In our great Empire, Loftborn are raised more strictly than in almost any other country of western Atus. Parents raise their children with two hopes: the first being that they will continue the family line, and the second being that they will receive a Brand. Though other cultures abhor the Shadow Path, no such compunctions hold back the Loftborn of Ostros. Bright or Shadow, it matters not to them which road is taken. Power is sought above all.

As a result, the education of Loftborn children is considered barbaric by Lowborn standards. Though up until the age of thirteen, the children are nurtured as future heroes, once they come of age, the trials begin. They are abandoned in the wilderness, thrown into baugh dens—in short, subjected to any number of dangerous or deadly challenges. The general perception that half of all Loftborn will never reach adulthood is not unfounded, but the true toll is less than that, with perhaps one-fifth of Loftborn perishing before the age of fourteen.

The families all have their methods of awakening Brands in their children, and the successful ones hoard their secrets jealously. These are the old and powerful Loftborn houses that have existed since before our nation’s conception. It is certain that they accumulate the knowledge of their ancestral Branded, stockpiling a wealth of information regarding classes, skills, and titles that lay outside of common knowledge. These are the secrets that no Lowborn Branded will ever have access to, and it is one of the reasons why the power structure of Ostros has remained essentially unchanged throughout the centuries, despite the efforts of the Triumvirate to weaken the standing of the great houses.

For unaffiliated Branded, progression is a daunting task: one that requires careful research and more than a little bit of luck. Despite this, nearly all recorded instances of Sovereignty in Ostros originate from these unaffiliated Branded. Very few Sovereigns or Potentates have been born into a Loftborn house (though plenty have gone on to form their own houses).

Why, despite there being a far larger concentration of Branded in these dynasties, do they fail to generate Sovereigns? Why do Lowborn Branded, who so often struggle to reach the fifth Tier, see more instances of this phenomenon? These are some of the questions we will investigate in the following pages.

Excerpt from ‘Heroes: Archaic and Modern,’ by Lenem Var.

Vanalath slowly dragged the tip of his sword against the stone at his feet, generating a scraping sound. His eyes were half-closed as he observed the figure across from him with a lazy air. Opposite him, his adversary stood warily. By the set of his shoulders, it seemed the noise unnerved him. Vanalath kept it up, waiting for the figure to make his move.

Orimo’s wrist twitched, and Vanalath leaned out of the way as a knife that would have driven itself through his eye instead whistled by his ear. He kicked off against the stone and dashed forward, watching his wrists. They were the telling factor. When the telltale twitch came again, he ducked, the second knife sailing overhead. Orimo made the motion a third time, but when Vanalath moved, nothing came. A feint. At that moment, Orimo launched a fourth one at his blind spot. As soon as the wight became aware of the feint, he had hit the ground rolling, making himself a moving target. Thanks to that, the fourth knife only nicked his shoulder. He sprang back to his feet in a swift motion, sword raised defensively.

But Orimo was missing. Vanalath, on high alert, slowly scanned his surroundings. He stood on the wide, flat boulder in the northeastern pass where the two of them had originally fought. The Standing Stone loomed overhead. There weren’t many places the man could hide here. There hadn’t been enough time for him to make it to the tree line. A few uneven portions of this large boulder jutted out, however, so perhaps he was behind one of—

Something shot out from a crack in the stone to his left. A crack that had been too small for anyone to fit inside. He had misjudged.

Vanalath gritted his teeth, bringing his sword around to parry the dagger wielded by Orimo. As soon as he successfully blocked, he turned his head to the side, eyes down. A knife thudded into his skull an instant later.

Vanalath had learned by now that given the slightest chance, Orimo would attempt to drive a throwing knife through his eye socket. Fortunately, the wight’s skull was too hard for the small blades to penetrate, hence his decision to take the blow where he could resist it. The dagger, on the other hand, was more than capable of piercing his brain.

Vanalath summoned his strength, pushing out with his sword that was still locked against the dagger and flinging Orimo backwards. With his considerable might, the hunter was sent flying off the boulder, only able to let out a short grunt of surprise.

Then, a flash of inspiration struck. While Orimo was still midair, Vanalath launched his sword after him. The blade hurtled forward, homing unerringly towards his chest. There shouldn’t have been any way to counter it. Orimo couldn’t dodge without purchase, and he didn’t have the strength or time to deflect or block it.

