John Harken

“Mana is the function and medium in which one’s vision can be imposed upon reality,” recited John Harken. “A substance that is distinct, but undefinable. The world is infinite. Humanity is finite. Through Mana, we close the gap to the infinite, and are divine.” The words scoured his mind, awareness pulsing at each word. With every wave, his focus narrowed internally upon himself. To find that sensation of vibration that would be the landmark to engage his mana.

“Interaction with mana begins on the face of reality,” continued Harken. “Mana exists as a field that is within and throughout all dimensions. Mana seeks the active mind, strong will, or passionate faith. Vibration is the whisper of Mana’s acceptance.” With mad faith, he cleared his mind and stilled the storm of thoughts. Like a tranquil pool in the deepness of the earth, he waited for the ripples. Waiting for the disruption of that prepared stillness.

“Humanity's path to Mana is split between the faithful and the willful,” intoned the believer. “Whether it is the will to alter reality or the faith to enforce existence, Mana is the source of their power. Two ways, one path to infinite. Divine is the path of Mana, for those who control destiny, are gods.” Dry was his mouth, even as the eyes streamed tears. The world fell away and there was only tranquility. When it came, the expected sign was like the ringing of church bells. The chants of temples. The song of shrines. He rang back chime for chime. He chanted joyfully in rhythm. He sang in sync to create a choir. At first, Mana and man were discordant, but in time, came together in a beautiful dueted dance. John Harken’s heart soared and his mind expanded.

Integration with the field of Mana had begun. The Acolyte of the Commandments felt as if he was floating perfectly on the tension of a pool of water. Except, instead of one line of the sensation, it was instead every inch felt the vibrating tension. John continued the recitation, “The baptism of Mana follows a created connection. A communion in pursuit of harmony. Through the saturation, the body and mind will transform into a conduit.” He felt the interactions of the tension from within kissing and roiling with the Mana outside. As the book dictated, Harken maintained tranquility and allowed the Mana to flow as it must. The moment of broken tension was sweet and painful as the Mana of reality surged inwards to mix with the personal Mana.

Now came the hard part of the baptism. As the natural Mana flooded into his system, Harken extended his personal Mana outwards with his senses. A terrible strain gripped him like stretching a muscle long atrophied. Never slipping a syllable, he went on, “Reach out the self to grasp the fabric of reality. Create a circle of ego that encapsulates Mana and knows it intimately. Find balance, and listen to the heart song. From inside, the words of power will be revealed and show the way. Repetition shall lead to a deepening comfort in this state.” The strain lessened by steady degrees until he was relaxed and listening.

Within the bubble of his senses, John Harken mentally swam through the contained Mana. A beautiful song echoed within. The direction of the source changed at every attempt to orient. Twice before, he had come to this moment and failed to find the heart song. As promised, each attempt had been easier than the last. The range of the bubble had felt larger with every attempt too, but he didn’t explore those limits for now. His focus was ever inwards seeking the heartsong, which was so illogically hard to find. “The heartsong is the whisper of the divine self. It is the internal self that guides the hand of ego to express our power through Mana. The divine self sings and the choir of Mana follows.”

Following a thread of the song was like reading a musical piece backwards by hearing alone. Still, the third time was indeed the charm, and Harken was blessed with the heart song. The words were seared into his mind. They would never be forgotten. The faithful man wept in joyous celebration. From the heart song, he prayed for the sake of need. To the Mana, he had praised the Commandments. John had pleaded for the power to protect and guide the Sixty to their Purpose. The heartsong bore to him three empowerments to see his duty through. John Harken opened his mouth and cast his first spell.

“For Purpose’s sake

Shine your protection

Raiments gleaming

Fortify”

The words synchronize with the song as it rose higher, and reality rippled. The air seemed to condense and form a skin-tight barrier over John Harken's body. A few heartbeats passed and the impression of the magic armor faded to just the hint of something shiny. His sight and focus wavered as the Mana surged. The structure of ego and Mana held, but he felt diminished. Faded as if he was less there and at the same time the world distant. When the Mana settled, so did his senses. The faithful did, however, feel like there was less of himself to use in the casting of spells. It was something to consider, but it wouldn’t stop him from trying all three. The words were burning inside him and the heart song made it clear it was necessary to get them out at least once. Taking a deep breath, his voice sent a tremor through reality.

