The mana continued circulating through his body, even though Alar was no longer consciously guiding it. It was sort of like muscle memory, and once he had established the path, it continued on its own. Physically, he didn’t feel any different, but that didn’t surprise him. Dain had mentioned that physical changes weren’t immediate, and the body had to adapt to stored and refined mana progressively over time.
Seren continued looking at him, her hand hovering over his chest as though frozen in time, while she stared open mouthed.
“Seren?” he asked gently.
She glanced at her own hand, still outstretched, before lowering it and refocusing on Alar. She spoke quietly, her tone stunned.
“You can’t teach that, Alar. You can’t… do that.”
“Do what?” he responded. Not sure what she was referring to specifically.
“Your mana refinement, it isn’t… it’s not possible,” she responded.
“Well clearly it is, or I wouldn’t be doing it,” he said back.
“No, Alar, it is literally not possible. As in, your mana’s refinement and purity is restricted by your level. It’s a threshold you progressively build towards as an aspect of advancing and gaining levels. Your mana can’t, or I guess shouldn’t, be able to be that refined until you are a much, much higher level than you are now.”
“So, does that mean I am higher than Level 1 then?” He knew that his successful storage of mana meant that he had reached Level 1, since Seren had said beforehand that being able to store mana was all that was required. But maybe he had progressed even further than that? He didn’t feel any different, but maybe that was normal. He had no context for what leveling felt like.
“No, there is more to leveling than just mana refinement, but that is definitely a big part of it,” she said back. “How did you do it?”
Alar frowned, shifting slightly where he sat. “I don’t know. It just… happened.”
Seren stared at him, waiting for more. “That’s not an explanation.”
He shrugged. “I was trying to stop it at first, but that didn’t work. So I stopped trying to stop it I guess?”
She blinked. “You what?”
“I let it move,” he said, still not entirely sure of himself. “I don’t know, I just… let it do what it wanted, but also allowed it to keep doing what I wanted, and then it stopped leaving?” He was having a hard time explaining the process, as it had felt more natural than anything conscious or thought out when he did it. Plus, trying to explain your internal thoughts or monologue to someone on the spot, when his actions had related to his feelings more than anything else was next to impossible.
Seren opened her mouth, then closed it again, visibly struggling to process his words. “That’s not… That’s not how mana refinement works.”
“Well, apparently it is,” Alar said, despite knowing his explanation had made absolutely no sense.
She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “No. No, it’s not. Refinement is something you build toward, step by step. You don’t just let it happen."
“Well, I was try—" He cut himself off midsentence as Seren looked down at herself and began reaching into the pocket of her robes. She extracted the small stone that Renik had handed her earlier, the keystone, before gripping it in her hand and closing her eyes. Alar could feel faint mana emanating from the stone, and she, like Kaval had earlier, seemed to be listening to something Alar could not hear as she did.
Her eyes shot open. “Renik!” she exclaimed before taking off out of the room at a sprint.
Alar trailed after her without hesitation, following her back through the hallway and towards the rune-covered door. She knelt down low as she approached it, placing her hand in the same location as before, but this time sending a quick pulse through the frame of the door that muted all of the runes instantly. She wrenched at the iron handle, the door pulling open slowly, the sheer weight of its reinforced frame forcing Seren to slow slightly as it glided back on its hinges. She peered out into the semi-darkness, searching. The sun had nearly set and was casting pink and orange streaks across the violet and navy clouds of dusk.
For a brief second, Alar was surprised to see that it was nearly nightfall, meaning he had been unconscious through most of the night and partway into the next day, given that he and Seren had only been alone for a few hours. Especially since a “day” on this planet was slightly longer than those on Earth, the drain from the mana sickness had clearly taken more of a toll on him than he had realized. However, his thoughts on this topic were brief as Seren almost immediately spotted a figure approaching slowly up the side street.
She began rushing out the door but after taking about two steps, she stopped as though an invisible hand had caught and grabbed her. She slid to a halt, shocked briefly before a look of realization dawned on her. She reached back into her pocket, grabbing the keystone and turning back towards Alar. Without a second thought, she threw it to him.
"Hold this!" she called, already moving again before he even caught it.
The second Alar's fingers closed around the stone, a strange sensation flowed through his body; a faint ripple of thumps, like a dozen near-simultaneous heartbeats, but not his own. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was there, steady and present.
The runes covering the wood flickered for a moment as he stood in front of it, the light from the safehouse streaming from inside as he held the door open, watching Seren as she moved forward towards the lone figure.
