Seren bit her lower lip softly, her amber eyes narrowing in thought as she turned his words over in her mind. The dim light caught the silver embroidery on her deep blue robes, accentuating the curve of her waist before cascading down gently to the floor.
She was beautiful, and had an elegance and wit about her that Alar found extremely endearing, but there was more to her than that. When Alar had first spotted Kaval, the older mage from the Empire, he had felt an aura to him, a presence that made it feel like the mana around him was affected by him in subtle ways. It had intrigued Alar, even before he knew what mana was, or that it even existed. With Seren, he felt a similar phenomenon, like there was a charge to the air around her, and like the mana was almost waiting for her to use it. Alar didn’t know what it was, but he knew he wanted to learn more about it. No, it was more than that, he wanted to do that.
Weapons were all well and good. Swords and spears were effective, brutal, and terrifying when wielded by someone who knew what they were doing. But the magic he had seen was something different entirely. Sure, it did seem like anyone who was bound to a Form, even the purely physical ones, used mana in some way; but the way that Kaval had affected their minds, the way that Teara had used shadows to disappear, and the way the woman in crimson had wielded so much power and destruction effortlessly, made Alar want that type of power more than anything else.
“Why would you want to stay here? This isn’t your war, Alar,” she finally responded, her look still puzzled.
Alar was still deep within his own thoughts, and only partially registered her question as he continued thinking.
Looking back, Alar was beginning to understand his reaction to his crewmember’s deaths a little more fully. What at the time had felt like blind rage and fury had more nuance to it now that Alar had been away from the situation for a while. He had to admit to himself, even if it was a bit callous, that their deaths in and of themselves hadn’t been the only thing that bothered him. They did of course bother him, Alar wasn’t some heartless psychopath or anything like that, but that wasn’t the exclusive source of the emotions he felt. What he had been truly angry at, more than anything else, was how little control he had and how helpless he felt, not just then, but always. Back on earth, he could do almost nothing to prevent the destruction of the planet. He was essentially a child when the wars had started, and even if he wasn’t, soldiers did almost nothing when wars were fought with nuclear bombs and biological weapons that decimated entire continents. He had left earth in part to get at least a modicum of control and agency over his life and future. Now, as soon as he landed on this new planet, that was again taken from him.
But now, it was a little bit different. No human on earth could get strong enough to fight a nuclear warhead, and the notion was preposterous. But here? While he didn’t know if people could gain enough levels to fight off nuclear warheads here either, he did know that there was tangible and attainable power that he could reach for that would prevent him from allowing others to control his future. So, instead of running, fleeing and hoping, he would step forward and take it.
“Alar?” she said, interrupting his thoughts.
He blinked, snapping back to the present, Seren’s questioning gaze meeting his own.
“I can’t leave.” he said simply.
“What?” she responded, clearly taken aback by the answer. “Did you hit your head when you passed out? We just talked about this. Renik is sending a team that will help smuggle you across, you aren’t going to be going alone.”
“No, not like that, I mean I can’t leave. I can’t just walk away from this.”
“And why is that?” she asked, now truly confused.
“A few reasons. First, the ship that I came down from, there are still people up there. Tens of thousands of them. I don’t know when or where they are going to land, but they can’t stay up there forever. If they land in the Empire, the same thing will happen to them. Or if they land anywhere else, they are still all Level 0 like me.”
“Ok, but why does that mean you need to stay?”
“Second,” he said, ignoring her, “the Empire killed and enslaved the people I landed with. I know you said that there is nothing the Accord can do about it, and I am not saying I can do anything about it either. But that doesn’t make it right.”
“Okay, but what does that –“she started to say.
“Third,” he cut her off again, “I can’t get stronger on my own.”
She didn’t respond right away. Looking down at the floor of the room, she finally mumbled. “You could have led with that one…”
Alar let out a soft laugh.
She looked up at him, her eyes glowing with a bit more intensity than before. “And you think that if you become stronger, you can help the others from your planet? Avenge the ones already captured?”
“Pretty much,” he said back.
“You’re not wrong I guess,” she shook her head as she responded, “but you’re oversimplifying it.”
“How so?” he asked.
Seren sighed, brushing a stray lock of mahogany hair behind her ear. “This isn’t some noble battle for strength. It’s a war. People don’t just train and level up like some grand adventure—they die. And the Empire isn’t just some distant force you can challenge when you’re ready. They don’t lose and walk away, Alar. Even if you win, they send someone stronger and eventually swallow everything in their path.”
Alar shrugged. “Then I guess I better get strong enough that they can’t.”
Seren exhaled sharply, a mix of amusement and exasperation in her expression. “You say that like it’s just a matter of effort.”
He smirked. “Isn’t everything?”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she gave him a long, searching look, as if trying to measure something unseen.
