Chapter 8: Chapter 7

I woke up the next morning sore, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected. I recalled that Ernest mentioned to me that I should be healing faster than normal. Would that apply to any injuries I gained after the fact? A small seed of curiosity formed as I realized I had no idea how healing inscriptions worked. Could I burn through it? Could exercise make me run through its power and leave my burn to finish healing naturally? Did it use my mana supply?

I decided that I would try to take it easy after all, at least until my inscription next week. 

A wave of excitement rolled over me. I was actually getting my inscription early. If I played my cards right, I’d pass the exam that my enrollment at Delmar granted me and I could have two before my eighteenth birthday. 

I sat up, feeling full of energy for the first time in a while. I still had other things I needed to figure out, and I couldn’t think of a new project for the life of me, but things were developing in an interesting way. My worry didn’t vanish— I still felt my dream of Northridge was infinitely further away— but sleeping on things last night made me feel better. 

I ran into Ella later that day, and we talked about our plans after Delmar. She was in the accel track so she’d graduate in a year, younger than I will.

“Hey, what school are you planning on going to?” I asked

“I’m also planning on applying to Northridge too actually.”

That took me by surprise, but after thinking about it, it made sense. She was a very competent warder. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if she got in. I remembered a detail of the Northridge exam.

“Hey, want to help me work on my project? It would count towards your entrance exam as a contributor if I get in.” I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else in this school who has the knack for warding like her before.

“Sure,” she replied after a moment’s thought, “What do you have in mind?” I explained to her that I was starting my project over due to an accident that ruined most of my supplies.

“I’m working on getting more. You work in gemcraft right? I think I’m gonna use mana gems for my project. Do you know how to work with those?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“You have a mana gem permit?” Shit. I knew I forgot something.

“Yeah, I got the permit finally the other day,” I lied smoothly, “I’m planning on buying some soon and then getting started. When you free?” 

“I’m good most weekends and Wednesday evenings. We can work on it then, I’ll help you brainstorm too.” The two of us finished discussing it over lunch and then separated for our afternoon classes.

The next few days passed by completely uneventfully. I got into a routine of very light sparring, researching for my project, and forcing down my budding anticipation. The last few days passed slowly, like a thick bog that I had to slog through just to get through. At the same time, my burns had healed far faster than I expected. There was still light scarring, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I had expected from all of the pain associated with it. I’d need to make friends with a healer at some point. 

This meant that I was able to begin my training in earnest with Liz after spending the week doing little more than light shadowboxing. She managed to buy some second-hand pads from a guy at our school in the combat track and she started using those during our sessions. She mostly focused on having me incorporate kicks, elbows, and knees into my strikes more often. At the end of our latest session, as I struggled to catch my breath, she grabbed my attention.

“Hey Trey, you should try incorporating mana techniques next.” 

“Liz, you know my control is shit. I’m barely keeping up as is with my body alone,” I coughed out between heavy breaths.

“Trey seriously, have you ever tried? Did you legitimately, actively try to learn it? Like...you’re seriously gonna need to learn this at some point. There are enough people out there that can, You will get seriously fucked up if you cross one of them and can’t use them yourself.”

I bit my lip. She was right, I needed to know this more than I let on, but my mana control seriously sucked. I could barely move it properly and usually was left just upset, feeling incompetent and frustrated. 

“Fine,” I relented, my goals more important than my pride. “How should I get started?” I stood upright, lifting my hands off my knees into a guard.

“Well you know the basics of mana and mana bolts right?“

“Yeah,” I replied, forming and shooting a weak mana bolt in my hand. It dispersed not even a foot away from me but I showed I knew the principal.

“Alright, so instead of gathering the mana in your hand and projecting it, you want to gather it into your hand but disperse it throughout.”

 I tried doing as she said, but I just ended up dispersing some of my mana into the air. I tried concentrating on it and just ended up forming a flimsy orb in my hand, years of habit acting out of turn.

