Naethan carefully entered the large, cool room. The Archmage sat behind a massive desk, a gaunt man with piercing gray eyes that made Naethan feel as if he were standing naked before him. The high bookshelves lining the room were stuffed with ancient texts, artifacts, and strange objects that emitted a faint magical shimmer. The only light came from a flickering spell floating above the desk, casting the room into an eerie, dancing semi-darkness.
The Archmage lifted his head, his posture relaxed but his gaze demanding. “You are Naethan,” he said with a calm yet authoritative voice that immediately filled the room. “Sit down.”
Naethan swallowed hard, nodded, and slowly sank into the chair opposite the desk. He felt like an intruder, a little boy carrying too great a responsibility. Does he know about the stone? The thought made his heart beat faster. Had Alaric prepared him?
“I know why you are here,” the Archmage continued, without taking his eyes off him. Naethan felt himself automatically sit up straighter. “Felix von Rothenburg sent you.”
Naethan blinked, surprised. Felix? Not the stone? “Yes, Master,” he said hesitantly, gathering his thoughts internally. He had thought the meeting would revolve around the stone. Why did the Archmage mention Felix instead?
The Archmage leaned back, his fingers playing with a small metal rune on the desk. “He has informed me through magical channels that you have something important for me. Where is it?”
“Oh.” Naethan stared at the Archmage for a moment before hurriedly reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the small, sealed package that Felix had given him. “This. Felix didn’t say much about it. Only that I should bring it into the city and someone… someone would approach me about it.”
The Archmage snorted softly, an expression of amused frustration on his face. “Typical Felix. Always cryptic, always full of secrets.” He extended his hand, and Naethan handed him the package.
The weight of the small box seemed to fill the room for a moment as the Archmage took it in his hand. He weighed it briefly before checking the seal. His fingers lingered for a moment, and he scrutinized Naethan with a sharp gaze.
“Did he tell you anything about the contents?” he asked, while still holding the package in his hand.
“No,” Naethan quickly replied. “He was… very vague. He only said that it was important that I deliver it to you.”
The Archmage nodded slowly and carefully placed the package on the table without opening it. “Of course he was. Felix loves his puzzles.”
Naethan felt out of place, almost superfluous, as the Archmage examined the package. Yet something inside him urged him to break the silence. Should I now speak about the stone?
“Master,” he began hesitantly, his gaze briefly wandering to his bag. “I… I have something else. Something that Master Alaric gave me. He said you would know what to do with it.”
The Archmage raised an eyebrow and looked at Naethan appraisingly. “Alaric?” His tone was neutral, but Naethan felt a wave of skepticism. “Show it to me.”
Naethan carefully took the stone out of his pocket and placed it on the desk. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as the Archmage leaned forward to examine it. The Archmage’s eyes narrowed as he inspected the inconspicuous stone, then he picked it up. For a moment, the room was silent, only the soft hum of the magical light could be heard.
“That?” The Archmage turned the stone in his fingers. “This is what Alaric wanted to inform me about?” His tone was dry, almost mocking.
Naethan nodded, his nervousness growing. “Yes… He said you would know what to do with it.”
The Archmage shook his head, letting the stone fall back onto the table, and crossed his arms. “This is an ordinary stone. Not a spark of magic. Why do you believe this is something special?”
Naethan’s heart skipped a beat. “But it’s not! Master, I… I have experienced things with it. It has brought me back—through time.”
The Archmage raised an eyebrow, his look skeptical. “Brought back? Through time?” His voice was calm but tinged with mockery. “Boy, time flows only in one direction. That is a fundamental law of nature. What you describe is impossible.”
“But it happened!” Naethan leaned forward, his voice trembling. “I was in situations I could not survive. And then… then I was back here. The pull of the stone, every time I die, it pulls me back.”
The Archmage slowly shook his head. “Listen, boy. Magic has its limits. It may bend the laws of nature, but it cannot break them. Time is irreversible. What you experienced was likely an illusion—a trick your mind played on you.”
Naethan stared at him in disbelief. “This is no trick! It’s real! I know what I’ve experienced!”
The Archmage sighed and let the stone fall back onto the table. “If you believe that to be true, then it is up to you to prove it. But don’t expect me to take the time to deal with fantasies.”
Naethan felt hope shatter inside him. The Archmage, the only person who was supposed to help him, did not believe him. He felt alone, lost, the pull of the stone weighing heavier on him than ever.
“What am I supposed to do?” Naethan finally asked, his voice soft, almost pleading.
The Archmage looked at him for a long time, then shook his head. “Whatever you believe you are experiencing with this stone, the responsibility lies with you. I have no answers for you. Perhaps… you should learn to live without these illusions.”
With those words, the Archmage turned around, clearly ending the conversation. Naethan was left alone, with the stone in his hand and the burden of finding the truth himself.