“Aegis of Purpose

Bolster the devoted

Stronger together

Reinforce”

The effect seemed similar as before, as a force condensed around the caster, but instead of creating a protective barrier, it merged with the force already there. John also felt a part of him search for more targets within the range of his ego bubble. The diminishing feeling swept through him and the world wavered. As he endured the sensations, Harken promised himself to get used to the backlash of the spell. Peace returned and his mind settled. The ego bubble was a little creaky, but was holding. He prepared himself for the last of the words given to him. This time the faithful man knew what was coming. He brought forth a miracle.

“Path of Purpose

Reveal the way

Future known

Foresight”

The Mana churned within the bubble and the limits strained past his control. The moment froze at the point of breaking and then everything accelerated before his eyes. John Harken was alone in his room, so there wasn’t much to watch in the small room beyond himself collapsing upon the floor. Still, more than just seeing was revealed to him. Information about the rate of his fall, the angle, and what he understood to be his intuition guessing the results. It all came in an instant and then the spell snapped. The mad man fell to his knees, continuing to the floor. The diminishing force struck with such a ravenous impact, that he lost all feeling in his limbs. His mind buckled under the backlash. Consciousness faded almost as quickly as John became unhinged from the world.

He slept like the dead, but even then, it was with a smile.

Phelain Starr

The darkness of closed eyes transitioned into the void of a dream. Strangely lucid, Phelain had floated there waiting for the nightmares to begin. When nothing came with teeth or claws, a dread started to soak into him that his dream could just be this endless void. The terror of a nightmare could be overcome, but the void resisted his efforts to change anything. He felt the mad laughter bubbling out and allowed it to echo into nothing.

The situation was morbidly funny. He had strained against sleeping at all to avoid the nightmares as long as possible. Instead, such efforts to avoid monsters and cycles of self-mutilating moments had been wasted. Yet, he had successfully sidestepped that, and now he was willing to risk it to escape here. Laughing hopelessly into the void didn’t make him feel any better, but it would have been worse to hold it in.

A bonfire materialized a short distance away and the pull of gravity returned. Softly he landed on the shadowy impression of a place deep in the forest. Warily, Phelain moved towards the fire. There was literally nowhere else to go. The shadow forest was full of night noises and the ghostly warmth of the fire was uncomforting. He sat on the log, tense and expectant. Whatever this was, he was sure it wouldn’t be pleasant.

“How pitiful you are acting,” called out a voice with clear displeasure. “How faithless you are. Where’s that belief in yourself?” A figure moved through the shadow trees that had consumed the once void. Circling, not as a predatory, but in an accusatory manner. They teased the edge of the light intending to preserve the mystery of their features.

“Wha, what?” jumped Phelain. “Who are you?” The voice was disturbingly familiar while the scenario was distinctly unexpected. Monsters to tear flesh or repeating torturous memories was par for the course. This was unique and unsettlingly real for a dream.

“Does it really matter who?” blasted the voice. “We’re not here to talk about me, just your actions. I can see it in your face… you are giving up.”

He looked shamefully down, considering the recent events that passed through his mind. Quietly he replied, “It’s been, well, much harder than I thought it would be.”

“Hard huh?,” sneered the shadow. “O’ I’m Phelain! I’m destined to be such an awesome hero! Come on man, this is real! You don't have a narrative on your side, and frankly, you haven’t done the work to be good off the bat.”

“I know that,” he moaned.

“Do ya buddy?” pressed the shadow. It came to stand still, staring at him. The flames licked the light across the voice’s face. Changing its features with every flicker, from monster to babe to demon, and then all over again. “You say that with pain… I hear it, but you still believe you're special in that manner. Did you really think video games were gonna give you a leg up?”

“Yes!” roared back Phelain. He stood up and growled words at the voice. “It should have made a difference! That’s why I’m here right? Because I wanted this!”

“So, it’s not your fault huh?” the voice said mildly with disbelief. “Just the world being unfair. Sure… sure… maybe it’s that old fairy tale… When did that ever fucking stop us?” The aspiring hero blanched as the shadow stepped into the light. It was him, but not the younger, healthier him that awoke in the hall. No, it was the pot-bellied, acne-scarred him from before his oldest dream came true.