“Well, you’ll get it eventually,” She said, watching my frustration. “The technique should reinforce your hand depending on how much mana you squeeze in there. For now, I think there is something you could use more immediately.” 

She grabbed a can off the ground. I think it was actually the can from a couple of weeks ago and threw it in the air. As it rose, she stepped back and put her fists up before punching as the can passed in front of her. Because she stepped back, her fist didn’t reach the can. That didn’t stop the can from crumpling and rocketing several meters away.

“It’s a cool trick I use sometimes on people with a longer reach than me at the academy. You disperse mana as if you’re making a loose mana bolt while punching, the mana has extra momentum from the punch and all the usual damage that comes from a mana bolt. Not visible to the naked eye and usually too fast for someone who can see it to react to.”

That trick looked like something I might be able to do. I tried creating a mana bolt while punching, but it was a lot more difficult than it looked. The bolt often came out malformed from my already poor mana control being worsened by split focus. Liz had me practice the exercise until I was bordering on collapse. By the time we finished, I could get the trick three out of every ten attempts; it was better than nothing. We went back to Liz’s house following our new routine.

“By the way,” she started as we got close, “Mom’s leaving tomorrow, she got a new job at the coast of Spindor.” 

“She’s moving to the continent?”

“Yeah, the job pays well. She’ll be sending money back.”

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“You gonna miss her?” I asked.

She snorted, “Duh, she’s my mom. I might not spend as must time with her since she spends so much time working but I appreciate how much she does for us.”

I nodded. The Carters were good people; when I was stable again I’d have to do something nice for them, they deserved it.

______________________________________________________________________

The day I had been waiting for came before I knew it. I was wrought with nervous tension as Martha texted me to meet up with her in the evening. I didn’t know how to feel to be honest. The day blurred by, and next thing I knew there was only an hour left until the meeting. I went to the spot where I buried it. That felt like ages ago at this point. I found the marked stone quickly and dug up to find the binding stone safely hidden underneath. I wiped it off and ran it in the river's water a bit before shoving it in my pocket to prepare for the ritual.

I arrived where she prepared it, at the warehouses near the sea. I looked around, eyes passing the dozen of identical warehouses trying to spot the one I was told to meet her at. It was towards the edge of the docks, but I was quickly able to find it because it was newer. Most of the others looked older, but this one has hints of the more modern architecture you can see around the city.

I crept in only to see a large setup with Martha sitting in a folding chair right next to me. I jumped, in surprise. 

"You're here a bit early, we'll be ready in about 10 minutes. Did you bring the stone?" I showed her the binding stone.

"I still can't believe it, these are exceptionally rare." She paused for a moment, "Are you sure about this?" I nodded. I knew the risks. Apparently, the ritual could be extremely dangerous if the conditions weren't nearly perfect. There were plenty of examples and studies of people having various health issues caused by poorly done inscriptions: permanent comas, and long-lasting mental health issues. The chances were good that I'd be fine. The risks still scratched my mind, but the advantages were too good to pass up.

Martha chatted with me for a bit, I think she was trying to be comforting but the experience felt odd. We talked about my plans for Northridge as well as what I've been up to while I wasn't working for her. It was oddly relaxing, I never expected Martha to take much interest in my personal life.

Before I knew it, everything was set up. The ritual caster she had for this called me over.

"Put the stone there," she said gruffly. There was a pedestal in the center of the array. I glanced around at the wards, not understanding any of them. There were thousands of known wards and these looked highly specialized. I recalled the wardbook I have, wondering what wards lay within.

I placed the stone, then stood exactly where she told me, next to the pedestal. 

"I'm going to start the binding ritual now, binding a piece of the demon's essence to you. You'll need to place your hand on the stone, and it will be done before you know it."

The ritual started, and I stood there nervously. The wards blazed to life, no longer only visible due to a ward. Raw mana permeated the air, and I spotted the full glow of rapidly draining mana gems. I watched the dazzling array in awe, I had never seen such a display of both technique and resources. I began to wonder how Martha managed to get this all together when suddenly I felt my body go numb and my mind grows hazy. A thin thread of fear ran through my mind before everything went blank.

