The door clicked shut behind Antreas, the sound echoing through the stillness of my apartment. Orvox and I stayed in silence for a moment longer, the only noise being the discussion of two people below my apartment.

To be honest a part of me couldn't help but feel relieved when she left. It had nothing to do with her personality or her looks but her soul just felt weird or wrong.

“An odd one, that Antreas,” Orvox mused, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, almost contemplative, as if he was considering a puzzle with no clear solution.

“Yeah,” I muttered, leaning back against the counter and rubbing my tired eyes. “Odd’s one way to put it.”

He gave a small, knowing smile but let the subject drop. The air between us settled into that familiar tension that was always there when we were alone. He was probably going to leave too, I figured, head back to wherever it was he stayed when he wasn’t meddling in the affairs of desperate people like me.

But instead, he stayed seated, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. I turned my back to him, busying myself with clearing the remnants of our coffee meeting, hoping he’d get the hint.

“So,” Orvox began, almost casually, “earlier you mentioned being an Apprentice-level Arcanist and unable to manifest your soul.”

I stiffened at his words, the dish I was drying slipping from my grip and clattering into the sink. Of course he wouldn’t let that go. Nosy bastard. I didn’t turn to face him right away, giving myself a moment to gather my thoughts—or at least pretend I was still interested in cleaning up.

“What’s it to you?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.

Orvox’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. I could practically feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. “I’m curious, Crowley,” he said slowly. “Given the nature of our mission—and the enemies we’re likely to face—I’d like to understand the capabilities of those I'm working with.”

I finally turned around to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. “My capabilities?” I let out a dry chuckle. “Well, nothing special I specialise in spatial displacement or to be more board Spatial magic."

Orvox tilted his head slightly, genuinely curious now, not a hint of judgment in his gaze. It almost made me want to explain, which was strange.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pushing away the sudden anxiety gnawing at my chest. “look it isn't as useful as you are thinking. When I say manifesting my soul what it means is that I can't properly detect it"

"It isn't anything special A lot of people are unable to do this however I am closer to it. Probably give me a week or two and I will be able to manifest it." I said as a matter of fact.

To be honest it was more my own fault because I just didn't train hard enough during my time at the academy. But it was still a shameful part of my life.

Orvox didn't respond immediately. He simply watched me with that steady, contemplative gaze, the kind that made it feel like he was peeling back layers, one by one, to see what lay beneath.

I turned back to the sink, staring down at my reflection in the soapy water, hoping he would drop the subject. The silence stretched out between us, filled only by the faint hum of conversations from below. But Orvox, persistent as always, didn’t let it go.

“You say that like it’s a minor inconvenience,” he said, his voice low, almost gentle. “Yet it seems to bother you more than you’re willing to admit.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

I tensed, gripping the counter so hard my knuckles turned white. “So what if it does?” I muttered. “We all have our regrets.”

“I’m not trying to pry, Crowley,” Orvox continued, and for once, he almost sounded sincere.

I leaned back against the counter, letting out a breath as I tried to gather my thoughts. Orvox watched me with that infuriatingly patient expression, like he was trying to dissect every word before I even said it.

"Manifesting your soul is... different. See, when you work with Arcana, you’re pulling on the threads of magic that exist all around you, the ambient energy in the air, the ground, in the ether. It’s like... like accessing an open network. But when you can manifest your soul, that changes everything."

I paused, searching for the right analogy. "It’s like having your own, private server," I said finally. "Instead of relying on external energy that can be unstable or unreliable, you can tap directly into your own internal reserves. You’re not just borrowing power—you’re generating it. It’s more efficient, more reliable. In combat, it’s the difference between waiting for the Wi-Fi to load and having a direct, unbreakable line."

Orvox nodded slowly, absorbing my explanation. He stayed quiet for a moment longer, like he was turning over each word in his mind. “I see. But I still don't understand why is it that important to manifest your soul then?"

I shrugged. "I don't know man, it isn't important for the Arcanist. I suppose it's more important for a physical fighter than me." I lied.

While technically correct using external mana was poisonous for the body and could result in multiple degradation of the body ultimately to death.