But was Vanalath certain about that? What if the hunter had something up his sleeve?

The hunter blurred—literally. His outline grew fuzzy and indistinct. Time slowed to a crawl, and the sword—inches from the man’s chest—hung motionless in the air. The rest of the surroundings followed suit after Orimo, blurring and becoming less certain.

Vanalath grimaced and walked forward, picking his sword where it hung motionless in the air. He ended the fight with a quick swipe of the blade. The blurred Orimo was decapitated. Then, he dissolved, turning into millions of indistinct particles that scattered like dust.

Vanalath opened his eyes and was met with the sea of dead grasses that carpeted the floor of the Cradle. A sour taste filled his mouth as he realized his failure. His lack of imagination struck again. He had attempted a new strategy in that fight, but he didn’t know enough about Orimo for his mental construction of the hunter to respond properly. Perhaps if he did know more, it wouldn’t be such a challenging duel for him.

He had “built” Orimo in a way, resurrecting the hunter as he had been in their first fight, without his injuries. Vanalath used all the knowledge he had gathered on the man during their two fights and through later conversations with him. Vanalath took away the man’s bow in this engagement, since Orimo couldn’t use it in close quarters and, at range, Vanalath would always lose.

Furthermore, he had removed the other distractions of the fight, such as the other hunters and undead, as well as the man’s daughter, Lae, who Vanalath finally realized had been present at that final moment, playing a part in Orimo’s defeat. He’d discovered that final bit of information only recently. He had never seen the girl himself, but painstakingly reconstructing the events of the fight multiple times made it clear that the presence of someone on the ledge above them had distracted the hunter. Afterwards, Orimo’s plea in the gray world made much more sense. Fear for his daughter’s life had been the man’s last coherent thought, most likely.

Vanalath became capable of performing all of these mental feats only recently, after his Conceptualization leveled up from two to three. Yesterday—three days after agreeing to work together with Rellika—he’d already given up on training Conceptualization and was instead focusing on Swordsmanship. Amusingly, that was when the skill he had given up on decided to level up. It had taken him aback, but he shelved those thoughts and began to test the capabilities of Conceptualization, leading to his imaginary battles against Orimo.

Novel as the training was, it was difficult to tell how effective using Conceptualization like this was. Was he really fighting Orimo at all? For instance, in the battle just now, after launching his blade, Vanalath hadn’t known how Orimo would react, which led to the fake Orimo not knowing how to react himself, which had ended the fight prematurely. Did he need more information? More spars against the real Orimo?

Despite the errors, there were still elements that made him feel he was dueling the man. Earlier, Orimo had disappeared for a few seconds after hiding in the crack in the stone that appeared far too small for him. How could a mental construct do something that Vanalath didn’t expect? How could Vanalath hide from himself? Surely he had known Orimo was in that crack—yet he hadn’t.

Conceptualization was possibly his most confusing skill. It had a wide range of uses, and Vanalath was becoming more and more aware that he wasn’t using it to its full potential.

In a fight, a skill like Orimo’s Intuition seemed more useful. Conceptualization was limited by available information. If Vanalath didn’t know something, he couldn’t react to it. Intuition, on the other hand, appeared to operate off unknowns, providing warning to Orimo when an unforeseen danger arose.

The skill wasn’t easy to get a handle on. For Vanalath to utilize it correctly, he needed to process all the information and make the correct judgement in all situations. He was a little envious of Intuition and the way it allowed Orimo to generally choose a good course of action without overthinking. Perhaps it didn’t have the same precision as Conceptualization, but it certainly appeared less taxing.

Also, since bringing Conceptualization to level three, a memory had been playing in the back of Vanalath’s mind, another scene from the time when he was alive. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. He had been struck by sudden memories from long ago before this. Often, the flashbacks came unbidden, but in this case he had been actively pushing the recollection aside.

It made him uncomfortable, these scenes from another time. The emotions that they conjured up in him were alien, like those of some exotic animal. He could understand them, perhaps, but he couldn’t empathize with them. It was just too distant from his current self.

He might have continued ignoring this memory, but as he continued to ponder on his skill, the memory only became more prominent.

