-foot-wide surface was a carving.

“A dragon,” I breathed. I had no doubt that was what the figure was.

Limping closer, I studied the image in wordless awe. Whoever—or whatever—the artist, they had portrayed the Elder in exquisite detail.

He—don’t ask me why, but somehow I was certain the dragon was male—had been depicted in flight over a jagged line of snow-covered peaks, perhaps even the very mountains visible from this temple’s entrance.

The Elder’s wings were outstretched, their span matching his length. Fine scales covered every inch of him, from the tip of his snout to the spiked end of his long muscular tail that snaked lazily through the air.

His powerful rear haunches were bent backward and tipped with curved gleaming talons. His forelimbs, likewise equipped, were tucked beneath a muscled torso.

The dragon’s snout, like his sinewy neck, was elongated and ridged. His mouth hung open slightly, revealing the sharpened rows of teeth within, and his eyes were slitted like a cat’s and curved upwards.

But what I found most fascinating was the Elder’s expression. His eyes gleamed with intelligence, his upturned lips conveyed amusement, and his heavy, bushy brows suggested deep contemplation. All in all, it left me with the feeling that the Elder was not only sentient but wiser and smarter than I.

Raising a tentative hand, I ran it lightly along the dragon’s face. “Who are you?” I murmured. For all that the carving was colorless, it was not lifeless, and I had no trouble imagining that its occupant might spring to life at any moment.

I opened my magesight.

And sighed with disappointment. No lines of spirit traced the Elder’s form. The wall was just a wall, and the carving, merely a carving.

Stepping back from the depiction, I warded the temple door and sank down with my back braced against the carving’s opposite wall to consider the Elder again.

I sat that way for a long time, taking in the dragon’s entirety and fixing every minute detail in my mind.

“Why did you do it?” I asked softly, finally giving voice to the question most central in my thoughts.

There was no answer.

My voice rose a notch. “Why create the Trials and Overworld?”

“Why bring all these species here?”

“And why oh why, make them compete in so bloody a manner?” I was yelling now. “All these deaths, all the countless lives lost, it’s all on your head!”

“Is there a purpose? A reason to make any of it worthwhile?”

More silence.

I bowed my head, releasing my anger. The wall had no answers for me, but someday, somehow, I vowed I would find my own.