It was Renik. She met him as he approached, immediately supporting him as he slumped onto her. She steered him slowly towards the door, and as she got closer its light illuminated him, revealing the full extent of his injuries. He was burnt, badly. His tunic was scorched in uneven patches, some areas charred through entirely, exposing raw, blistered skin beneath. His leather armor was singed, the edges blackened and curling, and the exposed skin on his arms, hands, and the side of his neck was red and raw, patches of it peeling where the burns were worst. Even in the dimming light, Alar could see the exhaustion on Renik’s face, his consciousness wavering as his breaths came out shallow and uneven.
As she got him to the door, Alar dropped the stone into the pocket of his newly acquired pants and stepped forward to help support the half-conscious man. They pulled him into the safehouse, closing the door behind them, pausing to allow Seren to reinfuse the runes on the door before moving him quickly into one of the small rooms off the main hallway on the first floor. There, he was placed on the bed, where he let out a low groan, a blend of relief and agony, before Seren set upon him, dropping to her knees on the side of the bed so that she was of equal height to his prone form.
“Your mana is almost entirely drained,” she said in a low mumble, her hands passing over his body quickly in apparent analysis of his condition. He grunted in acknowledgement, eyes closed, his breathing still shallow but steadied now that he was no longer forced to move. She then clasped her hands together momentarily, inhaling sharply as she did, before a soft yellow pulse of light emanated from between them. It looked like a large orb had formed between her hands, and he watched as she slowly condensed and expanded it a few times, almost testing it, before she placed both hands down onto the man’s chest. As she did, the orb simultaneously collapsed into what looked like liquid light as it cascaded down onto his body. He breathed in sharply and his chest rose as it contacted his burned skin, as though it was cold water. The light then seemed to travel directly into him, and Alar noticed him begin to glow faintly as it did. Seren’s hands remained over him, as she continued to manipulate the mana now inside of him.
The effect was immediate. As soon as his body began glowing, his skin instantly began knitting itself back together, the redness and blisters subsiding progressively until they were replaced entirely by new, raw pink skin. His clothing remained burned and tattered, untouched by her magic, acting as a sharp contrast to the condition of his newly healing body. This process continued for awhile longer, the glowing mana slowly working its way from the burns and injuries on his torso and gradually towards his arms, legs and face. Whenever Alar saw the glowing mana waver, or decrease in strength or potency, Seren would send another pulse through her to reinvigorate it, until after the third pulse there was almost no sign of the injuries whatsoever.
After confirming he was stable, she kneeled over him for a few minutes longer, alternating between her healing magic and whatever method she used to assess his condition. Renik hadn’t spoken at all, keeping his eyes closed, content to let her work in silence while he rested.
Alar stood behind her transfixed by what was happening. At first, he simply watched, stunned, at the speed and efficacy of her spell as it visibly healed him, but after his surprise had worn off, he began focusing on her manipulation of the mana itself. He had of course first noticed the same pulse that he had now associated as a commonplace component of all mana use on this new world, the faint expulsion of energy that to him signified the presence of mana being actively channeled or used. But slowly, he began noticing more. Her mana acted like a living thing, not washing over the injuries arbitrarily, but actively seeking out places to focus. It seemed to settle within him, portions of it reinforcing his body, with other parts coiling around specific wounds before diffusing over them like a healing balm. Alar could not tell if it had a mind of its own, a sort of intent to heal what and where it was needed, or if Seren was skilled enough to split her attention in so many ways that she was able to address each issue simultaneously, but he was amazed, nonetheless.
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Seren let out a slow breath and pulled her hands away. The glow faded, leaving Renik looking like an entirely different person than when they’d first dragged him in. His face was still pale, but his breathing was no longer labored, his muscles no longer taut with pain.
She rocked back onto her heels, exhaling hard. “That should keep you from dying,” she muttered. “Try not to set yourself on fire again.”
Renik smiled in response but did not respond verbally or open his eyes.
“Renik, what happened? Was it the village?” she asked cautiously, referring to the village that Alar’s pod had landed next to where Renik had emerged from before transporting them to the site of the other pods.
Renik’s face darkened and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter in response to her question. He didn’t respond immediately, but Alar could already tell the answer he was about to give based on his reaction. After a moment, he nodded before speaking.
“It was burning before I got there. Tried to find people to save… anyone to save… most had been executed before the fires had even started.” He opened his eyes and looked toward Seren as he continued to speak, his voice tired and filled with a pain unrelated to his prior injuries. “That was a native village, those families had been under Empiric rule for centuries.”
