Stroud drummed his fingers lazily atop the makeshift desk he had built from the old crates in his room. Currently strewn in front of him were all the notes he’d written on the Disciplines of Arcana, derived from his meager selection of readings.

‘My clearest advantage lies in my supreme affinity with Primal magics. However, that doesn’t tell me which subcategory within that field I should pursue...’

Just like how those with an Elemental affinity tended to specialize in a single element, Primal attuned Magi would want to prioritize one of the three divisions within their Discipline: Evocation, Abjuration, or Invocation.

There were methods to further test his affinity with each one, but they required expensive consumable resources and there was no chance the Baron would purchase them on his behalf.

‘But before I should even consider that, there are still many hurdles to cross.’

The most obvious of which was his damaged Sea of Nura.

Stroud’s mouth plunged into a grim frown.

Based on his current understanding of the power confluences of Magi, he was doomed without it — just as Baron Marwood had said.

Located below the navel, the Sea of Nura served as the furnace through which Magi fueled their spells. Through many diverse methods of meditation — or aeditari as its widely known — one would draw in the ambient arcane energy suffusing the atmosphere and store it in their Sea where it undergoes processing to eventually settle as concentrated essence, Nura. The Nura is then channeled into the Spirit Locus in the brain where it invokes stored spell imprints, allowing Magi to disregard lengthy incantations or the use of external materials.

Thus, even if it was possible for Stroud to engrave spells in his Spirit Locus, without any Nura stored within his body, he couldn’t truly call himself a Magus. And that was only the beginning of his problems.

As someone of a common background, he was severely limited in his access to runes, sigils, and all of the other advanced knowledge related to spell models and their casting.

He could be certain that the Baron likely had some, but most groups and individuals — especially among the nobility — were very particular about who they shared those types of resources with. There was often a legacy attributed to them, and no sane person would willingly share their advantages and inheritance with outsiders.

To counteract the hoarding of information and suppress the discontent of the masses after a long and bloody rebellion in the Empire, various schools of arcane learning, known as the Arca Disciplinariums or Arcaniums, had been founded. They were scattered all across the Draimor Empire, and in an even greater number within the northern vassal states such as Redenia. Ideally, he would enter one and absorb all the knowledge therein before moving on.

In fact, that was precisely what people with a status similar to his own often did. Following the signing of the Accords of Nenea a few centuries past, people of all backgrounds could gain admittance to the Arcaniums, contingent upon passing an exam. Nonetheless, as a cripple, entering into the selections was not a possibility.

Stroud had a few contingencies set in place that didn’t rely on the Baron’s benevolence, but none of them were particularly ideal. He would need money for a healer — lots of it.

‘Maybe I should—'

“Stroud? May I come in?” Celina’s voice outside the door interrupted his ruminations.

“One moment!” he called out in reply, shuffling the dry slips of parchment into a neat stack. After tucking them under his mattress and stubbing a toe along the way in his rush, Stroud opened the door for his guest, wincing in pain. It wasn’t that there was anything inherently wrong with what he was researching, but his secrecy was rooted in habit and his wariness of this world.

“What’s all the fuss?” the woman huffed as she entered. “I warned you that I would be visiting this evening.” She sat down atop the stool in front of the desk, staring at him intently as he plopped onto the bed.

“Apologies, Mother. I was sorting through some of my things and didn’t want to leave out a mess.”

“Stroud, you can always speak to me if there’s anything bothering you…” Celina started, her forehead creasing into lines of worry.

“It’s nothing. I was only… thinking over the results of my meeting.” Stroud sighed as he leaned back against his bed frame.

“Then I take it there’s no change?”

“None yet.” Stroud shook his head. “Though, my affinities were by-in-large very good,” he added in a self-deprecating tone.

Celina’s jaw moved up and down, seeming to chew on her next words before she spoke, “Do not give up hope, Stroud. For all the suffering you have endured, there will be a bright future ahead…”

Stroud exhaled a deep breath. This was not the first time Celina had encouraged him so, and it wasn’t something he could fully understand.