I decided to shift the conversation before he could pick at the sore spot any longer. “You know, Orvox,” I said, forcing a casual tone into my voice, “for someone so interested in other people's capabilities, you’ve been pretty tight-lipped about your own. I’ve been working with you for a while now, and yet... I still don’t really know what you can do.”

Orvox leaned back in his chair, watching me with a newfound intensity, like he’d been waiting for this moment. “You want to know about my Blessing, Crowley? Fine,” he said with a tone that was almost daring me to regret asking.

I arched an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. It was rare for him to drop his usually guarded demeanor. “Yeah, I do. You’ve been dancing around it for long enough.”

A grin spread across his face—not the mild, polite smile he usually wore, but something fiercer, more triumphant. “Alright, then,” he said, almost with a sense of pride. He stood up slowly, as if to make a point, and began to speak in a tone that was both reverent and forceful, like a preacher delivering a sermon.

For a moment, I thought he was going to explode into a long lecture however the voice he began in was small and controlled yet filled with joy.

The air around his hand began to shimmer, distorting like heat waves rising off scorching asphalt. A faint scent of burning ozone filled the room, and then, almost imperceptibly, a small flame appeared above his open palm.

The flame appeared instantly and without a single use of mana was detected from it.

“This,” he said, his tone almost reverent, “is my Blessing—Pyrokinesis.”

I couldn’t help but stare. For someone like me, who had to wrestle and coax magic from the ether with incantations and mental strain, seeing someone manifest power so effortlessly was both awe-inspiring and, admittedly, infuriating.

“Pyrokinesis,” I repeated, my voice softer now, almost more to myself. “So, you’re a Pyromancer?”

"Yes." He answered instantly.

“Impressive,” I said flatly, hoping my tone was neutral enough. “Thanks for the demonstration, Orvox. But I’ve got a bit of research to get back to. Need to figure out a few things before the big mission.”

Orvox’s grin faded slightly, but he took the hint. “Of course,” he replied, his tone shifting back to that smooth, polite cadence he always wore like armor. “I’ll see myself out. Do try to get some rest, Crowley. We’ll need everyone at their best.”

I gave a noncommittal grunt as he turned and walked out of my apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. This time, there was no echo—just a suffocating silence that fell over the room like a thick fog. I waited, counting to ten under my breath to make sure he was truly gone.

When I was confident he wouldn’t come back, I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I glanced around the room, my eyes observing if they had left something that could record me.

However nothing was out of the ordinary.

I rubbed my temples, trying to recall everything the Academy had drilled into us.

A Blessing, they had taught, was not like Arcana. It didn't use formulation and knowledge to bring about its desired effect but a single thought. It wasn’t the result of training or natural talent. No, a Blessing was bestowed by something—or someone. And therein lies its danger.

The Academy’s warning echoed in my mind: “A Blessing is as much a curse as it is a gift. To wield it is to invite the weight of its origin."

I pushed away from the counter and wandered over to the small, cluttered desk in the corner of the room. Stacks of notes, scribbled diagrams, and half-finished theories were scattered across the surface, remnants of my desperate attempts to solve my own shortcomings.

I reached for a well-worn notebook and flipped it open to a familiar page. At the top, scrawled in my own handwriting, were the words:

“Soul Manifestation and its science"

Below it, an intricate diagram showed the flow of energy through the body—the intersection of mana. The soul. I traced a finger along the lines, following the theoretical path that should allow a person to access their inner reservoir. It looked so simple on paper, but in practice... I let out a frustrated sigh and slammed the notebook shut.

The diagrams and theories were all well and good, but they weren’t enough nor important at the moment. Currently I have to familiarize myself with the local traditions and gain more critical information.

Gringol

The God that the people of Musspell believed in. I realized with no small amount of irritation, I knew next to nothing about it.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling. Since I wasn't from here I wouldn't be allowed in a good one however any library or book shop would really do.

A place less concerned with rules and more likely to have the kind of obscure, unfiltered knowledge I was after. The kind of knowledge that could be dangerous in the wrong hands... or in mine.

I grabbed my coat and slung it over my shoulders, making sure to pocket a small notebook and pen.