Reep worked tirelessly to perfect her craft. As a member of the Humble Titans – the namesake and cherished memory of her parent’s adventuring team – she felt wrong when she wasn’t actively improving herself. After all, she had seen the peak of her power, nothing was going to stop her at this point.

Goddess of Lightning, Elrin, inadvertently sent the former slave on this harsh path. A simple glimpse was all Reep needed to solidify her future in the world of Nava. Power was what mattered to her, except for the vile and malicious shortcuts. Those who rise to power in such a way weren’t worth the mud she kicked off her boots, they were only intermediate goals.

Vast Empire had taken so much from her, family, friends, a welcoming life. And they had even cast her into a state of perpetual depression and sorrow. She was getting better; she was receiving the help and support she deserved. But the fact of the matter was that her horrors still existed, they were still out there.

Sure, Denny and Tyr were dead, but that hardly mattered now. Blood [Queen] Cresthill, the man Clammy dueled in the castle, even the [Lancer] who ordered an [Assassin] on Max, they were still near. But they could all burn in Reep’s eyes, for she had larger goals.

Not that she wouldn’t light the wicker if given the chance.

The past month Reep had felt rather useless in her mind. Clammy and Max were out fighting for life and limb – saving lives and taking care of the devilish. What had she done? Killed a few monsters that were attacking Lesterwood? Stopped a group of crippled [Thugs] from blocking the spatial lines of her home city?

Great! Reep should be promoted! …Might as well be disowned by the Titans while she was at it.

Killing a few monsters while Max ended the battle and negotiated surrender terms? Stopping [Thugs] while Clammy was the one who alerted her of the problem in the first place? Everything seemed to end with her teammates. Not her. Which was depressing.

Jealousy was something Reep hadn’t truly felt before. Sure, she wanted to be free when she was a slave, but she never felt anything towards the free. Only a burning desire of murder and a deep hatred for her captors. But now? Now that she was free? She was beginning to feel things.

Reep’s head healer – what Max would call a therapist – told her that she needed to find things she enjoyed in life. Painting was her first step at that, a reminder of her mother. But she never finished her pictures. She would quit halfway – halfhearted.

The head healer told Reep to surround herself with those she loved, and… she thought she was. Max, Clammy? She loved them, right? Emi? Vel? Bishop? Maybe… she didn’t really know. Reep owed Max and Clammy her life, does that constitute as love? Sacrificing one’s life for another’s?

Her parents did that and left a hole.

Lastly, the head healer spoke of staying busy. That was something Reep could do. She could do that very well. Wake up, train, paint, train, lunch, train with the guard, dinner, bed. A full daily schedule. She even explained as much to her head healer. He only replied with finding a long term goal.

And she had.

It was slow progress, very slow. But each burnt stretch of skin, each sundered finger nail, each aching breath pushed her. Every day she could do one more, she could do something quicker, she could get closer to landing a hit on Bishop.

It was enough to till her wondering mind, a mind that would turn against her in a moment’s notice. But… strangely, she was okay with that. Reep had friends, weather she understood that or not. The remainder of the Humble Titans, Vel, and Bishop would all be around to catch her if she fell.

With all of that tucked tightly in the back of her mind, Reep worked. Arrow after arrow, rep after rep, eventually ending with a wind down of electricity manipulation. Her two classes worked well together - [Archer] and [Shocking Hands]. She felt comfortable with her bow, and she had long become numb to the shock.

But… after seeing Goddess Elrin’s power – thanks to Max’s Defibrillator spell – Reep knew how much more she could be. It didn’t start with a bow. It didn’t start with a lightning bolt. It didn’t start with a trained body or a strong constitution.

It started with an unrelenting sprint.

“You should take the evening off.” Bishop spoke as he cleaned up the shattered target dummies, “You did well tonight, just like every night.”

Reep didn’t respond, she couldn’t, not really. Her breaths were labored and harsh, but she had always felt that this moment of absolute fatigue was where she truly shined. She wasn’t like Clammy – she couldn’t drop into a Battle Trance to gain a second wind.

No, she had to forge her second wind all by herself.

Lightning sparked around her closed fist, her dark skin getting lost in the bright glow of the magic. She wove strands of electricity slowly and carefully. It wasn’t something Bishop had taught, in fact, the technique would be something he waved off. Lightning doesn’t react well to organic and rounded manipulations; it prefers quick and sharp strikes – much like a lightning bolt.

Path of least resistance, Max would tell her. Straight and to the point, in other words. Sure, Reep could control her magic well enough to form an arrow head, or bend it enough to create a bow, but that wasn’t what she saw. That wasn’t her goal.

Bishop and Max might shrug off her efforts and simple experimentation, but Reep knew better. She knew her spell was possible. She had seen it. A Divine example, but even a Goddess had to start somewhere… right?