“Wha… No… I,” squawked Phelain, unable to properly respond. That this was supposed to be a dream, was completely forgotten. He was gripped by the terror of confronting this shadowy doppelganger

“Ahh, cat got your tongue?” asked old Phelain. “Good, don’t talk, listen. We hate remembering it, but you can never run from your childhood can you? You know why games and books struck such a chord with us. It was a sweet-voiced parent telling us stories... Nah, it was to escape what they yelled… how they beat us… how worthless we felt when even our father didn’t love us enough and our mother… fuck man she didn’t love us enough to even try to protect us. Barely even fed us as it was. Shit, we had it bad, but our stories. They were the beauty in the world that was just enough to keep the noose from looking more than tempting. O’ how dad couldn’t even let that go either. Already the terror and tyrant in our life, the bastard couldn’t help degrading that one beautiful thing. How it was a waste of time. A real man wouldn’t be involved in this pansy elf shit…”

“We stood up to him on that,” said Phelain, finding the words. “I, I wouldn’t let him ruin it.”

“Right you are my man,” grinned the old him. “And when we told that old shit our plan for the future?”

Grinning defiantly at the bitter memory. “He raged that we were wasting our time. Had wasted all that money on me if I pursued this.”

“Fuck, what money right?”

“Yeah, what a fucking shit head to try to pull that on us. It wasn’t mom and I that he spent the money on…”

“Nope it wasn’t, but fuck him. What did we do?”

“I made the games. Damn good games. Before I knew it, I was renowned for them. There was more money in my bank account than dad could make in a year, assuming he was employed year around. I left that shit hole and made a life for myself. Expanded my business, hired people, wrote books to go along with the games, and even got involved in films. At times, it felt like I had found another world. My life became so different from my past.”

“And why did it get so good?” broke in the doppelganger. “Hard work, Phelain! We sweated for every second of success. Nothing is just a given. Never an expectation guaranteed to be satisfied.”

“But, it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” cringed Phelain.

“How was it supposed to be for us? Everything to come to us easily? It has never been like that. Learning to code was brutal for us. Write a good story? Fuck man, we started out bad at that too! Our first games didn’t have any stories, they were just dungeon crawlers! If the things we became masters at were so hard to claim, then why did you expect to pick up a sword and know how to do more than swing wildly? We don’t know a damn thing about how to properly use any kind of weapon. Might as well use a fucking stick… But we can learn. There’s people here who know how to fight. You know who can teach us.”

"Vincent,” nodded Phelain. “He was amazing.”

“Who knows how he got that good, but the man is skilled,” agreed the old him. “He’s not the only one either.”

“Yeah, they were all pretty amazing. That Clarissa was startlingly good at archery. More than once a rat had me, but an arrow took them out. Julia seemed to be holding her spot well, even if she was screaming the whole time…”

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” pressed the other.

“Reuben and Malachi did their part of course, and Molly, well no one knows how to do magic yet.”

“Sigh… you may not like him, but Warner knew what he was doing as well.”

“Yeah… so, he’s a jerk.”

“Maybe, but we can be honest. There’s a feeling of kinship there. He may be full of hot air, and a bit of a bully… but well I think Warner has the same wounds as us.”

"What do you mean wounds?”

“He was bullied too, just maybe more physically than emotionally. Forced him to know how to fight to get through the day, while we developed more emotional maturity to let it wash down our backs. My point is, he can teach us something too. Give him a chance, ok?”

“I’ll think about it…”

“Now wake up… wake up and remember it’s ok for it to be hard.” The doppelganger smiled contently as he faded.

“I don’t need to be the best right now,” decided Phelain. He concentrated on the concept until a tightness in his chest released and he felt at ease. The aspiring warrior stood up and walked away from the fire.

