391 days until the Arkon Shield falls

It seemed we had missed the call for supper and the cooks had already dampened the fires in the crafting yard. Which was a relief. I wasn’t quite ready yet to face those who had witnessed my berserker rage on the training grounds.

Tara helped me back to the tent I had been assigned, one close to her own and the commanders. Leaving me outside the entrance, she went off in search of a hot meal for both of us.

I sank to the ground, too tired to even make my way into my new abode. I’ll just rest here until she gets back, I thought, closing my eyes in weariness.

It had been an eventful day. I had gained nine levels, and despite my body’s bruised and battered state, I felt altogether healthier, stronger, and quicker. The last time my body had felt so capable was… before the accident.

Since then, I had let myself waste away. There hadn’t seemed to be much point in retaining my former physical form. It had been so much easier to ignore my body and devote my attention to pursuits of the mind. Gaming, primarily. I had become rather good at it, too. Infernally good, according to some of my friends. I smiled at the memory.

And yet… It took only a day in Overworld to restore my flagging body to its former state. If I had come this far in one day, to what heights could I push my body in the coming weeks and months?

Opening my eyes, I stared down at my stretched-out legs. They looked no different from a day ago. But I could feel their newly contained power. My gaze drifted to my hobbled foot, turned at a slightly unnatural angle. I was still crippled though. I won’t be running marathons anytime soon, but at least I can hop faster now, I thought with a chuckle.

Despite everything that had happened, I was grateful to the Trials for the changes it had wrought in my body. Perhaps Overworld isn’t all bad, I admitted. And being disabled doesn’t mean being helpless. That was a truth I hadn’t been able to acknowledge on Earth. Now though, in this unforgiving world, I would have to push my body beyond what it had been capable of even when whole.

“Here you go,” Tara said, coming up from behind and interrupting my musings.

I turned around and I saw she held two steaming bowls.

“I can’t promise it will be the best meal you’ve ever eaten,” Tara said as she handed me one of the bowls. “But at least it’s filling.” She sat down next to me. “Just don’t ask me what’s inside.”

I took the bowl eagerly, too hungry to care about its contents. “Thanks,” I said.

We both fell silent as we dug in. Tara was right. The food’s taste left much to be desired. But that didn’t stop me from gulping it down as fast as I could.

When I was done, I sat back with a contented sigh. I was stuffed. “Ah,” I said. “I needed that.”

Tara grunted in acknowledgement as she swallowed the last of her own food. “You have to be careful about missing meals on Overworld. Hunger here can affect your body in weird ways.”

I nodded, realising how fortunate I had been to have met Tara during my first moments in this world. She was proving to be an invaluable mentor and… friend. “Thanks for everything today, Tara. I doubt I’d have survived without you.”

“Damn right you wouldn’t have, fish,” she replied with a grin.

Her animosity from earlier seemed to have vanished, for which I was more than grateful.

Tara’s grin faded when she set down her bowl. “About earlier…” She hesitated before continuing. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you a cripple. It was uncalled for.”

“No,” I replied. “I needed to hear it. I can’t ignore my impairments or what it means. Especially on Overworld.” I paused. “I hope you’ll forgive my pushing you to train me.”

Tara shook her head. “You were right to do so, and I was wrong for trying to deny you.” She smiled. “Besides, you did better than I expected. Perhaps with more training, you will even be able to hold your own as a fighter one day.”

I groaned. “No way am I going to put myself through that again.”

Tara’s smile broadened, but she didn’t say anything. And neither did I. More words felt unnecessary as we sat in companionable silence.

Eventually, Tara got to her feet. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She hesitated. “Will you be alright tonight?”

I nodded, knowing it was my episode during sparring that prompted her to ask. “I’ll be fine,” I replied, standing as well. I flinched at the fresh pain my movements inspired. Tara had done no lasting harm during our training session, yet I knew I would feel the bruises for at least the next few days.

Tara winced sympathetically. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I hope so,” I muttered.

Tara laughed as she walked away. ““Goodnight, Jamie.”

“Night, Tara,” I replied, waving goodbye.

✽✽✽

Alone once more, I ducked into my tent. The inside was dark, and I had to wait for my eyes to adjust before I could inspect my new residence.

When the gloom lessened, I saw the tent was mostly bare. On one side was a hide pallet stuffed with straw and on the other, a wooden pail filled with drinking water. I eyed the bed wistfully. Despite its primitiveness, it looked invitingly soft. Though, as much as I craved sleep, I couldn’t retire for the night just yet.

