Shayjol showed Mason how to meditate and follow his mana to that strange room in his soul.

“Welcome back,” Mowry said calmly as Mason’s head rose. He was still shackled invisibly on the ground, but he felt more present than the last time. Entering this place on purpose must have made a difference.

“I’m impressed you’ve managed to not get yourself killed since you woke up. Perhaps you’re not entirely worthless, Demon,” Geralt seethed, reclining on what looked like a glowing couch of mana that he had materialized.

“I’ve only been awake for less than a day,” Mason protested.

“We know,” Geralt replied.

The three were silent as the two spirits waited to see why Mason was there. Seeing he would get no help, Mason decided to get right to it.

“I didn’t know what the Staff of Mardun was capable of. Honestly, since I was brought into these… Trials?... I’ve just kind of done what I could. I mean, I cooked and ate some wild cats. This hasn’t really been the luxurious power trip I would have thought entering a world of magic might be.”

“I would not say either of us are very pleased with how the Trials have treated us either. There are certain comforts to this soul place,” Mowry gestured to the couch that Geralt had summoned, “But we are slaves, nonetheless. Geralt has agreed to an accord that we do not try to destroy one another, but as for you, we have yet to decide how to proceed.”

“Can I free you?” Mason asked, an uncharacteristic innocence in his voice and face.

“I was dead, and you consumed me wholly. That is why you have gained what little power I have, and what allows me to act as custodian to your soul. Geralt however is distinct. You could possibly purge his soul from your own, but it would require great skill.”

“Which you lack, surprising no one,” Geralt complained. “You might burn my soul up for energy if you tried, but I’m confident that it would kill you in the process,” He looked thoughtful, “At least then I could be assured of my revenge for killing my king and me.”

Mason’s face scrunched up as he looked at the large, lounging man. He was distinctly uncomfortable, but he couldn’t come to any clarity on his full thoughts. There was definitely guilt in there- after all, he had murdered the man. But Geralt was also a pretty awful man, with plenty of murders under his own conscience. And anyways, if they were here, having this discussion, was it really murder at all?

It was probably something much worse.

“I’m sorry,” Mason mustered, trying to arrange his thoughts into words that might make this complicated issue less difficult. “I guess I meant to kill you, Geralt, but to let your soul do whatever souls normally do. I meant no harm at all to you, Mowry. I guess you were just…”

“An energy source,” Mowry offered, with an expression near to amusement. “I also do not know where souls go after death, so this continued existence is a small comfort. Being a soul is not entirely unfulfilling either, and through your eyes I have seen my sister, alive and well.”

Mason sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his bindings. “Can I get unbound? It might be easier to apologize if I wasn’t locked up.”

Mowry closed his eyes and made a gesture with his hands, “No. It is only through the work that I have done that you are even able to enter this place. Your species does not lend itself to works of the soul or of magic.”

“You’re not particularly strong or sturdy, either,” Geralt added, glad to demean his captor.

“Is there any way I can fix that? Some magical quest to gather the horn of an almost extinct dragon that will grant me greater soul magic?”

“You already possess a legendary quality staff with Soul Stealing magic. I do not think artifacts or items will solve your problem,” Mowry said.

“He means you’re weak, boy.” Geralt’s mood soured and he jumped off of his chair which vanished on its own. He stomped toward Mason, “I am not merely chastising you. You are weak, and frail, and lack even the most basic abilities. Your one spell that you can cast without the staff is an atrocity. You just fling your mana at your enemies? What is the point?”

Mowry’s whole soul was at attention, ready to restrain Geralt if he grew dangerous, but the large man just leaned over to match his eye to Mason’s and said, “The Trials are no man’s friend. I was born into them, trained from a child, introduced to King Arlon and told to guard him as he was sent from the plane to grow stronger. And then you manage to kill us both without even having a damned idea what you were doing.

“Do you think your ignorance makes it better? It’s an insult.”

Geralt vanished and Mowry visibly relaxed. Walking over to Mason, he too crouched low. “He is angry, and reasonably so. But nevertheless, he will not harm you for now while I am here. But you must grow stronger, this is not a question. If you do not, you will die.”

He made several more gestures with his hands through the air before continuing to speak. “Teaching magic to a being who could not even handle mana will not be an easy task. I was not a master- I merely knew what spells I thought would keep me safe, but even to that point they did not serve me well enough.”

