Homeward: my thoughts, my affections, my feet.
Finally.
Months of travel, crafting, fighting, and plotting have taken their toll. My team is smaller by two, since Lionel is assuming a lofty position as the second-in-command within the Menders, reporting only to the new [Headmaster of Healing], Uttara. To the surprise of absolutely no one, Rakesh is staying behind to establish the first department of runic-based medical research in Densmore, furthering our work with the improved Azure Rod healing boost.
When he’s not coordinating communication and clandestine operations for the [Inquisitors], of course. He loves cloak and dagger work too much to abandon it entirely.
Year’s worth of memories with my friends bubble up to the surface, and I swallow hard to remove the lump forming in my throat. My strides never waver despite my inner turmoil. I refuse to look over my shoulder at the dark smudge on the horizon behind us, all that’s still visible of the city we’ve called home for the last several months. Buzzing in the back of my mind from its mana shields exerting pressure against my Domain is a constant reminder of how recently we departed, but even that will disappear soon enough.
I square my shoulders, hold my head high, and put on a brave face instead of crying. We’ve said our goodbyes. Each man is walking the right path for him; Lionel and Rakesh are happier this way. This is what growing up looks like, even if it takes us our separate ways. I don’t begrudge my friends their choices. Besides, I’ll get to reunite with my family when I reach home. I have plenty to look forward to, although I wish the trip were shorter.
“And less wet,” I grumble to myself, hunching my shoulders against the rain splattering against my face and matting my hair. Leaving the protective aegis of Gilead’s artificial weather behind us is a shock to the system after adjusting to the warm sun and cloudless skies.
“Talking to yourself, Nuri? I hear that’s a sign of insanity,” Mikko quips from beside me. He’s jolly as can be, despite the chill in the air and the squelch of fetid mud underfoot. It’s not difficult to see why, with the fiery Avelina walking beside him, her arm looped through the crook of his elbow for support.
“I’d be more concerned if he showed signs of sanity,” Melina mutters from the other side of her twin sister. She squints, making her nose scrunch up, and wipes a long strand of ivory hair out of her eyes. “No one else would have trudged along, oblivious to the solution. That’s how we know he’s still himself despite all the medals and accolades.”
Slack-jawed with betrayal, I halt in my tracks. “Mel! You, too? You were always the nice one.”
“I’d be nicer if you’d use your ridiculously powerful Domain to keep the rain off us,” she says. All the while, she’s giving me a once-over with an amused gleam in her eyes.
“You want me to use my [Arcane Domain] as an umbrella?”
Avelina snickers. “Ooh, he’s mad now. You can tell by how his voice got all flat and he dropped down to a more ‘manly’ register.”
“An umbrella would be nice, Nuri,” Mikko says diplomatically, which earns him a ringing endorsement from his lady love.
My cheeks flush. “Oh. I should have thought of it earlier. Sorry, just—distracted.”
“We all are,” Melina replies, her voice softening. She meets my gaze and a half-smile quirks up her lips in encouragement.
I smile back and condense the mana in the area around us, pressing back against the rain and shunting the water sideways. Ensconced within a sphere of perfectly dry calm, we continue marching toward the overland route Xharrote suggested we take to bypass the Barrens. It will add a few weeks of travel to our long journey, but we’ll avoid running into old acquaintances who may be less than friendly after our clashes with the [Hunters] of Halmuth.
“Eye-catching,” Avelina says after a moment, gesturing at the protected area around us. “Maybe Nuri was trying to be subtle and only use his Domain to scout out enemies. Now we’ve set up a banner and played a trumpet, announcing to the world that a [Mage] is heading this way. Great way to travel incognito.”
“I wish I could claim that was my plan,” I chuckle ruefully. “Thanks for making me sound smarter than I am, Ava.”
“Much better. Thanks, brother,” Mikko says, grinning. “Now, about these waterlogged clothes. Dry us off?”
