“Oswin, what is your understanding of Creation Magic?” Ava asked as she cleaned the implements the mage would need for his grim task.

He had fully planned to launch into a long lesson on how to do it competently but stopped midway after realizing she had experience with the task. Minervin had the same impossibly high standards when having her prepare his equipment, the Mage’s Guild must have had strict and unbending rules regarding their curative methods and processes.

The mage himself looked up. He held a tiny steel blade in one hand while the other tapped lightly near the collarbone of the deceased frogman on the table before him. A frown creased his brow as he pondered where his first incision on the unfamiliar creature would be.

Oswin had spent much of the past few days trying to heal and coax any reaction from the injured creature. According to him, they had all been colossal failures. Not only had the frogman been unresponsive to external prompts, but the wound in its gut failed to heal. It gradually became infected, spreading unchecked until death claimed it.

A book was placed on a table close by, along with an enchanted inkpot. The quill floated mid-air above it, awaiting his verbal input. Ava wished she had had such a thing for Minervin’s accursed lessons and assignments years ago. It would have saved her so much time.

“Where did you hear about that? Does it have something to do with the Artifact you spoke of?” he asked curiously.

“I cannot say for certain. The Frost Spirit says things as if she assumes I should already know about them. Or perhaps take her word on faith alone,” Ava shrugged.

She had told them most of the truth once they returned to the Manor, but they had assumed she teleported somewhere in the Vibrant Forest based on her description, not into a different domain entirely. She had decided in the moment not to correct them and hoped she would not suffer for it later. After all, the prince did tell her to leave her association with Minervin behind.

“Hmm, it is difficult to explain such a controversial topic filled with theory and conjecture to mages, let alone non-mages. The guild would have discarded it as myth or spiritual hokey long ago if not for a few historical incidents to lend credence to its existence.

“First, you must realise that creation magic is not magic. Not in the same sense that my pyromancy is magic. To you, I conjure flame from nothing, but in truth, my flames manifest from a source we call the Magical Font. It is a raw and benign force that flows across Archaicron. Mages can feel and tap into this to manifest the powers and spells you see before you,” he explained, indicating to the floating quill between them.

“There are limitations however, to how mages can draw from or dispel this force that goes beyond mortal laws. We can alter things to a certain degree but cannot create anything new, at least not without the result being stunted, flawed and unstable. Take my elemental, for example, a humanoid being created with a singular purpose, to destroy my perceived enemy. A puppet with no real thought of its own that dispels as soon as it fulfils it.

“Creation magic is different in this sense, not only can it create something new, but it can alter, shape, or remove something entirely from existence or memory. Creation magic could make my elemental real. A fully functioning being, independent of my prompts and capable of determining its own purpose and direction. A fearsome power, not meant for mere mortals. There is a popular theory that creation magic stems from a different font altogether, one no mortal can access,” Oswin said pensively. He thought about it for a few moments then turned to the frogman and made the first, slow incision.

“So, it would be impossible to use creation magic,” Ava asked. She knew the answer. She had seen it with her very eyes. Yet, she was still trying to convince herself that Minervin was just an ordinary wizard. Perhaps, I had a few beliefs I was struggling to reconcile as well.

“The first thing a mage learns in the guild is that impossible is not the same as improbable.” Oswin straightened to swish the blade as he imitated his lecturer and went back to his cutting. “As I have said, there are incidents in the past indicating that exceptions to the rule exist. The most famous is Anarchaen Mulgrath, the mortal orc who ascended to demi-godhood and created his warship. Perhaps not an Eternal Land in its true sense, but a feat no other mortal has been able to duplicate.

“Hmm,” Oswin squinted at the innards of the frogman as he shifted the two halves of the ribcage out of the way.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

“What is it?” Ava asked. Her morbid curiosity got the better of her as she abandoned her task to look as well.

“They have a complex breathing system, both gills and lungs. They are similar to the Serpa, an amphibious species as well. I assume these frogmen share the same weakness?

“What in Holden’s name is that?” he exclaimed, tapping the back of his blade on an emerald stone seen just below the left lung.

The blade clinked against glass and a sinking feeling developed in Ava’s gut. It was the same shape as the curio she found in Minervin’s spirit domain. Something she failed to mention as well, hoping to bring it up to Oswin when an opportunity arose, and he was alone.

“Is this – its heart? How does it function?” he asked incredulously, moving the lung out of the way.

It seemed attached to the body by normal means, obsidian blending and interlacing into flesh. Oswin cut at the arteries carefully, taking the heart gently from the chest and placing it on the table.