Vanalath closed his eyes, stilling his thoughts. In his mind’s eye, he walked along a path in a large garden by a woman’s side. The two of them appeared to be in the middle of a conversation.

“Student of mine, you don’t have the talent for this path,” said the woman. “You’re a Spell Warden with more emphasis on the ‘spell’ than the ‘warden.’ Even with that old monster’s training, you won’t ever become a master with the blade. I may not be a warrior myself, but I have seen enough of them for me to make this judgement. If you keep up with this fruitless hope, an Ancient rank will always be out of reach. Templar… a divided class like that simply isn’t suited for you. You would make an astounding Sage, or perhaps even a Thaumaturge. I would be more than happy to accept you as an apprentice should you choose one of these classes. Why so fixated on Templar? Why not focus on what you have the talent for and leave the swordplay to the knights? Leteyar knows we have enough of them running about already.”

His vision shifted to the side, giving him a look at the person lecturing him. Vanalath realized he was seeing the scene through the eyes of a younger version of himself, like his other memories. He was taller than he had been in his last memory, however—still not fully grown. The woman was of some indeterminable age. Her smooth face was free of lines, but traces of silver had worked their way into her dark hair. She wore a black scholar’s robe, and held a large scroll under one arm.

She turned to him, eyes concerned.

“These words hurt,” she said. “I can read that much from you. But words that hurt are often what we need to hear the most. Think about it from a different perspective, Vanalath. In the past two hundred years, thousands of young men and women have attempted to emulate the Illuminator, and even with the Sovereign in question searching for an inheritor, none have yet to succeed. Your attempt to recreate the journey of the Azure Tyrant is an even higher hurdle than theirs, as the later divides of his path were lost long ago. But even if he were here to aid you, the mighty do not become strong because they followed the footsteps of another. You must forge your own way.”

The boy bit his lip. “It isn’t like that. I’m not—I’m not trying to become some great hero or anything.”

“Then why persist with this daydream?” she asked, sounding honestly perplexed.

“…That doesn’t matter. Please, let’s forget about this. Can we continue the talk about my skill?”

The woman stared at him for a while longer.

“Lady Idovana. The skill I unlocked this morning. Conceptualization.”

She sighed, closing her eyes. “Very well. I can see you won’t be convinced so easily. Frankly, when you came to me to tell me you had gained this skill, I was shocked. Of all the known perception skills, it is among the most useful for a mage. Despite that value, very few ever gain it. Many of my colleagues aren’t even aware of its existence. This skill, along with your considerable mist reserves, resulted in my attempt to sway you. Forgive me for that, it isn’t the place of a teacher to control the class of her students.”

“That’s all right. I can tell that it was only out of worry,” he politely responded. “So, it’s a rare skill, then?”

He couldn’t quite manage to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Indeed. Not only is it rare, but it is unique in function. Though I called it a perception skill earlier, that isn’t quite right. Functionally, that is the role it performs, but it doesn’t heighten any of your senses. It is a mental skill, which—as you know—is the rarest sort. It contains both a passive and active component. Passively, it gathers available information and combines it, improving your awareness of your surroundings. At the foundational level, it won’t have much effect. You might notice yourself unconsciously avoiding things that might trip you, or when you lose a small object you might locate it more easily. This passive component is, of course, limited by your base perceptions. It will not allow you to hear anything too faint for your ears or let you see in the dark. It’s an all-around skill with no weaknesses, but no true strengths on its own. The true value of the passive component comes when—if—you receive a second sensory skill.”

“A second skill? That’s really difficult to do, right? From what I’ve heard.”

“Right, it is uncommon for Branded to receive two perception skills. Most only ever obtain one, but this isn’t some ingrained rule of the world. It is only the result of a Branded’s overreliance.”

“What do you mean?”

“Branded tend to become reliant on the first perception skill they gain, pushing aside their weaker senses in favor of the strong one. If you can see through walls, would you waste time placing your ear against a door, listening for someone on the other side? This isn’t merely a psychological phenomenon: in many cases, even when Branded are aware of their overreliance, they cannot do anything about it, since most sensory skills are passive in nature. The Branded continue to receive information fed to them by this skill and cannot ignore it to train up another sense.