The minutes continued by. Bishop had long finished cleaning, but Reep still worked. Her breaths were still labored, her muscles begged her to stop, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. This was it; this was the attempt. She could feel it.

Bishop watched on with interested eyes as his student continued her attempt. He didn’t know what she was attempting, but for the past week she had tried and tried again. There was an old saying about Drakes – they could destroy a walled city with only their head. The saying was supposed to be derogatory and taken literal.

Drakes’ leathery skin, dense bones, and tendencies to muscle through a problem gave [Bards] more than enough material to work with. Bishop used to hate the saying, but oddly enough, he felt the sentiment reached to Reep in this situation.

Not as an insult, but a rite of passage.

Reep swayed slightly, her head dipping and rocketing upright in tandem. She was on the verge of fainting – mana exhaustion was no joke. But her spell’s framework was just finishing being set.

Lines upon lines of thin electrical strains arched and contorted with her hand. Each brought the full force of an arrow head’s worth of lightning; each were more than enough to kill a low-level. They crisscrossed and wove together, knitting a mesh. Chainmail was what Reep was going for, but the sight looked more akin to a tailored winter glove.

That is, if the glove was made with sparking bolts of lightning and fit like a [Knight]’s gauntlet.

Something deep in the System clicked, an understanding and a showing of one’s aptitude. A blue box appeared outside of Reep’s periphery, but the slight glow was all the young woman needed.

She held her breath as her fist roared with power and speed. A single punch was thrown down – a relatively soft and delicate one. After all, a concrete floor was her target. Last thing she wanted was another busted knuckle.

The spell buzzed with high-pitched squeal as the lightning moved along her skin. The room brightened as the sudden movement reactivated the electricity. Yellow with some blue mixed in, both colors flashing as if lighting up the night sky during a devastating storm.

The tailored glove – along with Reep’s clenched fist – collided with the floor. A boom sounded, like a gunshot, before the warded concrete cracked and split. Lightning blasted through the past of least resistance, scorching the grey stone in thick black marks.

Reep’s hand was launched back, shattering her shoulder like being too close to the aftershock of a cannon fire. Like leading a dog on a leash, her arm carried her into the air where she never landed.

Bishop’s eyes were thin slits. He moved quick, far quicker than most could spot. He scooped his apprentice into his arms while forcing a healing potion down her throat. The bulk of the treatment would need to be done by a healer, more specifically Vel, but the potion would be a strong start.

But Reep hardly noticed. She trusted those she loved and while she didn’t fully understand what that meant, she trusted them to catch her if she fell.

Painting would always be a nice hobby, but it wasn’t her passion. Not like her mother’s at least. Reep could never finish a picture and now she knew why. In the fleeting moments before falling unconscious, the former slave – now freed adventurer – realized something.

Fighting alongside Clammy and Max was the thing she loved doing and nothing was going to get in the way of her goals.

Congratulations, you have learned the spell technique Titan’s Gauntlet - Lightning (Mythic):

You have found the start of the Path of Titans. All magic holds secrets; some great, others small. You may have stumbled on to it by accident, but the path of power holds all accountable.

The Titans were said to be giants in their respective fields. Most went on to great things while the few became those most looked up to. History tells the tales of those who recast their image in the shadow of power. Are you going to grow to the potential?

Coat your arms in your magic to grip the power of the world.

Bishop was… confused. Not that Reep created a spell he thought impossible, not that she passed out, or that she harmed herself in the backlash. No… Bishop was confused because of what he felt. Lightning shouldn’t move the way Reep contracted it to. It bent like water, flickered like fire, and was hard as stone.

All of which were very possible. Will-imbuing different magical characteristics was a staple ability for most mages – something Max still hadn’t truly figured out. Was it impossible for a hybrid class to achieve the same effects? For sure… that is, after years of development and training.

Bishop rarely imbued his lightning into different characteristics. It simply was not needed, at least not for creating weapon constructs. Maybe if he had to create a suit of electrified armor he might imbue stone, but events that called for such action were few and far between.

But what Bishop felt in Reep’s spell was something else. It was if the lightning was alive. As if it was hungry, as if it was eating the world around her fist.

A few hours after taking the still unconscious Reep to an annoyed Vel for healing, Bishop entered the training room alone. He was sure Icarus was watching over him, but the light familiar stayed away – the bird was always good at reading the mood.

Lightning whipped around Bishop’s leathery fist, roping like strands of silk mixed with liquid iron. While he preferred to fight with a weapon, he had spent countless hours honing his fists to be just as deadly as a sword. But, as he had found over his time fighting, a sword itched a certain scratch fist-fighting never would.

The lightning finished wrapping, leaving the Drake with a perfect replication of Reep’s gauntlet. He made sure to memorize as much as possible from the earlier demonstration, mainly so he could give his student tips later on. Who would have thought that he would be the student in this scenario?