She was the one who always advocated for his studies, and had sought out the Baron to rent the resonance gems for his reading. But why? They lived a generally peaceful life here; wanting for not and serving a humane lord.

Celina held a degree of sway over matters of the manor and was well-respected by her subordinates and superiors alike. Yet, she seemed the most desperate at times to see him become a Magister.

Stroud tried his best to hide his inner turmoil, but the woman saw right through him.

“What’s the matter?”

“...Why?” Stroud uttered, his voice coming out hoarse.

“What mother wouldn’t want the best for her child?” she asked rhetorically, picking up on his meaning. “Magisters are the ones who stand at the pinnacle of society, and no longer is their ascension restricted by birthright. You have the opportunity to become someone who stands on equal footing with the Baron — or to even elevate your status further!”

Celina stood up and moved over to Stroud. She next down next to his bed and took his hands into her own. “The kingdom needs more good men like you. I don't wish to simply fill your head with fanciful thoughts. I really believe that you will achieve great things if you put your mind to it. This injury will not be where your road ends.”

“...I am not someone as kind and gracious as Baron Marwood,” Stroud whispered, turning his head away from Celina’s burning gaze.

“You’re right. You are so much more. You possess a determination that he doesn’t. Bravery and poise. Have faith in yourself, Stroud.”

“I do, but—”

Celina’s brow furrowed again as she raised a hand. “No buts. Continue on. Always. And a path will open up. It may not be the one you expect, but never allow yourself to think you are completely out of options.”

‘How true that rings…’ Stroud sighed inwardly as he nodded resolutely. ‘If only it didn’t take me an entire lifetime and centuries within the chasm to see the truth of those words.’

Speaking with his adoptive mother, it was easy to understand why the original Stroud revered the woman. She had a way of instilling confidence and warmth into those around her.

“Here. Take this,” she added as he briefly lost himself in thought. From within her long coat, Celina procured a scroll. She ferried it to him tenderly, as one might when holding a newborn.

“What’s this?” Stroud inquired as he carefully received it.

“It was my husband’s family sigil. Originally, he wanted to pass it down to our child, so that he or she may continue to spread the Aleksander family name… And although that never came to pass, I know he did not want the legacy to die out with him. There is no more suitable candidate than you to take up the mantle.”

Stroud hesitated, looking to her for affirmation before he unfurled the ancient scroll. Celina smiled fondly, giving him a supportive nod.

All his countless years of emptiness seemed to fade from his mind like the whispers of a forgotten dream. At that moment, naught but anticipation flowed within him. With a racing heart, Stroud pulled the frayed binding loose and allowed the parchment to unravel.

Inside, there was a complex drawing consisting of interlocking geometric symbols, lines, and curves. His eyes scanned over it, trying to make some sense of the connections but he was entirely unable to. Fortunately, there were some footnotes in the bottom right-hand corner of the page that shed some light on the sigil’s nature.

Imbuement of Strength

Tier 1, Invocation

Runes: Apell, Inda, Vas

Allows the user to draw power from their Nura for as long as they are able to sustain the spell.

“It may not seem like much, but with only the strength of an Apprentice — this sigil allowed Reed to become the most decorated knight serving under the late Baron, Christopher.”

“I don’t doubt it. There is great potential in this spell,” Stroud assured Celina after seeing the worry in her eyes. “Are you sure you wish to leave it in my care?”

“You would question my discretion?” Celina quipped, sending him a reproachful glare.

“Of course not,” Stroud chuckled, pulling the scroll tighter into his embrace. “...Thank you, Mother.”

Celina reached out to run her fingers through his mess of short dark hair as she was so fond of, combing it into a neat and somewhat presentable shape. “There is no need to thank me, Stroud. I only ask that you don’t hesitate to speak with me about your concerns.”

