I turned my head, trying to see anything but finding my view cut off around twenty feet away. Any further, and the world fell into impenetrable mists thicker than anything natural. Beneath me, the ground felt strangely soft to the touch, the same as a cloud might feel. I pressed my hand down with a bit of pressure, feeling it stop after a few inches.

There was a dank, musty smell in the air that reminded me of rot creeping into waterlogged wood. Years ago, during a particularly nasty storm, the servant's quarters had flooded, and the same stench lingered for months before they replaced the damaged boards.

After a few seconds, I straightened up, getting my feet under me with more trouble than usual. Girem's warning about appearances echoed in my mind as I smoothed the front of my shirt. Not that there was anyone around to see my disheveled appearance, of course.

Belatedly, it occurred to me that this must all be in my head. The Astral Plane was a spiritual world, not a physical one, which only made my head spin, trying to understand how my clothes followed me here. Or, for that matter, how I was seeing and smelling anything. Questions for later, it seemed.

"Hello?!" I shouted, hearing my voice echo into the white mists. Logically, I knew that no one would answer, but an inborn fear of this strange place drove me to try regardless. Something was deeply unsettling about such a blank, featureless void, and an involuntary shudder ran down my spine.

Again, I fell back on my training, scrambling to remember everything Girem taught me. Most of it was hearsay, as he was no mage, but the Duke had told us both enough to draw conclusions.

Visions typically began after a few minutes and differed from mage to mage. Some caught only one or two cloudy glimpses of the future, while others might see a half-dozen crystal clear images. One person might see something from a few months in the future, while another could witness the birth of a grand-child sixty years later.

Conventional wisdom said that bloodline purity impacted both number and clarity, but that always seemed strange to me. How would the Astral Plane see the future? Then again, considering nobles tended to be stronger mages, maybe it was not a bloodline but raw power that controlled the visions?

Before I could theorize more, there was a strange sound on the edge of my hearing. They echoed and reverberated, too indistinct to be recognizable, but gradually, I could pick out words from the clamor. The mists around me twisted and turned, resolving into objects and figures.

I was in a room, standing near windows that overlooked Volaris. In front of me was, well, me. Or rather, another me, standing with arms behind his back before someone else. The other person sat behind a desk, with blurry features that made it impossible to make out his face. Despite that, he was clearly nobility. The packed bookshelves, hanging portraits, magical lights dancing above our heads, and preposterously expensive rug covering the ground practically shouted that fact.

The mystery man spoke in a booming baritone voice, facing me with hands folded before him.

"-remanded to my custody, starting today. King Lyos is eager to get your training started immediately. Once I'm done with you-"

As I attempted to look more closely, the world shifted again, and I saw myself standing in the middle of a field. This time, I was dressed in a dark blue uniform with a single bar on both arms. My right hand held a sword with several markings along its length, and I spotted the same blurry man standing behind me. Dark green mana danced along the blade as he spoke.

"-will guide your mana into the appropriate shapes, removing the need for thought. With these, you can focus entirely on raw power, without memorizing lengthy incantations or-"

Another shift and I reappeared in the middle of a clear field, facing three others. All of us were dressed in the same uniforms, with two bars on each sleeve. In my hands was the same blade as before, but now there were similar markings across my back.

With some unspoken signal, all of them charged, swirls of multi-colored mana surrounding them as they prepared spells. In response, I swung my blade, a dozen green orbs launching forward with the motion and slamming into each of them. Shields of transparent mana shattered, and they flew a dozen feet, landing in motionless heaps.

Scoffing under my breath, I turned and walked away, passing a small crowd who whispered among themselves as they stared.

Another flash, and the uniform now had four bars. A crowd cheered as I stood atop a floating platform, a medal hanging from my neck. Nearby, several other apprentices stood, tension evident in their bodies. It did not escape my notice that they were in groups while I was alone.

Mists swirled, and I was inside a room larger than seemed possible, with a ceiling hundreds of feet above and large enough to fit thousands. At one end, a massive stone chair inlaid with gold and precious gemstones towered atop a raised dais. My future self knelt on the ground in front of a man with a crown on his head. As a blade tapped me on each shoulder, he spoke, words echoing across the room with magical augmentation.