Naethan stepped out of the Archmage’s room, still slightly dazed by the conversation. His mind was full of thoughts tumbling over each other, and he was so lost in thought that he almost collided with someone. A white robe brushed his shoulder, and he looked up. Finn.
But this Finn was not the one he knew. His hair was neatly arranged, his face clean, and the white robe he wore gave him an elegance that surprised Naethan. Finn gave him a brief, barely perceptible glance that was neither warm nor cold, just… distant.
“Hello,” said Finn curtly, without stopping.
Naethan opened his mouth to say something, but Finn had already passed by him, his movements fluid and sure. It seemed almost as if he hadn’t really noticed Naethan. Odd.
He stood for a moment, watching Finn head toward the Archmage’s room and quietly close the door behind him. Naethan furrowed his brow. This was not the Finn he had met on the ship. Something had changed.
Or had Finn always been like this, and Naethan just hadn't seen it?
Naethan walked through the spacious courtyard of the academy, his gray robe still feeling unfamiliar. The towers of Valmor loomed majestically into the sky, their pointed roofs almost disappearing into the clouds. The ground under his feet was made of smooth stone, adorned with intricate patterns that resembled runes. The air was filled with the sound of nearby waterfalls and the quiet conversations of students gathered in small groups around the fountains or on the steps of the towers.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
What immediately caught his eye were the colors. Students in robes were everywhere, but each group seemed to wear a different color: Red, Blue, Green, Yellow—and of course, Gray like his own. The colors stood out brightly against the plain stones of the academy, and although Naethan did not know their meaning, he sensed that they must be important.
A boy in a red robe ran past him, a folder under his arm, while he talked with a girl in a green robe. They laughed, bending their heads together, barely noticing Naethan. As he watched them, he noticed that the students mostly stayed among themselves—red robes with red, green with green. It was almost as if the colors were an invisible barrier that separated the groups.
As he continued walking, he encountered a small group of students in blue robes, holding books and scrolls in their hands. They seemed engrossed in a heated discussion and hardly noticed their surroundings. Another student in yellow sat on a bench, his face buried in a thick book.
Naethan noticed that there were no students in white robes—the color Finn had worn. The only other robes he saw were black, and those were worn by the teachers. A woman in such a black robe strode across the courtyard with long, confident steps, a scroll tight in her hand. The students respectfully stepped aside, some even bowing slightly.
Naethan couldn't help but think of Finn. The white robe, the distance he had felt—all of it now seemed strangely off. Was Finn the only student in such a robe? Why had he ignored him? It gnawed at him, but he had no answers.
As he left the courtyard and headed to the class, his gaze once again fell on the colors. The robes must have a meaning—perhaps houses? Or ranks? But now was not the time to ponder that. The class was waiting, and Naethan had too much to do to be distracted by such questions.
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Naethan entered the class, his mind still swirling from the morning's events. The Archmage had given him no answers, and Finn's strange behavior lingered in his mind. But as he entered the room, those thoughts briefly faded. Most students were already there, in their places, and the atmosphere was tense.
“Today we are learning the basics of telekinesis,” explained Master Renor with a voice that erased any thought of distraction. His strict posture made it clear that he tolerated no mistakes. “Telekinesis is not a matter of raw power, but precision. Your goal is to direct Mana in short, controlled pulses. Without patience, none of you will succeed.”
With a snap of his fingers, he made small pieces of aluminum foil appear on the students' tables. Naethan stared at his piece, which glinted dully in the light of the floating magical lanterns. It seemed so light, so harmless—yet he was sure it would be harder than it looked.
He closed his eyes and drew Mana from his core, as he had learned when refilling the shard. The stone in his pocket reminded him that he must conserve his Mana. He still had shards for a month, but only if he did not use any Mana. And it looked like his supply would run out faster than he thought. With this concern in mind, Naethan took as much Mana as he could—but he was unpracticed.
A surge of Mana poured from his core, uncontrolled, like a river bursting through a dam. Immediately, he felt the stone pull at him more strongly, as if punishing his mistake. The piece of aluminum foil was flung forward and shredded into small, silvery shimmering fragments in the air.
“That was not an attempt, but a waste,” said Master Renor sharply, without moving. With a brief gesture, he made a new piece of aluminum foil appear on Naethan's table. “What were you thinking? You are supposed to direct the Mana, not lash out like an untamed beast. Try again—this time with feeling, or you will never learn.”
Naethan nodded hastily, trying to swallow the shame that rose within him. His heart beat fast, and the thought of failing again made his hands tremble. But the stone in his pocket felt heavy, almost like an invisible hand tugging at his reserves. How could he ever learn to truly control magic under these conditions? Perhaps the stone was not just a tool—but a curse.
Again, he gathered Mana, this time slower, more carefully. It was like trying to thread a thin string through the eye of a needle. The piece of aluminum foil moved, trembled, and then slid a little forward. It was not a great success, but at least it did not shred. A relieved sigh escaped him.