“I will…” He couldn’t help but cast his eyes away. Her affection was almost too much to bear.

“Good. Now I’ll allow you some time alone to puzzle over the sigil and whatever other notes you were just working on before I interrupted.” Celina re-adopted her matronly glare as she stood. “But don’t let it distract you from your regular duties. The next week or so will be especially busy with the preparations for the young Madam’s coming-of-age.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll see to it that everything is properly handled.” Stroud’s smile was pure, only happiness lingering beneath for maybe the first time since he entered this world.

He rushed Celina out of the room and immediately returned to his desk to pour over the sigil. His understanding of them could only be considered surface-level at best, but he was enthralled by the profound nature of their existence.

How could this — a symbol, allow someone to possess superhuman strength?

It was unbelievable, even to him who had experienced magic firsthand on multiple occasions. Surely, there must be some other secret to it. One that only the select few were privy to.

Yet, the proof he held within his hands could not be denied. Celina would never mislead him, and his own readings suggested that it really was as simple as it appeared. Although, appearances could be deceiving. Hidden within the sigils were layers of profound principles that every Magus needed to unravel for themselves.

And the heart of these truths came down to runes, Stroud knew. Derived from an ancient language used by the first Magi, they represented the various means those pioneers discovered related to manipulating arcane energy. By joining runes together in different combinations to create a sigil, one could cast a proper spell.

Most of the books Stroud had read seemed to dramatically oversimplify the concept of spellcasting; either glossing over it or forgoing the mention of runes altogether, leaving him with many a headache and unanswered questions.

However, there was a more pressing matter to concern himself with currently. This was a fully fleshed out sigil in his hands. Capable of translating Nura into a spell. There was no need to dissect it right away. Rather, he wanted to imprint this sigil into his Spirit Locus as soon as possible. It was a strenuous process that could take multiple weeks, or even seasons, and hinged upon the fact that one’s mindscape was properly excavated and prepared beforehand.

He’d gotten a head start, but Stroud still had a long way to go before the first layer of his mindscape would be wholly cleared. So with that in mind, he settled into a comfortable position and steadied his breathing. His patience and awareness had long been thoroughly tempered as a soul, and with some previous practice, it didn’t take much effort to retract his consciousness into the Spirit Locus.

It was a center of power for all Magi. Said to be located inside the head — behind the glabella.

Stroud had been stunned the first time he entered the space. Was this something only people of this world were born with? Many believed in similar existences to the Sea of Nura and Spirit Locus in his old world. Maybe it was only the presence of arcane energy here that allowed the residents of the Terram Vagari to tap into it directly.

Unfortunately, Stroud's current insights only allowed him to make such broad and sweeping conjectures. For now, he could only accept things as they were. Settling his mind, he gazed over the space.

The mindscape was gray and foggy and shaped like a hemisphere that he looked down upon from a birds-eye view. His objective here was to slowly wipe away the sludge-like mist; like one might do when clearing the fog from a windowpane. But Stroud knew that he couldn’t just proverbially swipe away at will. The process began from the hemisphere’s focal point and proceeded outwards in strictly defined areas of an ever-increasing size that had been designated after generations of intensive study. The end result would look like a diagram of the layers of the atmosphere.

After taking a second to survey the progress of his work during the past week, Stroud’s consciousness dove down to the point where he’d left off and began to meticulously rub away the viscous fog. He continued long into the night, only stopping once to board up his window and climb into bed after an especially biting winter squall had howled through his room.

It was with great regret that his time in the Spirit Locus eventually came to an end in the early morning hours. And it wasn’t a choice he had made himself. Rather, his mind could simply no longer bear the strain and lapsed into unconsciousness.

Stroud smiled faintly as he sunk deep underneath the thick wool blankets laid across his bed.

After completing his reading and receiving a spell, this day had marked the true first step in his journey — and there would be many more to come.