"Rise, Archmagus Vayne. Aether Blade, Scourge of Ten Thousand, and Champion to King Lyos. Rise, and take your place-"

Even as I tried to process that particular piece of information, the mists turned and chance yet again. Within a minute, the world around me resolved into the most distinct vision so far.

It appeared I was standing on top of walls surrounding a massive stone fortress. The smell of saltwater and the sound of bird cries filled the air, and I could feel a cool breeze blowing through my hair. Near the walls' edge were cannons, covered in runes and aiming off into the distance to defend against attackers.

So, I was at one of our coastal settlements, one with a fortress designed to ward off possible threats. Not that there were many of those, of course. Ethea was a vast but isolated continent, surrounded by treacherous waters named the Azure Expanse. In a thousand years, we had never managed to traverse the ocean, and the few who disappeared into the horizon never returned.

Some of this came down to the sea storms, which would tear apart smaller vessels, but the more significant threat was the beasts lurking in the depths. Serpents large enough to swallow a ship whole and tentacled monstrosities near-invulnerable to magic dwelled in deep waters. If Ferris dedicated enough resources and brought along powerful mages such as an Archmagus, an expedition might succeed, but there were always more pressing concerns.

And thanks to this, our ships tended towards trade vessels built for coastal travel and fishing. A full fourth of food supplies came from the sea, mainly used by western settlements. But that raised the question of why I was here.

A man stood nearby, dressing in dark gray robes that fit close to his frame. One gloved hand rested on the hilt of a sword bucked to his hip, the scabbard covered in intricate gold runes. Upon closer examination, I could make out similar markings along the sleeves and back of his clothing.

It did not take any particularly impressive deductive reasoning to determine his identity.

Despite how close I stood, I could not make out the man's face. He was angled away from me, facing over the wall and scanning the horizon with a slowly turning head.

I walked closer, curious what my counterpart could possibly find so interesting, and damn near fell off.

A massive fleet crowded the ocean, cutting through the water like knives and extending far into the horizon. There were hundreds of ships, the smallest still several times the size of any Ferren vessel. The largest of them were as large as a castle, sending up waves as they passed and rumbling forward like titans.

What were they? An invasion seemed plausible, considering the scope, but from where was impossible to guess. To my knowledge, the only other known civilization was the Tinkerers of the Wandering Cities to the south. But they had never attempted to expand into the ocean. Besides them, small settlements dotted the wilds to the east and north, but nothing this expansive or organized.

Breaking into my theorizing was a voice from my future counterpart, which I noticed sounded a hair deeper than my own.

"Your Majesty, I must recommend that you retreat to the secondary lines, where Elden can protect you. I plan to engage their fleet and attempt to cut them down, but my magic is often destructive. In battle, it could prove challenging ensuring your safety."

"Not to worry, Archmagus. I have complete faith in your abilities!" a booming voice shouted with a hint of warmth.

I turned, finding the current ruler King Lyos standing all of thirty feet away. I had glimpsed the man once before, from a reasonable distance away. He had come to the estate to meet with the Duke and discuss some sort of business. It took careful planning to "accidentally" stay too late in the main building while studying, a mistake that left Girem furious.

He had been a giant of a man, well built and youthful, appearing closer to twenty years than his actual forty. Rumors said he paid a fortune in alchemic solutions, eager to halt as much aging as possible. Alchemists had yet to discover immortality, but living for a century and appearing far younger was simple enough for the wealthy and powerful.

Here, he looked only a few years older than I remembered, which seemed...impossible. As a rule of thumb, nobility appeared half their age, and here, he looked maybe thirty. That meant this had to take place a decade or two from now. But that was impossible, or at least it should be.

Then again, most of what I had seen so far should be impossible. I was a commoner, trained to advise and assist, and yet my visions claimed I would become an Archmagus, the highest rank in the lands.