While the gauntlet looked the same, it was actually a modified version of a spell Bishop already had. Lightning Gauntlet had proved to be helpful in many battles against heavily teethed monsters. Getting a wrist stuck in a maw was quite bad.

He slowly wound up – mimicking Reep – before striking the concrete floor. Cracks and scorch marks appeared just the same, if not stronger, but Bishop tsked in annoyance. It was just as he thought, just as he knew. His spell was just a spell. There was nothing special about the construct, nothing of substance, nor anything that whispered to him like Reep’s did.

He tried again, this time reforming the gauntlet without the System’s help. Again the same outcome appeared. He tried again, and again. Every time was the same.

Oh Reep, what did you stumble upon…? The teacher asked himself after splintering the entire training room floor.

He activated the stone-fixing runes and wards before heading out – he didn’t want to leave a mess. Along the way he whistled a jolly tune and thought to the future.

Bishop grabbed a quick shower before heading to the kitchen for a late night snack. It was well past midnight and he felt certain he was the only one awake. But, as he tore off a hunk of bread and lathered it with butter, he heard the arguing. A lot of arguing. He thought about sneaking by, heading up the stairs, and finding a warm spot next to Belopi in their bed… but someone called out to him – more specifically Vel.

“Bishop? Is that you? I know I heard you, you are not as quiet as you think you are. Not with those things you call feet.”

Vel always had a certain harshness to her words. But that was oddly one of her greatest charms. She could insult anyone, but when only when those insults began to truly hurt, it meant she thought of someone enough to make better material. Sadly enough, Bishop and Vel had been teammates for a long while at this point, she knew how to push all of his buttons.

The Drake entered the sitting room with a slight hiss. Vel had her arms cross – a patented position for the old [Arch Water Mage]. Clammy sat nearby, the young princess’s arms covering her anger ridden face. Her eyes were bloodshot but not because she had been crying, but rather that she burst a blood vessel from straining irritation.

Icarus was the only other resident of the mansion present, but a few others took up seats. First and most notable was Mayor Silverjewl. The opulent Elf’s presence alerted Bishop that the matter at hand was administrative rather than friendly.

Which also put captain Shatterwind’s appearance into a better light. The two Guild Masters for their respective Guilds, Domic the Flame Devil and Yel the Beastkin, both were standing around also. While everyone present had a well-working relationship, it couldn’t be discounted that this grouping of personnel only truly got together when something was wrong.

“I take it something is wrong. Is it the fungus? The Empire?” Bishop asked, sliding out a chair and sitting next to his second apprentice.

Clammy slowly picked at the wooden bracelet Bishop had given her so long ago. While the enchanted piece of magical apparel was not very powerful, it symbolized the land of the living to the young Diviner. Clammy lived between two worlds, one full of life and very real, the other full of death and was nothing more of a nightmare. The bracelet helped her know which was real and which was fake.

Bishop hadn’t seen her touch the thing in a while, which worried him.

“Did you have a vision?” He asked, referring to Clammy’s heritage and second class.

While seeing the future was something that still eluded her, the youngest princess had made leaps and bounds in the progression of her magic. Memories, she had figured out, were what Diviner classes delt with. Not mana, not projections, not some weird tribal ritual. Memories were her medium, just like how a [Water Mage] controlled water.

“No.” Clammy spoke, “A letter came.”

Bishop recoiled, “Oh? A letter…”

“An official letter from Salae.” Mayor Silverjewl explained.

Vel shook her head, “A declaration of war. Specifically against Lost Lord Max Fowler and anyone who protects him.”

“What!” Bishop yelled, shaking the walls with his commanding voice.

“Now hold on a minute-“ Silverjewl spoke, “The letter didn’t say they were declaring war-“

Vel rolled her eyes, “You are right,” She said in a mocking voice, “the letter said they will declare war if Max Fowler is not given up for execution dictated by Salae’s highest royal court.”

“Second highest, the highest is reserved for citizens only.”

Vel took a deep breath then exhaled very, very slowly, “Nobody cares which court is demanding his head, mayor, just that they are.”

Bishop ignored the resulting argument and look towards his student, “This is Eden, right? Not all of Salae?”

Clammy shook her head, “Eden is all of Salae. I need to talk with Alia, she’ll know what is happening.”

“Alright, I’ll reserve a spot for a Gate trip tomorrow.”

“Max could take us.”

Bishop shot his eyes around the room, most were focused on the ensuing argument, but he didn’t want to oust Max’s secrets, “I doubt he’ll be available. He said he might be sleeping for a while. You know how he gets.”

Clammy nodded, understanding the meaning behind the words. Max was unavailable because he was doing something in the watery world he somehow had a connection to. Not that Clammy understood any of it.

“Reep then?”

Bishop nodded, “If she’s up for it, she can come. She had a bit of an accident with creating a new spell today… Vel had to reconstruct most of her shoulder bone. And before you ask, it was a success, a very powerful success.”

Clammy smiled.