___________________________________________________________________

A cottage inside of a glade. It was built out of wood, with a stone pathway leading up to it. It looked cozy as if its only reason for existing was to provide comfort.

Walking over, I felt a refreshing breeze wash over my body, rejuvenating me. I knocked on the door and it opened for me.

I walked in to see a young girl, who seemed to be roughly in her late teens. She sat there knitting on a couch, a look of serenity on her face. The cabin gave a feeling of utter calm, reality itself believed in a relaxing life. 

The woman looked at me and smiled, inviting me to sit next to her. I walked over, sat, and watched her knit an intricate story. 

It was the story of a girl who suffered for the majority of her life, one who was cursed for her disability and cast out from her family as a failure. A brother— no, a brother-like figure stood by her this entire time. A protector, a confidant, a best friend. She saw the wear on his mind as he tried to help her adapt to her situation; he struggled and raged against the world using every skill and talent he had to find a solution. He found one eventually, in the form of ascension to a higher realm. She wouldn't just be freed of the shackles of her body, but of humanity and reality itself. 

Her essence would intermix with a concept, and her mind expanded, becoming one with an underlying truth of reality. It was freeing— but a cage in its own right. Her mind warped to accommodate her new reality, a process she believes all ascended suffered. But she was no human, no longer bound by concepts such as identity and wholeness. She fractured a part of her spirit. A piece that was no longer her but just as much of the entirety as the ascended being. This split housed the girl, sheltering her mind and memories, grounding them in emulation of the reality she once knew. The girl's mind constantly wondered what happened to the whole, feeling distanced from herself and incomplete despite knowing that belief was wrong.

Eventually, the complete fragment grew calm with the development and shaped the world it found itself in. A beautiful glade, filled with wildlife, plants, and all the beauty she could imagine. It was comforting.

She felt lonely though, separated from her best friend, and others entirely. She entertained herself, she taught herself many things. Or so she thought. 

Eventually, a creeping chilling realization crept its way into the girl's mind. She hadn't actually learned anything, reality just warped toward her desires. She finally snapped, cursing her greater self for abandoning her to an eternity of isolation. She hated her friend, who bought these events upon her for her freedom. She raged, tearing apart the world she created but found herself unable to. Every tree she cut, and every object she destroyed would reappear by the time she awoke again. She was once again trapped, no longer by her body, but by her mind. An eternity passed and the fiery anger eventually burned itself out.

She realized raging was pointless. This was her eternity, trapped in this place. She took her fake hobbies again, not particularly caring about the reality of it all. It was real enough to her. She found she could do extraordinary things. She could weave thoughts with her hands, and create images embedded in the words she wrote. A simple stroke of a pen could be an epic, filled with dialogue, love, and real emotions. 

She had thought her skills mere illusions, but now these illusions were more beautiful than the entire world constructed around her. She mastered the craft, toiling away endlessly.

She felt a quiet sadness. No one else would ever experience what she created, but the magic of the work itself soon distracted her. But suddenly one day, someone else was here, she could feel it. The girl couldn’t describe her emotions. A warmth she had long thought lost filled her core and warmed her body. She felt she should greet the guest with everything she could. She used her craft on the world itself, coloring with emotion. Leaves and grass were infused with the idea of cool breezes and the air was infused with calm. She filled her house with feelings of contentment and then she began to weave a tale. She wanted someone else to hear of her story, she felt a duty to imbue someone else with this wonder and showed it to the guest as they, no he, entered her cottage. She was filled with pride as the traveler experienced the story. His emotions were evident on his face. Sadness, pity, awe, and a swath of other emotions are conveyed through his body language alone. As she finished weaving, she wondered what her guest thought of her tapestry.

I looked at her and smiled.

“It’s beautiful.”

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