A wave of my hand raises the temperature in the area. My [Greater Heat Manipulation] goes to work, evaporating the water droplets and quickly steaming the clothes. I’m careful to double-coat the layers of mana carrying out my will, providing a layer of comfortable coolness against their skin while applying more and more heat to the clothes. I stop just shy of setting them on fire, although there’s little danger since Avelina is a skilled [Flameworker].
“Brilliant. Thanks!”
The twins give me such a heartfelt grin at the pampering that I almost don’t mind that I’m now a giant, walking advertisement proclaiming my identity to anyone who’s been paying attention to the rumors buzzing through Gilead lately. Maybe it won’t be so bad. No one else seems to be around, anyway.
Lio would have loved this banter, I think. The thought makes me sigh, but it’s not quite the knife to the gut I feared. I pick up the pace to work off my sadness that he’s not here. At least Mikko and the Linas are still with me. We’re going to be all right on our own. Honestly, I can’t ask for better company.
“Hail, [Glass Mage],” a low voice calls out just then, making my friends jump. Three men, cloaked by an artifact powerful enough to hide even from my Domain, emerge from a row of low, prickly hedges next to the road, and fan out to block our path forward.
“Scanning for threats, huh? You let us walk right into this ambush,” Mikko says, giving me a reproachful look.
I shrug. “It’s just Nicanor.”
“Nicanor and bodyguards,” one of the men corrects me. He winks, spinning a knife between his fingers. The weapon whirls and dances like a [Cirque Acrobat] on stage. Clearly, the effects of some sort of Skill or blade art.
“You heard me,” I reply, scowling at him and playing the haughty, offended [Mage].
He laughs, knowing it’s all an act, and soon fades into the background out of sight.
I stare up at Nicanor. The tall, muscular [Spear Commander] is holding my spear: the first enchanted weapon I ever owned, however briefly, taken as spoils of war from the greater Rift I delved with Tem all those years ago. I hold back a wince as I take in the enchantments; the scripts no longer look as impressive as they once did.
“Remind me to fix those enchantments when we break for camp tonight,” I offer in greeting, gesturing toward the spear. That thought excites me. I’m not an actual [Enchanter], but with the book of runes Rakesh has been researching, I’m more versatile and skilled than most of the Class-holders. I bet I can make something better than that.
Awkwardness thickens around us, but I clear my throat and nod at the Second Threshold soldier, hoping to cut the tension. “Glad to hear that I’ve graduated from glass boy to [Glass Mage] these days.”
Nicanor grunts. “Respect is earned.”
“I’m flattered.”
“You’ve grown strong. My misgivings were mostly unfounded,” Nicanor acknowledges, falling into step beside me as we continue walking.
“But?” I prompt.
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He grimaces. “Your martial skills are amateur at best. You look like a recruit fresh out of combat camp.”
“Hey! That’s better than terrible, lacking entirely, and so on. You’re getting soft in your old age,” I taunt, smirking as his eyes turn stony. “You’re right. I could be better—if I specialized. The time I spend training martial techniques is time not spent understanding how to leverage my Domain, or learning new runes, or uncovering the mysteries of how axiomatic subversion works.”
Nicanor’s gaze sharpens. “Huh. Xharrote wasn’t lying. Twisting higher-order concepts really is how you beat that old monster?”
I groan. “Me and my big mouth. I gotta learn to stop giving away valuable information. Oughta charge you for that kind of revelation.”
“Good thing I have us warded,” Nicanor says, patting a slim, densely-inscripted box strapped to his hip. “I trust my men with my life, but that doesn’t mean that they need to be privy to your secrets.”
“You’re being awfully nice,” I accuse.
“You want to know my motives?” He shrugs. “I’ll tell you. I am going to train you until I am satisfied you’re not an embarrassment to the Mage Hunters.”
I miss a step at his casual reference, slipping in the mud, and stabilize myself just in time with the help of my [Arcane Domain]. “Wait. Tem never listed you in his books.”