“Well, I don’t even know if you can join,” she admitted finally. “And even if you could, it’s not something we can decide right now.”
“So you’re saying I have a few weeks to prove myself,” Alar said, tilting his head.
She raised a brow. “I said no such thing.”
“You implied it.”
Seren crossed her arms, “I implied that you have a few weeks until you’re strong enough to stand without nearly keeling over, at which point we can have this conversation again.”
Alar grinned. “And in the meantime, you’re going to teach me?”
She looked back at him, her eyes a bit more serious. “Alar, it sometimes takes years to gain a single level. I can show you the basics, and try to help you enough that you aren’t getting mana sick the next time you do… whatever it is you did. But that’s really it.”
“I’ll take it,” he responded.
She looked him up and down again, still searching for something, but it was only for a moment before her eyes met his again.
“Change first,” she said, pushing the bundle of clothes towards him slightly, “and a bath wouldn’t hurt you, either. I will make us some food,” not waiting for him to respond before she walked out the door.
---
Kalandra Vorn had been born into the highest echelons of Empiric society, with lineages on both sides of her family going back millennia, and a life of quiet decadence the only thing expected of her. Her Uncle was a viceroy on the eastern edge of the Empire, where she was raised on his family estate with every privilege afforded to her, and access to the vast aristocracy of the Empire since birth. Her decision to enter the Order was not necessarily unprecedented, as successful progression within the Order could someday place her status well above even that of her Uncle’s, but it wasn’t common for someone of her birth. This is why, as she walked through the short hallway that led to the Dreadlord’s inner chamber, she was surprised to feel an otherwise uncommon emotion fill her – insignificance.
CRACK-BOOM!
She flinched despite herself, her body stiffening as the sound of lightning striking metal ripped through the chamber. The air itself crackled, thick with residual energy, the scent of burnt air sharp in her nostrils. She ducked down instinctively and moved forward towards the end of the hallway to search for the cause of the noise.
A lone figure clad in black armor stood at the center of a vast stone circle, the dark metal of his plating seeming to drink in the light. Bolts of white-blue lightning descended upon him in erratic, jagged arcs, some screaming down from the vaulted ceiling, others surging through the ground as though they were embedded in the floor itself before lancing upwards toward the armored man. But none of them found their mark.
Each bolt, no matter its angle, twisted at the last moment, bending impossibly toward the edge of the massive blade he wielded in both hands. The weapon, something between a great sword and a cleaver, absorbed the assault, its surface crackling with contained energy before far weaker bolts were expelled from the weapon harmlessly into the chamber’s floor around him.
He did not flinch. He did not falter. At first Kalandra thought that he was absorbing the energy somehow, but what little she knew of his Form made that nearly impossible. No, he wasn’t absorbing it, he was eradicating it. The Form of Ruin could only destroy.
The caster, an older man with a white-grey beard, stood at the far end of the chamber. He wore robes of deep blue, once magnificent and embroidered with golden sigils, but now tattered and worn, their fabric marred by battle and time. His face was gaunt, lined with exhaustion, yet his eyes burned with something that refused to break. He cut off his assault and stepped off the ground hard, rising into the air as a gust of wind and pressure swelled from behind him, driving his body impossibly high towards the ceiling before he cut off the movement and descended, lightning again swelling within his right hand, but this time his left filled with shards of ice that shot out like arrows, vapors of cold air drifting upwards behind them.
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The man in black armor tilted his head upwards as the other man rose, but didn’t move, his stance shifting almost imperceptibly as he remained rooted to the same spot on the floor. As the shards of ice began flying towards him, followed shortly by the second battery of lightning, he turned the blade of his sword towards the ground, gripping it hard in one hand and driving it point first into the stone below him. A wave of dark energy erupted from the ground beneath the weapon, curving upwards to meet the ice and lightning. It washed over them before they made it halfway across the chamber, the invocations dissipating into wisps of mana, but the wave of energy didn’t stop there. It continued upwards, engulfing the man above and spinning him around in a torrent of dark mana.
He let out a pained gasp and fell to the floor unnaturally fast, the dark mana releasing him as he collapsed bodily onto the floor in a heap. He stirred for a moment before beginning to raise himself up, arms shaking from the effort, but before he could move further the man in armor took a step forward. It was an almost casual step, like someone beginning a leisurely stroll, and the metal plating on his heel scraped slowly across the floor, the sound echoing through the now silent chamber as he moved towards the robed man. But before his toes could touch to complete the movement, the air around him seemed to collapse, like space itself had decayed between the two of them, and the armored man finished the single step across the chamber and immediately in front of the robed man.
