The referee towers remained silent, and Asher realized with a sinking feeling that he now had to go on the offensive.

He cursed again, adjusted his grip, and rushed in.

Beastman parried his sword, nearly knocking it from his hands, and immediately swung out with a fist. Asher grunted in pain as the man’s knuckles made contact. But Asher was far enough away that he didn’t get the full impact.

Still, his left arm went simi-numb.

He fell back, resisting the urge to grab his shoulder.

Beastman held up his club. The look in his eyes had changed… And it reminded him forcefully of when Dace died.

When his bodyguard and friend had trapped Asher in a bubble, he’d had that same look in his eye.

The look of someone who knew they were about to die.

Maybe it was because of that memory that he didn’t aim for the man’s neck. Instead, he danced around the club’s powerful swing and sunk his blade into Beastman’s arm. Now unable to hold the club, it fell with a thud to the flagstones.

With one arm and one leg disabled, a referee finally hit a gong.

Suddenly, all the noises of the crowd rushed in on Asher. Boiling over him like a shockwave. How had he not noticed it before? He warily stepped away from Beastman, sword dripping blood as he looked around.

Medics were rushing onto the arena floor. When they reached Beastman, they stopped to look at each other. Taking in that none of them were big enough to carry Beastman off the field.

A decision was made.

The crowd laughed and clapped when Beastman screamed under the agony of a quick healing to his leg.

They then led him staggering from the floor.

Meanwhile, the first referee had stomped up to Asher and nearly dragged the boy to another door. Disgustedly taking and tossing Asher’s weapon aside as they went.

“Here.”

The pissed off referee pushed Asher roughly toward two people waiting for him at the door. Then he stomped off to do whatever his job was in between bouts.

“You made it.”

The woman of the pair spit to the side. Then continued to chew her tobacco as she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “This way, kid. Think you can handle guarding the door, Marcus?”

‘Marcus’ rolled his eyes and went back to glaring out at the arena.

The woman waved for Asher to follow.

“My name’s Zaria,” the woman introduced. She winked over her shoulder. “Or Silver Streak, if you prefer. You’re good! I mean, damn near knight good. I'm going to have fun when it's you and me later.”

Asher grunted. Not sure how to take this woman’s attitude.

“Got a name, kid?”

Asher flinched.

In three years, no one had ever asked his name. They’d always given him some sort of vulgar nickname. And after half a second of thought, he realized he couldn’t use his own.

“Gray,” he mumbled.

“Gray? That sounds like a slave name.”

Asher gave her a look, and she held up her hands.

“Got it, got it. Well, you’ll get something better shortly. For now-”

She kicked open a door, startling four people huddled around a small table inside. The room was small too, giving Asher an instant feeling of being cramped with six people in that space.

“Most people just walk in, Zaria.”

“Zaria, if you made me lose my roll-!” blustered a small man with a red mustache.

“Hello, everyone! This here’s Gray. Our newest newbie. One of you show him to his room. And put all that away before the boss sees it.”

One of the other men stood up. Frowning with visible worry. “Beast?”

“Infirmary.”

The man visibly relaxed in relief and slumped back into his chair. As though he hadn’t just been warned, he picked up the dice.

“Hey! That was my roll!”

Zaria rolled her eyes in exasperation when all four of them turned their attention back to the game.

“Since all of you are jumping up at once, Ian, you forfeit. Now you have the honor of showing the boy to his room. Go!”

Grumbling, red mustache shoved the table as he stood. Then he stomped toward the far wall and motioned for Asher to follow him through the door.

Slowly, Asher followed.

Ian showed him to yet another cell-like room. Then left it unlocked as he rushed back to his game.

For an instant, Asher just stood there. Then, as though all the events of the last hour came crashing down on him at once, he collapsed to his knees next to the bed. Burying his face into his arms.

He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or faint.

He laughed.

Hard, loud, and until his stomach ached.

***

“You’re completely dry.”

Em looked down at the low quality emerald in her hand and then back up at the haggard, irritable man sitting across from her.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Dry?”

The man was impatiently putting away other stones and portable magic circles. The magic circles resembled wooden coasters. They clinked as he put them in a drawstring bag.

“Yes, dry.” He pulled the bag closed. Then realized he’d forgotten the rock in Em’s hand and took it from her. Opening the bag again.

“I don’t understand.”

He pulled the bag closed again.

“Your mana is gone, gir- I mean, miss.”

Em stiffened in alarm. Then she leaned forward, a little desperately. “Gone? All gone?! So I won’t be able to do magic ever again?!”

The man sighed and sat back. Rubbing his aching forehead. “Calm down, Miss Emmaline. It’ll come back. What on earth did you do to lose it?”

Relieved, Em slumped in her chair.

What had she done? Oh, right.

Prince.

Her dreams were getting to a point that she was starting to get the hang of them. The dreams where she was Emmaline were starting to feel real. As real as if Em in the hospital had disappeared entirely.

It scared her.

If she thought about it. And most of the time, it was just easier not to think about it.