“Because I wasn’t on his team,” Nicanor replies patiently. “But Xharrote and I are aligned in our thinking. Tapirs hasn’t dared move this publicly before. He hid in the shadows and exerted his influence, like a [Puppeteer] pulling strings. That he was bold enough to act now and foment rebellion troubles me. I couldn’t piece it together, but [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote believes that he supported the insurrection so that Tapirs can portray the current [King] as weak and unjust, and then sweep in to save the day and bring ‘stability’ to the country.”
“Plausible,” I accede. Unease grips me as more and more details slot into place.
“Unfortunately, it’s the only thing that makes sense to me as well,” Nicanor says. “Which is why the [Inquisitors] must act out of loyalty to Densmore—the kingdom and its people, not the crown—and I’ve agreed to join them. The Royal Army may not agree, which puts me in jeopardy if I’m court-marshalled. I might lose my Class.”
I cast him a sympathetic glance as my estimation of the man rises even further. “And the combat spear-Skills with it?”
His grim expression is a more eloquent answer than mere words could ever be.
“Heading to Silaraon? We’d be pleased to travel with you, if you can forgive me for my bad attitude when I was younger. I look back at my animosity during our tower ascension with a good deal of regret,” I say by way of peace offering.
To my surprise, he snorts out a laugh. “I provoked you. Had to see what you were made of before sending you on a mission. You saved us in that tower. A little whining? Nothing at all compared with action.”
“Even so,” I say softly, “that’s not the kind of man I want to become. I’ll train with you on the way home if you’re convinced it’s the right move.”
“Home,” Nicanor echoes, and the word sounds melancholy on his lips. “We’ve asked much from you already, Nuri. We’re going to ask for far more.”
My fingers find the straps on my pack and wind tightly around the leather to keep from trembling. “I’m ready.”
Nicanor squeezes my shoulder. “Good man. Silaraon first. You can catch up with friends and family, but we have work to do in the capital.”
“Tem,” I reply without hesitation.
“Tem,” he agrees. “The three of us will become the core of the new Mage Hunters after he’s released. As I said earlier, I’m not keen on an unskilled teammate. Against all common sense, despite your youth, you’ll be a Second Threshold specialist by then. You can’t bumble around like a self-taught bumpkin.”
That shuts me up for a moment. I cough, compelled to speak up in defense of my friend and mentor. “Ember is a good fighter. She gave me a good foundation.”
“She’s solid,” Nicanor says. He rubs at his clean-shaven chin, as if he’s scrubbing off a speck of dirt only he seems to see. “But she trained you like a [Soldier]—yes, yes, I know she earned the lesser version of [Devouring Flames]. Good enough for self-defense, or to clear out an infestation, sure. Fighting at our level is a different matter entirely. I can bring out the best of your potential, if you’ll have me as a teacher.”
I bite my tongue instead of making another quip. I’ve seen Nicanor fight; he’s not making an empty boast. Nodding, I clasp my hands in a show of respect. “Greetings, master. I’ll try not to let you down.”
He studies my face for a long time before replying, as though searching for any sign of insincerity or indecision. A grunt is the only indication I get that he’s apparently satisfied with what he finds. “From now on, empower every movement with mana. Each step you take, each bite of food, each roll of your eyes—I expect that will be a favorite of yours—reinforce it with as much mana as you can muster.”
“Lo! A sense of humor appears.”
“Rein it in,” he says, then chuckles.
“Yes, master.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got. We’re going to run ahead for half an hour. My men will guard your team in our absence, and they’re the best in the business, so don’t worry about them. You have a singular goal: outrunning me.”
Bands of condensed mana manifest around his legs as he crouches. He leans forward until he’s almost off balance, feeding more and more mana into his odd technique. Explosive energy erupts in an abrupt flare of power, launching him forward as though shot from a catapult.
Whooping, I infuse my entire body with mana and take off after him, racing across the mud and gravel without fear of falling. My Domain will pillow my landing if I wipeout. If we’re going to announce our presence so boldly, then I may as well use every advantage available to me.