The instant he was awake, Phelain was moving. The headache flashed painfully and burned away before his passion. His mind was alight with purpose and restored faith. the aspiring warrior knew who he was, what he was. This struggle? It wasn’t anything new for him. This was real life, and reality never pulled punches. If anything had taught him that, it was Phelain’s childhood. The trouble was that, even after everything he had endured, this aspiring warrior had forgotten what life had been like before he made it big. Pride had faded the strain of success enough that he had expected to just be amazing at this off the bat. Ridiculous really, scolded Phelain. I am thankful for that dream… it reminded me… who I am. Weird that my mind summoned myself to talk to though, but hey it worked.

The first person he ran into was a woman who called herself Vivian and asked how he was feeling. Grinning, Phelain assured her that he was feeling fine as quickly as he could. She, unfortunately, wasn’t sure where the swordsman had gone, but pointed out that a lot of people had decided to check out the noise coming from the lone hallway. Thanking her for a place to start, the aspiring warrior hustled to see what the commotion was, and hoped Vincent could be found there.

Through the tunnel, he found the training room and a crowd circling a fight. At first, he was worried it was some kind of high school bullshit, but that was just fear talking he realized. He was relieved that the sixty weren’t turning on each other. Watching an ax user and spearman circle each helped him realize it was a duel. Once that concern was dismissed, he shifted his attention back to finding Vincent. The crowd’s noise rose and fell like the sea as the duel continued.

Outside the circle of the audience, Phelain found Vincent sitting on a bench with Warner. The two seemed to be enjoying a companionable silence, occasionally taking sips from their water canisters. They didn’t appear to be paying attention to anything even though several people from the crowd would call out to them to get them to take a look at the current fight. With some trepidation, Phelain made his way over to them. He wished that Warner hadn’t been here too, but tried to remind himself what his dream-self had said. Best to listen to him right? thought Phelain. He was me, just me talking myself through some stuff. What he said... was just what I believe too.

“Vincent,” called out Phelain and then after a beat or two added, “Warner.”

The swordsman blinked away his train of thought and focused on him. “O’ hey Phelain. Good to see you awake,” greeted Vincent. Warner simply grunted a reply and looked to be considering departure.

“Um… yeah glad we all feel better,” was Phelain’s awkward response. The attention of the swordsman started to fade when nothing further seemed to be forthcoming. Gritting his teeth and pensively glancing at Warner, the aspiring warrior decided to suck it up. He dropped a knee and declared loudly, “Vincent please teach me! I know I need to be better. This place, it’s a dream come true and I want to be good enough to honor that dream.”

“Whoa kid, get up off your knee,” blurted a startled swordsman. “I’m not interested in you on your knees. Teach you? There’s no need to be so formal with me, I am happy to help you out. Watching these matches has made it pretty clear to me that people are going to need someone with experience to help out. Those pamphlets aren’t going to be enough.”

“O’ thank you so much,” cried Phelain, now on his feet. “It means so much to me! I’ve wanted to do this for so long. Fighting monsters, I have dreamed of it so much! I couldn’t bear being unable to do it well now that it is possible. Our fight with those rat... things… made it clear I’m not good enough.”

“None of us are good enough yet apparently,” offered Vincent with a lopsided smile. “Being here is a dream come true for me too. I have lived for the sword my whole life, but never have I felt like I had truly succeeded until now. We’ll get strong together, Phelain.”

“Damn Vincent, you got a disciple already,” frowned Warner. “What am I? Chopped liver? Shit.”

“No, Warner,” soothed Phelain. “I would like to learn from you too. You did better than me! And with just your fists! It’s clear to me, you know how to fight too. I would be honored to learn from you as well.”

“Shiiiit, I guess I can’t say no to that,” grinned the shoulders. “Honor, heh. Look, my man, Vincent’s got technique and skill to teach ya. Right polished you’ll be from his teaching. Me, ain’t exactly polished… honorable? Hell no! Dirty tricks are all part of the game far as I am concerned.”

“Dirty tricks… honor… I don’t think monsters care about any of that,” answered Phelain. “Kill or be killed, that’s the way of the dungeon, and I have no doubt that's the sort of place we are.”

“Hell yeah, kid, uh Phelain,” smirked Warner. “I like that, I guess you aren’t quite the pansy I thought you were.”

“Alright, no time like the present,” said Vincent, pulling both of their attentions. “Let’s get started, there’s a lot to learn, and I think, a lot of fun to have.” All three grinned.