“Perplexing,” he muttered with a frown, then squinted more closely at it.

Etched onto the surface were runes, Ava could not say if they were similar but there were more on the frogman’s heart than the curio in her satchel. Some of them swirled in her eyes. The obsidian stone housed a spirit inside, sputtering dimly like a flame struggling for air.

A drop of blood fell from Oswin's nose. He straightened and put the sleeve of his robe to it to stem the bleeding, searching his pockets to retrieve a handkerchief, and grunting in pain as he held his forehead.

“Are you alright?” Ava asked.

“I am fine. Serves me right for attempting to interpret ancient rune script without taking precautions. I just need a moment to recover,” Oswin said, slumping down into a seat nearby.

He wrung the bloody handkerchief in his hands nervously, completely baffled by the discovery.

Ava reached into her satchel, retrieved Minervin’s curio and handed the box to Oswin. He looked at it and then at her curiously before taking it.

“Is it the same?” she asked once he opened it.

“Where did you find this?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. When Minervin did that, he was about to launch into a lecture about his disappointment.

“From Minervin's cabin. I was going to show it to you eventually, but that doesn’t matter now,” she chuckled nervously.

Oswin sighed sadly but held the curio up to examine it. “It could be a heart as well. It is similar in shape, though smaller. This one lacks the secondary spell. Is it due to it being diamond crust, I wonder?

“When Solstein brought the lost School of Runecraft into the new age, his sigils were adapted versions of ancient ones, made safe to use. He discovered through experimentation that diamond crust did not take particularly well to certain spells, specifically those considered profane.

“The first spell is archaic and complex, but I understand it as a binding spell. The secondary spell however is a jumble for me. But, based on the frogmen’s behaviour and my knowledge of magic, I can only assume it is a control spell. An addendum of sorts to the binding spell. Bind and control, used together you have the perfect marionette doll.

“The only thing that confuses me is why anyone would bind and control a heart. It is inefficient and has limited use at best. It would be like binding a singular eye. The mind would be ideal. The ancients make no sense,” he muttered, staring at the curio.

“To bind and possibly control the spirit inside?” Ava guessed uncertainly.

“An interesting idea,” Oswin rubbed his jaw in thought. “Could such a thing be possible? How did you come up with such a theory?”

Ava frowned. Could he not see the spirit inside either of the obsidian hearts? “It’s not a theory. There are spirits trapped inside both.”

“Truly? I do not see nor sense anything. What manner of spirits are they?”

“I do not know – mortal?” Ava shrugged, unsure how she could answer his question adequately. “Both are weak compared to the Frost Spirit and the frogman’s spirit is in distress. Will it be possible to free them?”

“Free them?” Oswin repeated incredulously. The thought never crossed his mind. “Perhaps – yes, that would be ideal, robbing the wraith of his control over the seas. Unwilling puppets usually turn on their puppeteer.

“It will be a daunting task, unveiling the nature and mechanics of the spells. Let alone knowing if it is successful. How does one go about unbinding something that cannot be seen?”

“You will not hurt it, will you?” Ava asked, instinctively reaching for the curio in his hand.

Oswin relinquished it as an adult handing a child their favoured toy would. It was bizarre to her that she had become so attached to it so quickly.

“Runecraft is not my specialty, but I will need to submit the frogman’s heart to the guild. It is the one with the second spell we need. Grand-Master Gildaen would be hard-pressed to reject my research proposal this time,” Oswin chuckled, victoriously.

He picked up a rag in his palm and placed the obsidian heart in the center. It flickered erratically from unknown pain and the spells across its surface flared.

“Master Oswin!” a panicked voice came from behind the door.

“Enter Ser Derric,” Oswin responded, unperturbed by the changes in the heart.

Ava flinched at the tortured shriek the spirit made. She rushed and slapped the heart from Oswin’s hand.

“Ava!” he chided.

The heart shattered to pieces in midair, sending glass fragments flying in every direction. Oswin barely managed to put a barrier up in time.

“Are you alright, Miss Ava?” he asked, looking her over for injuries and ascertaining that she was fine. “What in Holden’s name was that?”

“I – can’t rightly say,” she said breathlessly. “It was like the spirit itself was torn to pieces.”

She could still feel it as if it was her own soul. The fear of becoming nothing still lingering. Oswin squeezed her hand in comfort.

“Ser Derric, have you brought tidings from Prince Caeden?” he asked, turning to the stricken knight.

“Yes, sir. Unfortunately, there has been a collapse.”