I still had magic to practice.

My newcomer buff was still active, and while it remained in force, I needed to train my magic Attributes. Yet weariness hung heavy upon me, and I could barely muster any enthusiasm for the task.

Maybe, I can use life magic to ease some of my aches. But even the promise of pain-relief failed to stir my interest. I sighed. It was time for more drastic measures.

Shaking my head dry, I sat down cross-legged on the hard-packed earth, and far away from the tempting pallet, just in case. Alright, where to begin?

All magic was unique to its wielder. Each had a different footprint. My first step, I knew, was to discover my own magical signature, and to attune myself to the mana swirling within me. I couldn’t explain how I understood this. But I knew it as well as I knew how to hold a shield or thrust a spear. All gifts of the Trials.

I closed my eyes and looked within myself with magesight. Mana—the stuff of magic—flowed lazily through my body and settled in a still, deep pool at my centre.

Gathering a small amount, I willed it upwards into my mind and studied its composition. I dribbled the mana within my mouth and tasted its velvety sweetness. I coalesced some in my hands and felt its oily texture. Snorting more of it, I identified its lavender scent. I pulled it through my ears and listened to its joyous gurgle. Finally, I let the mana pool out of me, and observed its swirls of cobalt blue.

Only then, when I felt certain I understood my magic, did I begin manipulating it.

Drawing its swirling essence into shape, I willed the mana to do my bidding, visualising in my mind what I sought from it. Heal, I ordered, internally vocalising the command to give further form to my will.

Obediently, streams of my mana darted eagerly out of my centre, then stuttered, seeming to pool in confusion before dissipating into the ground.

You have failed to create a spell. Mana lost.

I hadn’t really expected to succeed on my first attempt, yet I couldn’t stop an involuntary sigh of disappointment. I considered the remnants of the failed spell that still glowed in my magesight.

Given no further direction than my order to heal, my mana had chosen a shape and form of its own volition. I knew from the wiki that using magic was not akin to employing a tool.

Magic was a living thing, and mana sometimes followed, not the will of its wielder, but its own. If the wiki was to be trusted, magic could be said to have a mind of its own, albeit of the crude and primitive kind. Studying the form and shape of the spellcasting hovering in my magesight, I could well believe it.

In an attempt to fulfil my will, my magic had formed into a complex lattice, far beyond anything I had envisioned with my simple order to heal. While the spellform appeared off-kilter, it was nearly correct. Or so my Trials-gifted understanding of life magic led me to believe.

Narrowing my focus, I traced each weft and weave of the spell, trying to identify its points of weakness. Some filaments of mana seemed more out of place than others, and in my mind’s eye, I adjusted the structure.

I had little idea whether the changes I made would better or worsen the design, but given my lack of more definitive information, spellcrafting by trial and error was the only approach available to me.

When I was satisfied with my changes, I drew on my mana again and willed the altered spellform into being.

The spell fizzled.

But even in my failure, I had learned something. After scrutinising the spell construct, I saw where I had gone wrong. Gathering my will, I began anew.

And failed again.

Ten attempts later, I finally succeeded as mana darted out of my body and coated my hands in a subdued blue-white glow.

You have spellcrafted a: touch-based healing spell, from the Discipline of: life magic. The name assigned to this spell is: lay hands. Its casting time is: fast and its rank is: common.

Your channelling and spellpower have increased to: level 2. Spell rating unlocked.

I did it! My face broke out in a wide grin. I can’t believe I actually did it!

Holding up my glowing hands, I stared at them, transfixed. Even witnessing the evidence of my magic, I could hardly believe it. I am a mage now, I marvelled. Only a fledgling one, but a mage nevertheless.

When I had my fill of self-indulgence, I touched my mana-infused hands to my left shoulder. Spelled tendrils of energy seeped into my body. Repairing torn muscles and restoring bruised skin, they left a soothing balm in their wake.

The pain in my battered shoulder vanished.

Tentatively, I flexed my arm. No twinges accompanied the motion. I grinned in delight. Incredible, I thought. I recast lay hands multiple times—its spellform was indelibly etched in my mind now—until all my bruises faded and the last of my aches was banished.

When I was done, the mana pool at my core had drained to half. But I didn’t care. Finally, I was free of pain. And the repeated spellcasting had other benefits too. My magic Attributes had increased.