And the dreams about Prince felt like dreams. The way dreams are supposed to feel like.

“Well,” said the man irritably. “Tell me.”

“Mister Kimball, is it possible to use mana in your sleep?”

“Yes.” The man tapped the table and grimaced. “Tell me about it.”

For only a split second, Em thought about not telling the whole truth. However…

Telling the truth hadn’t been a liability for her. In fact, it had been fun. People never expected it and it was fun watching their faces as they decided whether she was lying or not.

Of course, there were things she kept to herself. Her desire not to be locked up in a Temple psychiatric ward had grown. Along with her sense of the world being more and more real.

So she just told Kimball about the latest dream. The most important parts, anyway. How he was hurt but had to fight.

And about pouring everything she had into him.

Kimball tapped the table as he listened, his lips pressing more and more grimly together.

When she was done, he sighed. Tapping his forehead with his fist.

“Healing,” he muttered. “It could be a lot worse.”

“How?”

“If you’d dreamt about fire, you could’ve woken up to your room in ruins. Or not woken up at all. I’ll have to put wards on your room and your bedding.”

He pulled a notebook and pencil out of his pocket and scribbled something into it.

“Anything else?”

“When will my mana come back?”

He put the notebook away.

“Hard to say. If you were just low, it would’ve been a little sleep and food. Half a day at most. But it's different when you’ve completely depleted yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because going dry actually damages the aura receptors in your chakras. Do it too many times and you can break your connection to aura completely. I’ll need to make something for you so you can’t do that…”

He pulled out the notebook again.

Looking even more tired and irritable than before.

“Why does it damage them?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, that means our lesson is done for the day. You know all the basic theory and we can’t move forward until you have mana to use.”

He stood up and Em quickly slipped out of her chair. The sounds of their chairs echoed oddly in the empty library.

“But when will I get it back?”

“Depends on how damaged it is. No, Miss Emmaline, don't push. I can’t answer that question. It could be a day, it could be three weeks. If you’ve done this a lot, it may not come back at all. Do you understand?”

Em nodded glumly.

As far as she remembered, she’d only done it once. She’d just have to wait.

“Good. I have other work to do, so if you don’t have any other questions-”

“Wait! I do have another question.”

Kimball Rune sighed. “Yes?”

Em lifted the edges of her dress to display her feet. Today, she was wearing different shoes on each foot. It was uncomfortable because the soles were slightly different for each pair.

“Loki has been playing tricks on me. He stole my shoes so I have to wear them like this,” she told him. “How do you get a god to stop playing tricks?”

The man’s face blanked.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s been doing other things, too. Yesterday, he put a mouse monster in my closet then made it disappear. And this morning, when I was playing ball with the other kids, he turned my water into brine. How do I get him to stop?”

“How do you know it's Loki and not another youngster playing pranks?”

Em scowled.

“He whispers in my ear every time. He’s so annoying! You’d think he’s a boggart instead of a god. Or a five-year-old.”

Kimball’s face paled, and he covered Em’s mouth. Looking around as if he expected the god of mischief to be grinning at them from a bookshelf.

“You shouldn’t insult the gods, Emmaline.”

Em pulled back, still scowling. “But he’s bothering me!”

She didn’t mean to whine. But she didn’t correct it once she realized she was whining. After all, it was so annoying!

Kimball looked troubled. Silently, he wrung the string on his bag as he turned the problem over in his mind. Not sure if Em was exaggerating or if this was a legitimate concern.

Damn it! He wasn’t a priest.

Adding the little girl’s tutelage to his schedule was hard enough without adding complications from the gods.

He comforted himself that it likely wasn’t a god. They rarely interfered in people’s lives so directly. What was more likely was it was some talented prankster who had also managed to throw their voice somehow.

Harassment, yes.

God-like powers, no.

“I’ll speak with the Baron,” he said heavily. “If it is a god, you’ll need a priest.”

If it isn’t, Kimball will probably have yet another job to do. Since he was the only one who could track down someone pranking the girl with magic.

Lucky him.

“Thank you. Do you have a magic stone I can have?”

“A… what?”

Em grinned at his expression. The abrupt change in subject threw him off and he looked instantly lost.

“A magic stone. I found something in the attic I want to try using. Do you have one?”

Warily, he put his hands behind his back. Momentarily hiding his drawstring bag.

“What is this ‘thing’?”

Em told him. And told him what she wanted to do with it.

He raised an eyebrow, snorted, and opened the drawstring bag again. It must’ve had a space expanding spell on it, because it was too small for what he’d already put inside. And now he pulled out four stones of different sizes.

They glowed a sickly green.

Cheerfully, Em picked the one she thought was about the right size.

“Return it to me when it's depleted. Now are you done?”

“Yes. You can go now, Mister Kimball.”

The man grumbled as he spun on his heel and marched from the room. “Work, work, work, work…”

He needs a vacation, thought Em as she studied the little stone. Then she tucked it into her pocket and left the library.

It had been a week since her conversation with Flint and agreeing to learn more healing. It was also a week since her last Prince dream. So her mana could return any day now.

Right?