The man continued to try to rise from the floor, more desperately now, and faint gusts of wind expelled from around his prone form as he did. The man in black armor raised his sword into the air, the giant blade still held in only one hand. The robed man stopped trying to rise and looked up at him defiantly, eyes still sharp despite his weakness. The armored man looked back down at him and swung, but instead of the blade descending, he instead turned the hilt of the weapon downward instead. The thick metal cut through the air and struck the downed man hard across the face. Kalandra heard the sound of cracking bone from where she stood across the chamber, as his orbital bones splintered from the impact. He slumped back to the floor, unconscious, and Kalandra saw blood immediately beginning to pool on the ground beneath him. The armored man stared down at the unconscious body for a moment before dropping his sword down onto the floor next to him. He then removed his helmet, revealing hair of a pale blonde-silver, it hung in loose strands just past his shoulders, framing a face so perfectly symmetrical it felt almost unnatural. His skin was smooth, nearly translucent in its pallor, as if sculpted from cold marble rather than living flesh. The dim lighting of the chamber did little to soften his unsettling beauty and made him seem almost ethereal, his features caught somewhere between life and something beyond it.
He dropped the helmet to the floor next to his sword and the still unmoving body, and turned to look in Kalandra’s direction. Her breath hitched as he did, her eyes meeting those of Lord Zareth’s for a brief second before she dropped to the floor in a bow. His eyes were pale, piercing gray, but they held none of the warmth or softness that should have come with such delicate features. They were sharp, calculating, but void of any detectable emotion.
She heard the metal of his armored boots click across the stone floor as he approached her, but she remained on her knees, head nearly touching the floor. As he approached her she heard him exhale, slow and controlled, and then he spoke in a voice that sent a chill down her spine.
“An exquisite specimen isn’t he?” Lord Zareth said, his voice cold and melodic.
“My Lord?” she asked, unsure what he meant by the statement.
“The mage,” he replied, “he is bound to the Form of Storms, a truly unique blend of affinities that is exceptionally rare in this portion of the world.”
“I… he… was of course no match for my Lord’s power,” she replied hesitantly.
“That is inconsequential; now rise if you would, child, so that we may speak.”
Kalandra raised herself up from the ground, heeding his command. She had only spoken with him directly once before, on the day she had been assigned to his retinue by the Order, but that had been as part of a much larger group, and only briefly. Now, standing alone before him, her prior annoyance at his continued requests during her travels was replaced entirely by cold terror, his aura washing over her like suffocating weight.
He continued to speak as she rose, now turned back to face the body of the Storm Mage. “My own power stands unrelated to his existence, even after his capture, and neither adds to, nor takes away from, the objective beauty of his Form.”
Kalandra paused, carefully thinking over his words before she spoke again, “He does – or his Form is certainly unique, my Lord, and is undoubtedly varied in its offensive capabilities.” She glanced hesitantly at him as she finished the sentence, hoping that her answer was the right one.
“Indeed,” he replied, still looking over at the downed man.
“Return him to his cell,” he spoke out loudly into the chamber, “have him healed and treated of all wounds. Alert me when he has been returned to fighting form, so that we may play a bit more.”
Immediately after he spoke, Kalandra noticed movement from the shadowed walls of the chamber, and three men in servant’s attire rushed over to the body, lifting it between them and carrying it quickly out of the room. A fourth man followed them, casting a magic that she saw was cleaning the pool of blood from the stone floor, and carefully lifting the helmet and sword from the ground next to it, carrying them off, leaving no trace of the fight that had just occurred.
“Now,” he said, turning back to face her once more, “speaking of unique Forms, I was able to have confirmed that all of those captured are indeed unbound, and entirely devoid of any mana whatsoever. A truly fascinating find.” He smiled towards her, his lips parting to reveal perfectly white teeth that almost glowed in the dim light of the small chamber. His eyes, however, remained untouched by the expression, still retaining the cold, emotionless and piercing gaze they had previously.
“Yes, my Lord, and they appear to have no knowledge of the Forms, either,” she said, averting her eyes slightly as he looked at her.
“So I have been told. Do tell me everything you know of their origins,” he responded.
Eyes still averted, she did, explaining everything that she had learned through her interactions with their leaders, and her observations of their tendencies and mannerisms. She was careful to avoid mentioning the potential escapee, but otherwise explained everything else she could think of, including their claims about travelling from another planet via some form of vessel that was currently circling Vorthys.
“So there are more, then? Thousands more?” the smile had not left his lips the entire time she had been speaking.
“So they claim my Lord, yes,” she replied, “but I am unable to confirm –“
“I have already sent for a celestial mage to confirm the existence of this vessel,” he cut across her, causing her to tremble involuntarily as he did, “but I have no reason to doubt the veracity of their claims. You will be assigned to this task indefinitely going forward, speak to my Hand to organize the necessary promotions you will require to ensure unfettered access to the resources necessary to accomplish it.”
“Task my Lord?” she asked, taken aback by his statement.