Your channelling and spellpower have increased to: level 3.

So far so good, I thought, dismissing the Trials alert. Now for the hard part.

It was time to attempt a dragon spell creation.

Scratching my head, I pondered how to go about the task. My life magic spellcrafting had been… if not easy, at least not a complete shot in the dark. I had already known the lay hands spell existed, and the basic mechanism of its operation. But I had no starting point for dragon magic spellcrafting.

What did I know about dragon magic? Almost nothing. While the Trials had gifted me with some knowledge of the Discipline, the information was sketchier than I would have liked. I only had a vague concept of what dragon magic truly was, and little idea of what it could accomplish.

Alright, so what I know of dragon magic so far is not worth writing home about, and it’s not going to help me in my spellcrafting But what do I know of dragons? What are they synonymous with?

Fire. Flying. Scales. Claws. Size. Strength.

I pursed my lips in thought, considering the concepts I had come up with. Of the six, fire was the one I was most familiar with and likely the easiest to try manifesting with a spell. Closing my eyes, I began.

Drawing out my mana, I pictured fire as I imagined a dragon would breathe it: a churning vortex of flame, a raging inferno, a destructive jet of heat and light. I willed the fire into being, visualising it flaring out of my own mouth. Burn, I commanded.

My mana surged up and out of me in response to my will, and with frenzied purpose, began to form a spell construct. But, a moment later, with the spellform only half-realised, the magical structure collapsed and the mana seeped back into my body.

You have failed to create a spell. Mana lost.

Aargh, I thought in black disappointment as I stared at the stark emptiness in my magesight. This time, I didn’t even have a basic spellform to tweak and experiment on.

No help for it, but to try again. Varying the projection in my mind, I willed fire into being once more.

✽✽✽

Twenty failed attempts later, I was close to giving up.

No matter how much I altered the images in my mind, my mana refused to form the crudest of spellforms. Either my magic had no understanding of the concept of a dragon’s fire, or I what I visualised was complete at odds with how it should be done.

Either way, I began to think the task was impossible. And now my mana pool was nearly drained. Halting my efforts, I took a moment to rest and reflect on my labours.

Something felt off.

In every failed attempt, mana had raced to do my bidding. But always the magic had collapsed in on itself, dissolving partway into forming a spell construct. Though it had not seemed as if the mana was confused about its purpose. On the contrary, my magic had appeared eager to fulfil its given task. But for whatever reason it had been unable to.

Almost as if some essential ingredient is absent.

I bowed my head and rested it in my hands while I thought. What am I missing? I went over what I knew of dragon magic. It wasn’t much. A handful of facts on the form and texture of fire, the all-encompassing nature of dragon magic, and the uniqueness of the beings that had invented it.

Yet, as I picked through my meagre store of dragon knowledge, the memory of the earlier lore note I had received from the Trials kept intruding.

Ceding to my intuition, I recalled the message.

Lore note: Dragon magic is a universal skill. Unlike other magic Disciplines, which are governed by a single Attribute, dragon magic is affected by all Potentials. Spells from the Discipline may draw from any combination of Attributes and Potentials.

“A universal skill,” I murmured, chewing my lip in thought. I had wondered at the wording but hadn’t known what to make of it. I still didn’t. But taking in the entire Discipline description, I began to have an inkling...

Do dragon spells require more than mana? If the Discipline drew from all Potentials, it stood to reason that it might. Could that be the difference? I wondered as an idea took shape.

It’s worth a try at least.

Breathing in deeply, I began anew. I visualised a dragon’s fire in as much detail as I could, but did not immediately will it into being. Holding the shape of fire in my mind, I fed mana into the image until it was full to bursting.

Still, I didn’t release the spell.

Instead I sought further fuel for the magic. Following some half-understood instinct, I drew on my being and pushed threads of spirit into the spell.

Spirit refused to heed my call.

It was not that the weaves of spirit did not answer to my will. They did. Fine filaments separated from the greater weave of my being and flowed into my mind as directed. Yet they baulked at entering the spellform.

Goddamn. I had been sure spirit was the missing ingredient. I released its weaves to fall back into my being, but kept the shape of fire fixed and infused with mana in my mind.

I drummed the fingers of one hand against my leg. If not spirit, then what?