Seren’s shoulders slumped, and she exhaled slowly, the tension leaving her all at once. She looked down at Renik, her fingers curling against the fabric of her robe involuntarily.
Alar didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.
For a long moment, the room was quiet except for the faint, steady sound of Renik’s breathing.
Seren finally reached out, pressing a hand gently over his forearm. “Renik… you did what you could,” she said softly.
He let out a slow breath, shaking his head against the pillow. “It wasn’t enough.”
“You weren’t the one who set the fires,” she countered, her voice firm but gentle. “You weren’t the one who—”
“I’m the reason they did,” he cut in, his voice hoarse. His fingers twitched where they laid folded together over his stomach. “They knew. The Empire knew I sent the messages. You and I both know that’s why they burned it.”
Her hand tightened slightly against his arm. She looked like she wanted to say something, to defend him from his own argument, but she clearly couldn’t find the words. She held her grip for a bit longer, like she was trying to push comforting thoughts through the connection, but eventually she released him and rose from her knees.
“Your mana was dangerously low. You need to rest, we can talk more later,” she said quietly.
He nodded to her but said nothing more, his expression still dark as he repositioned himself on the bed.
Seren stayed a moment longer before heading towards the door. Alar followed as she stepped back into the hallway, closing the door behind them. Neither of them spoke.
After he closed the door Alar turned back toward Seren, but her back was turned away from him, her attention focused on the jagged stone of the hallway’s wall. She continued staring at it as he looked at her, and Alar was about to say… something, but she spoke before he had the chance.
“He’ll be okay,” she said, but Alar was not sure if she was referring to his injuries or something deeper.
“Good,” he said back, “that village, was he from there, or something?”
“Renik? No. He was placed there months ago as a travelling farmhand, to gather information,” she answered, “he only sent us a message after he volunteered to drive one of the wagon’s to where those things crash landed.”
“So the Accord didn’t pre-plan the attack?” he asked.
“No, but we already had a team heading to scout the crash site before he sent us the message, he just helped confirm the timing,” she finished.
Alar frowned. “So the messages weren’t necessary?”
Seren exhaled, rubbing her fingers against her temple. “Not really.”
They sat in silence for a long moment. Alar had known the Accord was a rebel faction, so he expected guerilla or insurgent tactics, but the reactive, almost haphazard nature of their actions still caught him off guard. He had assumed there would be more planning, or at least more consideration of the consequences, especially when innocent lives were at stake. Renik seemed like a good man, at least from what Alar had seen. He had helped him escape and clearly felt genuine remorse for those lost, but that didn’t change the fact that an entire village had been sacrificed because Renik had decided that killing a few of the Empire’s soldiers was worth the risk. It wasn’t his fault of course, and he couldn’t be expected to protect a group of innocent civilians from their own government, but it was complicated, nuanced, and Alar didn’t like it.
Seren seemed to sense his trepidation, and when he looked up, no longer lost in his own thoughts, she stared at him with empathy in her eyes.
“Remember how I said before it wasn’t your war?” she asked him.
The question threw him off, but he responded anyways, “Yeah, why?”
“I shouldn’t have said war. War implies that there are rules,” she said, her eyes shimmering slightly with tears. “We do what we can to help as many people as possible, but the Accord isn’t strong enough to protect everyone. But if we don’t act…”
“I get it,” he cut her off before she could finish.
She hesitated, searching his face.
“… on Earth, the planet where I am from, our conflicts destroyed everything. Made the entire planet uninhabitable.”
Seren’s gaze sharpened, but she stayed silent.
Alar exhaled, his fingers curling at his sides. “When the first bombs dropped, entire nations were wiped out in seconds. But that wasn’t what ended the world. It was what came after. The way people closed their borders, hoarded resources, refused to act unless it was in their own interest. The destruction wasn’t just from the bombs, it was from the indifference that followed.”
His words sat in the air for a long moment before she responded, her voice soft, almost a whisper, “sounds familiar”.
“Yeah,” he nodded in agreement, but before he could say more, she wiped her palm across her eye and continued.
“It’s late, you’re still mana sick, and your body has to start adjusting to your new mana, too” she paused, “adjusting a lot more than is typical, now that I think about it.”
He nodded again, smiling softly.
“You can stay in the room downstairs, for now, we will get you better situated tomorrow.”
“Fair enough,” he said back.
She lingered as if she wanted to say more, but in the end, she just turned and walked down the hallway, eventually disappearing into her own room.
