There was a song in the dungeonhome. In the days before the death of the core.

It was a song every living creature knew. It resonated in the walls, echoed in the corridors, filled the dark spaces with joy. It was the song the core hummed to itself when it was creating something new. A song of bright, melodious discovery.

It was a song that meant home.

Grae hummed it now, let the song fill up his mind.

He extended his hand and cast.

This time, he formed a full-size water bullet, floating in his hand as a perfect sphere rippled by the faint wind. Closing his eyes, he imagined an empty space forming in the center.

He felt the spell shift to his command…

And the voices tried to invade. They pushed against his mind, but he sung his dungeonsong, letting the wordless melody become a wall and a shield that held the whispering tide at bay.

He could still feel them, scratching at his mind, but they were less powerful now.

He pressed on. The hollow space at the core of the bullet grew, from the size of a fingernail outwards. He felt the spell begin to strain. It was fighting itself now, the hollow creating an inwards suction that threatened to destabilize the entire spell.

A voice entered his mind. It wasn’t like the others. It spoke directly, clearly, with thunderous power.

GIVE ME CONTROL.

The song faltered…

And then water bullet exploded instantly, shattering inwards with such speed and violent force that steam hissed free from the detonation.

Grae’s eyes snapped open. A point of agony was searing between his brows. The pain felt like it was drilling into his skull.

What were these voices? Where did they come from?

There was only one way to find out.

Pushing the ache and pain aside, Grae lifted his hand and begun again. The voices didn’t begin when the spell did. The mana in him flowed smoothly, creating a water bullet in his palm.

It was when he tried to alter it…

When he tried to shape it…

Then mana began to pour in from the outside world. The magic in the air around him bent inwards, forming a vortex that fed energy into the spells.

And the voices began.

He cut off the spell. Water poured through his claws.

Grae was breathing hard now, his internal energy all but spent.

Internal energy…

For the first few seconds, as the spell was taking shape, it only used his own mana. During that time there were no voices, no interference.

But as the spell grew and took shape beyond his own flesh, the ambient power of the air was drawn inwards. Mana from all over spiraled into the spell’s construction. It was then that the voices began to whisper and fill his head; they poured in with the foreign mana.

Grae had an idea of what he needed to do.

He began the creation of a water bullet without allowing the spell to finish. Once; two times; three times. The motes of mana collected into shape, then collapsed without taking their final form. He began to understand.

Within his body, sparks of mana shaped the spell. They did this without his input or control; it happened automatically once he began to channel the power of his Constellations.

Twining together, sparks became lines, lines became runes, and a magic circle was born within the palm of his hand.

That circle controlled the mana beyond his body. It called it up to form a shape of water, then released that shape with violent force.

Altogether this process was the spell called Water Bullet. It was simple and automatic.

But when he held onto the spell, trying to change its shape and alter its function, something else invaded. They came in through the mana the half-formed spell was absorbing from the surrounding air. The voices invaded his mind and tried to steal the spell away from him, inevitably destroying it instead.

What were the voices?

Where did they come from?

Grae had no idea, and presently there was no way to learn. He had to focus on the tools available to him and the discoveries they could make…

He had to focus on uncovering the roots of magic before he could work his way up to greater mysteries.

And if drawing mana from outside was what allowed the voices to invade his mind, he’d simply refuse to do so. Instead of shaping the spell after it was formed beyond his body, he would shape the internal formation, the ‘framework’ that told the spell how to take form.

Sitting down, Grae stared into the palm of his furry hand. He waited a while, letting the mana within his chest rekindle itself from dying sparks, and then…

He cast.

Power flowed up his arm, into his palm. A glowing pattern appeared beneath his fur, a star with eight points and a single runic character contained within each. In the palm’s center three rings turned, like the tumblers of an arcane lock.

This was Water Bullet.

He dismissed it. The spell sputtered out like a dying candle.

And Grae began again, this time without using the Stars or the Constellation, without reaching for the easy power that shaped itself…

He did it by hand.

Gently guiding the sparks of mana in his body, he guided them up his arm, collecting them into his palm. At his will and his whim they moved, but it was difficult; whenever his focus slipped sparks bled away and dissolved into his flesh.

Slowly he guided them into shape. It was hard, straining his will to the limit, but with each completed step it grew easier…

The sparks exerted a force on each other, like celestial bodies in orbit. When one was in its proper place, the others were drawn towards their own….

Until the whole thing fit together like a puzzle.

Miniature stars and comets flared on his skin, scrawling out the design of an eight-pointed star diagram. Runes burned themselves into being, trailing off wisps of colorless and ghostly transparent flame.

In the center, shining droplets of water began to cohere together…

His body was exhausted, his personal supply of mana wrung dry. But it was done. In his hand, Grae collected the power of a single Water Bullet, without the help of Stars or Constellations, without relying on outside force.

He had cast a spell of his own making.