“The existence of potentially thousands of fully grown, unsullied unbound is an absolute treasure trove that cannot be ignored,” Lord Zareth continued, his tone as smooth and deliberate. “You will be responsible for extracting the necessary information from those already captured, researching their society and capacities, determining where they intend to land next, and how best to ensure their acquisition.”
Kalandra swallowed, unsure how to respond, but knowing she had no choice in the matter.
“As you command, my Lord,” she replied, bowing deeply.
---
Alar’s skin felt like it was burning from the inside as he sat cross legged on the floor, eyes closed as he attempted to concentrate.
“Why does it hurt?” he grunted.
“Because you’re still injured, obviously,” Seren responded, her tone exasperated as she stood over him.
They had been finished eating for a few hours now, and Seren had started to explain the basics of mana storage and refinement to him as they had sat together in the large gathering room of the Accord’s safehouse. After he had gotten her to finally admit that he couldn’t worsen his condition by attempting to hold or refine mana, but only by channeling or using it, he had insisted on trying immediately, which was why he was currently seated, teeth gritted, attempting to hold onto the small streams of mana he felt drifting through him.
Seren had explained that the process of mana storage was actually very simple, and that it was also the requisite first step before one could begin refining it. In order to store mana, you needed to redirect the ambient mana that naturally passed through you in ways that allowed for portions of it to remain in your body indefinitely, or at least for extended periods of time. Once you did this, your body would eventually reach a certain threshold of mana it could take in, which was called your mana storage capacity.
Once you successfully store mana, then you could begin refining it. This was done by circulating or cycling the mana through your body in consistent patterns, slowly purifying and filtering it. The more precise and stable the circulation, the purer the mana would become. The amount or extent to which you were able to refine or purify mana was dictated by your level, or maybe vice versa, but apparently any mana storage whatsoever, negate of refinement, was all that distinguished Level 0 from Level 1.
Alar ignored the burning sensation and focused instead on the mana itself, noticing as he did that the mana did travel through him in a recognizable and consistent pattern, sort of, starting in the base of his stomach or spine and then working its way to his extremities before exiting through his hands, feet or head. The issue, however, was that any time he tried to block or shore up the mana leaving from one place, it would just increase how quickly it left the others. What was more, if he tried to stop it all at once, putting metaphoric corks or dams at each point respectively, the weird burning sensation and pain would build until one of his blocks broke and everything would come rushing out from there.
“I can’t stop it,” he breathed out frustratedly, eyes still closed as he focused.
“Don’t look at it as something you stop,” Seren responded, “you’ve already controlled mana before, so think of it like it already happened, just let your body do it naturally.”
“This doesn’t feel very natural,” he muttered back.
“Well you’ve only been trying for a little while, these things take time. You can’t expect everything to just happen intuitively.”
Alar knew she was right. Seren said that gaining levels was a slow and arduous process, and he had no reason to doubt her. But at the same time, the threshold for the first level was so simple, that part of him felt like it should be intuitive. After all, it wasn’t like he had ever learned to breathe, or make his heart circulate blood.
Actually…
Think of it like it already happened. He repeated her words over in his head as he felt the mana flowing through him. He was looking at mana like it was an outside force, something foreign and separate. He was thinking of it in the context of what he knew you could do with it, in the context of the Forms that it could become. Why? Why didn’t he think of it more like breathing, or his heartbeat, something that existed distinct from that which it became?
He slowed his breathing down and let it sync with what he felt like the speed of the mana was as it flowed through him. He felt his heartbeat, and felt the pulses of it blend with the flow, creating small ripples and patterns in it as it traveled, then he felt it as it left, but instead of trying to stop it, he just allowed it to be. It had already existed within him, and it had already existed outside of him, he just modified the way he understood what that process was. Slowly he felt the mana twisting around and turning back in towards the center of his body as it reached his extremities, little by little, until almost none of the mana left and instead just continued to cycle through him in large winding loops, bending into and around itself as it did. He hadn’t changed anything, the mana was still going to flow out of him eventually, it was still going to be in the place it was before, just not yet. He wasn’t changing the end result, just how he understood the act of it being where it had already been.
He felt the mana continue looping methodically for a few seconds before he exhaled in relief, the pain and burning sensation no longer present. He opened his eyes and saw Seren staring back at him, astonished.
“How did you?” she asked, mouth slightly ajar.
“How did I what?” he asked back, also confused. “I stored mana, or I am storing mana… I think.”
“You are, yeah, but you.. you’re refining it too. You went from absolutely no mana storage to having mana that is almost…” she placed her hand next to him and closed her eyes, focusing for a second. “Twice? As refined as ambient mana.”
Alar paused for a second before answering, clueless as to what he did or how to respond.
“You’re a really good teacher, maybe?”