Next to him, he heard a soft whisper. Elias leaned over to him, his voice subdued. “Hey, if you give me some tips later on how to efficiently refill those damn shards, I might lend you a few. You look like you could use some.” Naethan was briefly tempted to refuse the offer. But the words of Master Renor and the constant pull of the stone reminded him of how urgently he needed resources. He nodded slightly, without taking his eyes off his piece of aluminum foil.
“Agreed,” he murmured as he prepared for the next maneuver. The hour flew by, and Naethan felt the burden of his Mana consumption heavy on his shoulders. He had used up four shards—so much that he would have had to use in two days at an inn. When he finally returned to his room, he immediately sank onto the bed. But instead of giving in to exhaustion, he sat up again with a determined breath. No time to waste, he thought as he sat down in a cross-legged position and closed his eyes.
Naethan sat in his room, legs crossed, hands on his knees, his eyes closed. The meditation was urgently needed—his Mana core felt empty and strained, the shards he had used weighed on him like an invisible burden. The soft pull of the time stone in his pocket reminded him that he could afford no carelessness. Every drop of Mana he regenerated was a small victory against the endless hunger of the stone.
The door creaked open, and Elias stepped in. “Naethan, I hope you have enough energy left for our deal,” he said with a mischievous grin, flopping onto his bed. “I've got the shards here.”
Naethan opened one eye and saw Elias pull out five sparkling shards from his pocket, placing them like precious gems on the nightstand. “So you're really willing to give these to me?” Naethan asked as he slowly sat up. Elias nodded. “Of course. You said you'd show me how to refill them. This is my starting capital.” He leaned forward, his eyes shining with excitement. “You know, if I get this technique down, I can not only impress the guy from the Tower of Swords, but also start making a name for myself. Maybe I'll become the Shard Guy here at the academy.”
Naethan made a face. “The Shard Guy? Doesn't sound very honorable.” “Oh, what do you know,” retorted Elias with a wink. “It's all about Mana here. Whoever has the resources has the power. And I don't just want to get by in the higher towers. I want to make a splash.”
Naethan looked at the shards on the nightstand and finally sighed. “Alright. But listen closely. If you do the technique wrong, you'll lose more Mana than you gain.”
“No worries, I'll manage,” assured Elias, getting ready. “So, how do we start?” Naethan pulled one of the shards towards him and explained slowly: “First, you need to establish a connection between your Mana core and the shard. Imagine that the Mana from your core flows like a thin thread. You draw the thread through the shard and wrap it around an invisible anchor inside it. The key is precision—not too fast, not too much at once.”
Elias tried it, but the shard immediately began to glow faintly before a crack shot through the crystal. “Damn,” Elias cursed. “That was too much.”
“Too much power, too little control,” commented Naethan dryly. “Try again. And remember: You must imagine that the Mana flows gently, not like a waterfall, but like a stream.”
Elias focused again, and this time the shard glowed faintly without breaking. A satisfied grin spread across his face. “I did it!”
Naethan nodded. “Good. Now keep practicing. When you master it, we can talk about your deal. But don't mess up—if someone finds out you're doing this, there will be trouble.”
“Count on me,” said Elias, beginning to practice with the other shards. Naethan leaned back, his eyes half-closed, and fell back into meditation. The day had been exhausting, but at least he now had five more shards—a small ray of light amid the growing challenges.
But as he ended the meditation and opened his eyes, he felt a gentle tug from his pocket. Puzzled, he reached in and pulled out the time stone. It lay cool in his hand, but something was different. The familiar, dull weight of the stone seemed to have changed.
Naethan held his breath as a faint glow ran through the stone—not as bright as when he had first seen it, but still noticeable. The glow pulsed gently, in the rhythm of a heartbeat. His own heart began to beat faster. Could it be… is the time stone collecting Mana? The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine. And what happens when it has collected enough? Before Naethan could think further, the glow suddenly intensified—and a soft, almost inaudible whisper pierced the silence. It was not a sound but a presence that seeped into his mind.
“Naethan… time is running out…”
Naethan froze, his gaze fixed on the stone. The voice was foreign, yet… it sounded familiar. Deep and calm, with an eerie clarity that got under his skin. Then it hit him like a bolt of lightning: That's Finn's voice!
His stomach clenched. How could that be? Finn was here, at the academy, and the stone—the stone was just an artifact. Or was it not? The connection left him restless. Before he could finish the thought, the glow of the stone flickered, and the voice spoke again, this time clearer:
“Naethan… when the stone is full, it will be too late. The Archmage does not tolerate that—Quiet, they are coming!”
The light abruptly went out, and the room was plunged into oppressive darkness. Naethan sat motionless as the words echoed in his mind, like a warning from a future he could not understand.