Wind whips past me as I pick up speed, creating enough resistance to flatten my hair and make my eyes water. Reflexively, I move Domain ahead of me, flooding it with more mana to create a magical construct akin to a ship’s prow. The sharp mana plow shields my face and cuts through the air with ease.
Yet it’s not enough.
No matter how much I strengthen my muscles with mana, I can’t catch up. Straining, I close the gap by a few paces, but soon run into diminishing returns; the extra mana drains my Capacity more rapidly than ever, but I’m not getting much faster. Dark spots tinge the edges of my vision as I push my mana use to the extreme.
Nicanor glances over his shoulder, waves casually, and springs forward, increasing his lead with ease. He widens the gap even further than before, churning with focused mana that I simply can’t match without advancing. When did he turn into an engine of endless energy?
I tap into [Arcane Domain: My Eyes Shall Pierce the Veil], coaxing the Skill to push past Nicanor’s passive mana shield and more closely examine the way he empowers his body. He doesn’t have a [Mage] or magic-adjacent Class to enhance his mana control, but he has far more refined technique than I do despite a similar Capacity.
Decades of training, no doubt. The effect is evident when he jumps. Instead of gathering himself, or flooding his muscles with extra mana, he simply leaps—and the power is already there, flinging him heavenward. It’s as though his mana is flowing into position and providing energy before he consciously thinks of the next action.
My feet thud into the ground and fling up clods of dirt. I dig deeper, trying to catch up to the swift [Spear Commander], all while my mind is churning with possibilities.
How do I copy his technique? Is it even possible without years of dedicated practice? He has an enormous head start, the best instructors, and decades of time on me.
A grin stretches across my face, making my cheeks ache as I consider the challenge in front of me. I wasn’t making excuses when I told him about the opportunity costs of training my body for physical combat instead of advancing my understanding of runes, but if this pushes my mana-control to the next level, then perhaps it’s worth the time.
I keep running, considering the dilemma as I go. Without pushing as hard, I settle into a fast pace that I can keep up for some time, and sink into my inner world to watch the flow of mana throughout my body. Pulling energy from my core and feeding it into my muscles is trivial after the last few years of training, but it’s far from instantaneous. Compared with Nicanor’s fluid, easy grace, my manual process is much slower and unwieldy.
Something about the way I’m forcing the energy into place, like wrestling with a slippery eel in a river, brings back the memories of my first attempts at infusing a glass knife with mana. I was just touching on the idea of sharpness back then, with no real understanding of what I was trying to do, but it laid the foundation for mana imbuing.
That’s it! Treat this like imbuing. The mana needs an image to embrace.
Excitement wells up in me. I paint a mental picture of what I’m trying to accomplish as I train. Instead of focusing on my accomplishments, I shift my perspective, recalling the joys of teamwork. Sadness at leaving behind Lionel and Rakesh becomes the fuel for my imagination, and the mana sings around me. Elegy transforms to ecstasy; power surges through my legs and hips and back, propelling me forward faster than ever, even before I realized I wanted to run like the wind.
Each movement is quick and precise, effortless in a way I’ve never experienced. Shouts of exuberance burst out of me at the sheer pleasure of movement.
Nicanor grows larger, transforming from a speck on the horizon to a man running just up ahead of me for the first time. He glances over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised at how quickly I’m catching up, and a wide grin splits his face. His own mana rises to the challenge. He soars ahead with each leap, moving so quickly that his body blurs in my sight.
Laughing, I take off after him, pushing to my limits and still failing to catch him. It doesn’t matter. New pieces of the puzzle have slid into place. I’m stronger now than I was a few hours ago. And, for a few moments, missing my friends doesn’t seem so bad. The joy of unfettered running, free and fierce, folds into the host of emotions within me. We’re all exactly where we’re supposed to be. That’s worth a smile.
Evening casts its long shadows across the world by the time Nicanor and I return to our camp. I didn’t catch him, but I know it’s only a matter of practice. I’ve figured out the secret to his speed. Practice will turn theory into reality eventually.
Time to get to work.