My counterpart's posture tensed for a moment, his jaw clenching as he half-turned towards us. If he had a rebuttal, he remained silent before reaching to his hip and drawing the sword in a single, practiced motion as he stepped forward. The blade was gorgeous, made of dark blue-black metal with a white edge and shimmering gold runes along its flat. He adjusted his grip, the markings glowing piercing green as a swirl of matching energy rippled along its length.

"If you must, please take several steps back, your majesty. My magic is difficult at the best of times, and I lack the luxury of holding back."

He thrust the sword into the air, mana following the motion as it billowed forward. What began as a trickle soon became a river as wide as a man, flowing into the sky. My mouth dropped open, and I felt my legs go weak as I watched an object form.

Above our heads, another sword had taken shape, a mirror image of the smaller blade but massive and comprised entirely of emerald mana. It was at least a hundred feet from tip to hilt and angled down towards the incoming fleet. Even unmoving, it seemed to generate a sort of presence, almost a palpable weight.

The mana flow slowed and then stopped, and the Archmagus paused for a moment, seeming to consider his actions before slashing downward. There was a brief delay before the ethereal blade followed, toppling over with the weight of certainty and crashing into the fleet.

The horrific mixture of shattering wood, twisting metal, and dying screams that filled the air sent a chill down my spine. Somehow, I knew that sound would follow me into my dreams for years to come. Dust and rock flew into the air, mixing with water into a cloud that blasted towards us, just ahead of a tidal wave. Without bothering to move, runes along the Archmagus' shoulders flared to life, green mana rising again. Three overlapping translucent spheres appeared in a heartbeat, a defensive spell, I assumed.

The waves parted around the shield, the outermost layer bending and flexing under what had to be thousands of pounds of water. Shards of rock, metal, and wood slammed into the surface, leaving small cracks but did not penetrate. The onslaught lasted several minutes before abating, the shielding falling a few seconds later, leaving an untouched circle around the three of us.

"That was...impressive, Archmagus. Well done." King Lyos remarked, sweat on his forehead as he walked forward, placing a hand on my counterpart's shoulder.

I did not need to look over to guess the expression on his face but could see the brief tensing of his body from the corner of my eye. Rather than dwell on that, I walked towards the fortress walls' edge, reminding myself that I had no weight or substance in this place. Injuries were impossible on the Astral Plane.

All those assurances did nothing to lessen the shaking in my hands or phantom nausea that hit me as I observed what I had wrought. Or rather, what I would wreak, in time.

A crevice split the ocean, fifty feet across and thousands of feet long, starting at the coastline and extending towards the horizon. The depths sunk into inky blackness as seawater poured inside like a waterfall, dragging nearby ships into the abyss.

Mages were strong; that was common knowledge. Even the weakest could kill a man with a hand wave. But this? This was not a battle but a massacre—a culling of thousands. As I thanked whatever gods existed that I could not vomit here, my future self began speaking.

"Your gratitude is appreciated, my lord, but I am afraid this is where you must leave. The battlefield has become too dangerous, and I cannot ensure your safety and fight to my full capabilities."

King Lyos' mouth opened, but before he could reply, another set of runes flared, and a swirl of green mana surrounded the monarch. There was a popping sound, and the man vanished. A half-second later, the symbols for his shield winked on, and there was an explosion of noise.

It took me a moment to realize what had happened. The man had moved so fast that my mind struggled to catch up.

It looked as if he fell from the sky, landing with enough force to shatter rock as he brought down his weapon on the Archmagus' head. His skin was pale, his face almost impossibly attractive with perfectly proportioned features, and his hair waist length with a purple coloring that nature could not produce. His clothing was unusual, loose and flowing with bracers made of metal and leather, light shoes, and a sash hanging from his hips.

The blade he carried was also unfamiliar, as long as he stood tall but thinner than any claymore I had seen. The air around it looked hazy, then the same sort of appearance as hot stone on a summer day. Just staring at it gave me a headache, and I winced before turning to my future self.

He wore a forced smile, watching as the second layer of his shield creaked and groaned, the first shattering under the attack.

"Good afternoon, invader. I sensed you out there, you know. Truthfully, I hoped that attack would take you out, but that was too much to ask for, it seems. The hard way it is."