In frustration, and for want of any better ideas, I poured all else of myself into the spell that I could think of. Flesh, bone, blood—

Pain rippled through me.

The mana in me was burning. In shock, I nearly dropped the spellform. Ignoring the hurt suffusing my body, I studied the spell construct I held in my mind in fascination. Where before the mana threading its form had been a cool cobalt, now they had shone a luminous gold.

I realised the flows of mana had been ignited. By my own blood. The missing ingredient was blood!

The pain vanished. Still transfixed by the beauty of the spellform in my mind, I barely noticed. Sure now of what I had to do, I fed more of my blood into the spell.

Mana and blood mixed and transformed the spellform into a raging maelstrom that fought to escape my grasp. Belatedly I realised the spell might be one beyond my skill to cast. What will happen if I lose control? I wondered with sudden unease.

Setting aside doubt, I struggled to retain my grasp on the volatile spellform. Sweat beaded down my brow as my will was stretched to its limit. Despite the fire’s raging, I held firm and maintained control.

Finally it subsided, leashed to my will. I heaved a sigh of relief. Now to see whether all this effort has been for naught. Gently, I coaxed the fiery torrent out through my hands.

A flood of Trials notices shouted for attention. I ignored them, my attention captured by something else entirely.

My hands had burst into flame.

Startled by their brightness, I jerked my head away and nearly toppled backwards. Goddamn, I am on fire! I scrambled to my feet and rushed out of the tent in blind panic.

I wasn’t thinking. Fear had overruled my senses. The only thought that was in my mind was that I was burning and needed to get help.

The pail, you idiot! Use the water from the pail!

Two steps out of the tent, I froze—conflicted between searching for help and dashing back into the tent. Then another thought intruded.

There’s no pain.

Befuddled, I stared down at my hands. The flames still licked eagerly at them. But my skin was undamaged. I took a cautious sniff. There was no smell of charring. I turned my hands over and studied them anew. The flames were doing me no harm. I am immune to my own fire, I realised.

Only then did what I had done sink in. I had cast a dragon spell! I laughed in delight. It was partly in relief at my continued survival—my experiment had been more dangerous than I had expected—and partly in happiness at my success.

My voice echoed shockingly loud in the silent camp. Taken aback, I spun about to see if anyone was observing.

I was alone. Glancing upwards, I saw the stars shining brightly, and the moon—foreign and unfamiliar—was high in the sky. Time had flown by far quicker than I had imagined and night had fallen fully.

My blood was still singing with fire too, I realised. Burning away. I glanced down at my hands again with my magesight. The spell was still active, and every second more of my mana and life flowed into the spellform to fuel its flames.

My glee faded. The spell was still draining my magic and life. Quenching the fire with a flick of my will, I opened the Trials alerts to try and make sense of what was going on.

You have spellcrafted a: touch-based spell, from the Discipline of: dragon magic. The name assigned to this spell is: flare. Flare is a persistent spell and while active drains all three of the caster’s energy pools: mana, stamina, and health. Its casting time is: very fast and its rank is: common.

You are the first player to have spellcrafted the dragon spell: flare. For this achievement, you have been awarded: dragon lore and two Marks.

You have gained in experience and are now a: level 10, Trainee. You have reached: player rank 2. Player levelling rate decreased.

Lore note: Dragon magic is unique amongst the magic Disciplines. Where spells from the other magic schools are imbued only with mana, dragon spells are infused also by the caster’s own lifeblood. Lifeblood contains within itself a portion of both the player’s stamina and life.

This significantly increases the cost and danger of dragon magic, but also makes spells from the Discipline three times more powerful than their counterparts.

Flare is the simplest of dragon magic spells. It is a bright, uncontrolled burst of flame that burns with intense heat of dragonfire. All dragons are born knowing the spell, giving even the smallest of hatchlings the means to defend themselves. Yet the spell should be used cautiously. Many a hatchling has gone to their death after draining away their own lifeblood through the use of flare.

I read and re-read the Trials alerts, the lore note in particular. While I was pleased to have reached player rank two, the other messages perturbed me. So dragon magic was both powerful and dangerous. I will have to be careful how I use it.

With more thoughtful steps, I ducked back into my tent. I still had some mana remaining. Before I bedded down for the night, I intended on expending it all and reaping what benefits I still could from newcomer. Yet even as I began channelling life magic again, I couldn’t help dwelling further on the troubling implications of the Trials’ messages.