Alar didn’t hesitate, making his way down the dimly lit stairs to the storeroom where he had first woken. The space remained unchanged, crates and boxes stacked high against the walls. He sank onto the small bed, firm but not uncomfortable, and as he did, a faint weight in his pocket caught his attention.
The keystone.
He pulled it free, its pale markings still glowing softly in the dark. For a moment, he considered returning it to Seren, but the thought passed just as quickly. She had left without another word, and he understood it for the dismissal it was. Instead, he set it on the table beside him, watching the light pulse steadily in the quiet.
Then, with a slow breath, he turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Thoughts circled, tangled and restless, but exhaustion weighed heavier. Sleep came before he could make sense of any of them.
---
Kaval stepped through the narrow wooden door that separated the grand halls of the main library from the secluded rear annals. His newfound position, though temporary, had granted him access to a broader swath of the Empire’s records and resources, but even that privilege was sharply curtailed. The Empire excelled at many things, but perhaps none more so than the manipulation and restriction of knowledge.
He had heard the stories: entire libraries burned to ash, colleges dismantled stone by stone, research societies erased from existence. It was never just about destruction. It was systematic and deliberate, a purging of ideas, of histories that did not conform to the Empire’s carefully cultivated narrative. Those who had preserved such knowledge had not simply been silenced; they had been eradicated, as if their very existence threatened the foundation of the Empire itself.
He knew even the annals would have nothing he was in search of, and he walked through them quickly, not even stopping to look on their shelves for what he was seeking. This was the second library he had searched, but he had a feeling he was close.
Something had stirred in him these past few days, a distant memory, long buried, from a time he had nearly forgotten. Kaval was not a young man, at least not by Empiric standards. The average citizen, bound by their low levels, rarely lived beyond a century. But at Level 32, his 203 years sat somewhere between late middle age and the early twilight of his life. He had seen an Empire that, while still ruthless, had once tolerated remnants of what came before. There had been allowances, small ones, for local traditions, for faiths older than the Empire itself. They had already been fading, of course, but back then, they had not yet been wiped away entirely.
Which was why he moved past the annals without hesitation, making his way toward a narrow, half-forgotten side door. Its once-bright paint of soft whites, gentle greens, and faded pinks had long since been worn away by time, leaving only faint traces of the colors it once bore. Long ago, these libraries acted as centers of community, where the citizenry could go to seek out knowledge or entertainment, and where mothers would bring their children to play and interact and learn.
He opened the door slowly, the hinges squealing with disuse as he did, and entered into a small room with short stubby tables and chairs, and book shelves that only reached as high as his chest. He knelt down and began searching, pulling out a dozen different books and turning their pages quickly before moving on. He saw stories of princesses, of adventurers, and talking animals, but not what he was looking for. The events of the last few days, the feelings certain individuals had invoked in him, had brought specific memories to the edge of his mind, just beyond reach, until at last he found it. The last of their prophecies, of the myths and divinations of old survived only in their fairytales. He pulled a thin book from the shelf, its cover and edges worn by what appeared to be centuries, its pages a deep yellow, but with the intricate designs and illustrations still visible, The Book of Wandering Tales written in golden lettering on the front. He flipped through it for a few minutes before he found the page he was looking for and began reading.
The Formless King
In days of old when the world was young,
Before the great one’s rule begun,
There sat a king upon no throne,
A ruler vast, yet quite unknown.
He bore no crown, no sigil bright,
No mark of land, no lordly right.
Yet all who met him bowed their heads,
And listened close to words he said.
They called him king, though none knew why,
For kingdoms need walls, and thrones sit high.
But he had neither, none at all—
No gilded court, no mighty hall.
Yet whispers spread from town to town,
Of how he’d shake the kingdoms down.
With hands unbound and feet unchained,
He walked where rulers dared not reign.
A man of mist, of shape untied,
No law could bind him, none applied.
Yet those who swore him friend stood tall,
And those who scorned him felt their fall.
One fateful night, the sky went red,
The great ones marched, the king had fled.
They burned his name, they struck it clean,
As if he never lived or been.
But in the dark where embers fade,
A hush remains where once he stayed.
No throne, no crown, no rule, no ring—
Yet still they whisper: Formless is our King.
Yet time moves on, the world forgets,
But echoes dance where silence sets.
Beneath the stars, beyond the gate,
The formless bides, the formless waits.
No chain can hold, no law can stay,
No throne can keep his might at bay.
And when the walls of empires break,
The new Formless King shall rise and wake.