His eyes flared green as, all along both arms, runes blazed. Untold numbers of swords appeared, turning the air around the two into a blur of motion. The Archmagus leaped backward as the other man simply vanished. There was the sound of shattering glass and brief flickers of movement in the space where he had stood, and a chill ran down my back.

I had thought he used magic to turn invisible or maybe teleported away, but the truth seemed impossible. This man was somehow moving so fast I could only see him during the brief moments when he struck down each conjured blade. Those attacks slowed him down just a hair, enough to make his movements visible.

How in the hell was he moving like that? Magic existed to augment bodies, but I had never heard of anything approaching this degree of improvement. Every moment I was here raised more questions.

Seconds passed as blades continued to materialize, increasing in volume as the Archmagus concentrated his efforts. The air turned green as motes of mana filled the air, and the stone beneath our feet cracked and tore under the onslaught. Yet even to my inexperienced eyes, I noticed the swordsman was moving closer even while weathering the attacks. He was winning, slowly but surely.

My future counterpart must have sensed the same thing, vanishing in a swirl of mana and reappearing in the air high above. One hand angled down, continuing the barrage while the other pointed towards the sky, sword still in hand. Another massive blade began forming, even faster than the first, but the invader seemed unwilling to allow that.

A lightning-fast spin destroyed every blade within six feet of him, and he tensed, pushing off the stone and leaving a crater behind. His jump carried him a hundred feet high, directly at the Archmagus.

The Archmagus flew backward, but the invader seemed to pivot, following his path with barely a loss in speed. At such distances, details were impossible to make out, but it was clear that my counterpart was on the defensive, constantly trying to regain space.

The battle ended in a flash, the momentum fatally shifting too far to one end. There was a blur, a flurry of flickering strikes, and the sound of shattering glass that echoed for hundreds of feet as the mana shields fell. The invader swept his arm in a lazy arc, but the Archmagus tensed, a mass of green surrounding him. If this haphazard defense did anything, it was not much as the strike threw him down to the fortress blow.

He struck the stone, a sickening thud echoing out as he bounced twice, wet snaps coming from his body. The Archmagus tried to rise, but I saw red-stained bones sticking out from his clothes, and he grimaced, falling flat onto his back. Despite the horrific injuries, mana rose again as if he intended to continue the fight.

Only to vanish as a sword fell in a mimicry of the mana blade spell from earlier, slamming into his chest and slicing through flesh effortlessly. The force was so great it sunk down to the hilt, pinning the man to the stone underneath.

He let out a strangled gasp, a hand grasping at the hilt with wide eyes as his mouth gaped. The sword's owner drifted to the ground, landing with barely a sound before walking forward. He moved like a dancer or a hunter, stopping five feet away and staring down the Archmagus with a look that screamed disinterest.

He spoke then, a handful of words in a language utterly alien to my ears. I understood three languages but could not make heads or tails of his speech. It bore no resemblance to either Ferren dialect and even less to Trade-Common used by caravans and traders to the Tinkerers.

If my future self knew any different, he did not indicate as much. Instead, he smiled with red-flecked teeth and gave a wet, rasping laugh, eyes still glowing emerald green.

"You won this t-time, you bastards. Was a longshot, but next time will be different. See you then."

And with those final words, his mana erupted outward, a massive circle forming under his body. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of crisscrossing lines spread out fifty feet in each direction. A half-dozen concentric circles and indecipherable runes filled nearly every inch, and the glow became as bright as the sun ahead, blinding in its ferocity.

My head spun, an agonizing stab ripping through my chest as the mist reverberated, rebelling against whatever was around. I squeezed my eyes shut, clutching at both sides of my head and wishing that whatever he had done would stop, only for my desperate pleas to be answered as the pain vanished.

Slowly cracking open one eye, I saw that the fortress and coastline were gone, along with the invader. I had returned to the flat white mists of the Astral Plane.

But I was not alone.

"Looks like it worked. Lucky for us, right?" my future self said, turning to me with a grin as he placed one hand on his hips.