“Fortunately for you, Conceptualization does not have this problem. It is a skill that effectively strengthens all of your senses without strengthening any of them.”

“Huh?” he blurted out, unable to help himself. “Why is that fortunate?”

“You can’t see by now? Because it places you at a new baseline. You can think of yourself as having no sensory skill yet. It should be just as easy—or even easier—for you to gain a second skill.”

“Wow…”

“You were working towards a different skill when you received Conceptualization, right? Was it something like Tremorstep?”

“Ripple.”

“Ah, yes. A favorite of knights for its use on the battlefield. Ripple is another all-rounder, much like Conceptualization, so I see why you accidentally attained Conceptualization instead. The two skills would pair nicely, though I believe something with more specificity would serve you better. Well, that isn’t my place. There are other teachers you can access who will point you in the correct direction.”

The conversation fell into a slight lull.

“Lady Idovana?”

“Yes?”

“What about the active component? You only explained the passive one.”

The two of them reached the end of the garden path, and the scholarly woman approached a stone table that had been built under the roof of a patio. She placed her scroll on the table, unfurling it and placing weightstones along the edges to hold it open. The young Vanalath’s eyes glanced over it, but only saw a thick wall of symbols in some language he did not recognize. There must have been thousands of runes crammed onto the surface of the parchment.

Idovana spoke. “Memory. That is the active component. Passively, Conceptualization signals a great increase in awareness, but the active ability is what makes it so desirable for mages. If you can train it to higher levels, the skill will give you an almost perfect memory of things. You can see why a spellcaster might want it, yes? For one whose knowledge is the greatest source of their power, Conceptualization is a great boon. I hope you will describe to me—in great detail—what your thought process was like when you received this skill. It may already be too late for me to secure it for myself, but recording the process behind the acquisition of such a rare skill isn’t a chance that comes around every day.”

From somewhere in her voluminous robes, she retrieved a smaller scroll, along with a quill, placing the two objects on the table by the first parchment. It seemed she was preparing to document Vanalath’s experiences.

“Before that,” he interjected, “Aren’t there other skills that do the same thing as this one? I’ve heard of skills that give people perfect memories before. It shouldn’t be all that rare, right?”

Idovana shook her head. “No two skills operate exactly the same way. There are other memory-related skills, but altering one’s mental state is always a risky prospect. Skills that affect the mind are not matters to be taken lightly. They all have byproducts, some going so far as to drastically change the personalities of their users. Conceptualization simply has fewer of these side effects than most.”

Vanalath frowned. She said that it had fewer side effects, not none.

“What are—”

“Van!”

The exclamation sounded out from behind him. Vanalath jumped, surprised. Upon recognizing the voice, however, he let his head drop.

“How did she find me this time…?” he muttered.

“You shouldn’t keep bothering Lady Idovana outside of your scheduled sessions,” the speaker continued. “She has her own work to take care of, you know.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” said Idovana, speaking up for Vanalath. “The scholar and teacher halves in me both agree that helping the young Lord Strix is a task worthy of some merit. He was about to describe to me the acquisition of his most recent skill.”

“Hmm, is that right?” the voice asked. “What skill is it? I didn’t hear about this.”

Footsteps sounded out as the speaker approached. The boy turned, a resigned look on his face. The world blurred as he did, losing focus, and before he had fully faced the speaker, he sank into blackness.

Vanalath’s eyes shot open, and he whirled around, half-expecting to see the speaker. Of course, all that met his gaze with the giant stone he had been resting against. He was back in the Cradle, of course, in his standard meditation spot.

The memory proved quite informative, but what happened there at the end? His memories hadn’t ended like that before. He replayed the scene without leaving a single detail, but he couldn’t see the speaker. The memory darkened too quickly, and he couldn’t hold it together.

His brooding was interrupted when the sound of pounding feet made him look up. Anamu darted around the boulder, eyes wide.

asked Vanalath, instantly alert.

The ghoul said nothing, only pointing at the sky. Vanalath followed his gaze, peering upwards. At first, he was unsure what he was meant to see. Then, he saw movement. Birds. There were several of the creatures, circling far overhead. No, wait. There was something strange about them.

Anamu answered the question before he had a chance to ask it, mixing up his Spirit Speech in his excitement.