His hands continued to flash, and finally several glowing lines formed in the air. “You will obsess over this rune until you know everything about it. You can touch it with both your soul and mana, and I will maintain it as well as I can while you do so.”

“I don’t understand, what does that even mean?” Mason asked.

Mowry sighed, “This is the true form of a spell. It is a pattern that you can invoke with mana to create an effect. Currently you throw your mana about, but that is not only wasteful, but weak. Learn this rune, and we can begin to train your soul and body in the ways of magic.”

"Did you find common cause with the souls you consumed, Demon?" Shay asked with feigned innocence.

After making a mental note to figure out where he really stood with Shay, Mason shook his head. "Geralt, the kingsman, despises me. Torysen's brother Mowry seems to be on my side though. I think he's decided that trying to use me makes more sense than railing and rebelling from the afterlife."

Shay nodded once, "A reasonable decision. What help does he offer?"

"Well he's doing something to my soul, which I guess is why I'm able to see him and Geralt at all. But he also showed me something..." Mason thought hard, "A rune? For some reason it's hard to focus on. Like, I can almost picture it as a symbol, but when I try to trace it out in my head it changes and I can't understand where the lines go at all."

"The runic language is meant for mana, not for drawings," Shay explained.

"That actually brings up something interesting. Shay, if you can only see through Mana Sight, what can you see? If I make a scratch against a wall, can you see that? Or do you only see where mana actually flows?"

"You humans seem like very dumb children. Mana permeates all things, so we can see all things," Shay's face betrayed his lack of confidence in what he said. "On Marra, there was mana in abundance. The world radiated with it, and everything was visible. Here it is much darker. We must project mana ourselves in order to see clearly, and it can be very taxing. This city is rich in mana, and I feel better than I have since I entered the Trials."

"When I use Mana Sight I just see blinding lights everywhere. I can hardly even look at you, Shay."

"A very dumb, very blind child. Can you show me the rune?" Shay asked, returning the subject to where it was.

Mason screwed up his face in concentration, feeling out the small pool of mana inside of him and trying to comprehend its movements. "I've got nothing for you, Shay," he finally admitted. "I can't even remember what it looked like, let alone try to recreate it."

"To kill you would be a mercy. I am glad I let you live. Watching you struggle is a pleasure."

"You sound like Geralt," Mason chided.

"An evil man. Perhaps not a fool. I do not envy him his death, but I would not have begrudged him it even if I had the choice."

Mason ignored him, "About this rune though. If Mowry is holding it in my soul, is there a way that I can retrieve that?"

Shay sighed, then Mason felt an unusual sensation as Shay's mana reached out and into Mason. "Do not steal my soul, Demon. I do not like that I am doing this, but you are too dumb to guide your mana on your own." Suddenly, the bit of Mason's mana that led its movements was drawn up in Shay's much more powerful flow.

His awareness shifting, Mason was aware of the room within him that held Mowry. He saw energies flowing and circulating and felt his own identity obscure for a moment. Then he could feel the rune, and Shay's energy released, the dark boy standing and turning away as if embarrassed.

"We do not touch one another save for very rare, special occurrences. You will tell no one about this. Did you see the rune?" Shay asked, still looking away.

"I uh, I think so yeah. I can kind of touch it, but it’s unclear."

"Study it. You will need some strength if you are to speak to my people on the human's behalf."

Mason took a deep breath and activated Focus, then reaching into himself he activated mana manipulation, and felt that warm energy within him resisting his control. He Focused harder, and then slowly, steadily, it became more receptive to his suggestions.

His awareness was near the rune, so he guided the mana into it, imagining his mana like the tip of a pencil, and began trying to trace along the pseudo-3D image he had of the rune. Not unlike trying to paint an eel while it was still in water, his mana pointer kept sliding off the rune, and every little distraction - an itch on his nose or the thought that he heard someone in the hallway - was enough for him to lose control and have to wrestle with the bit of mana.

In less than ten minutes, he had broken into a significant sweat, and his head was pounding as his stamina wore down. He had gained two points in mana manipulation, and one in focus, which he considered pretty remarkable gains for the brief exercise.

But he knew nothing about the rune. In fact, if anything, he understood it less than when he had just glimpsed it in front of Mowry.

Mason considered that the shifting, unsteady nature of it represented something like that it wasbeyond 3D, but the idea of it seemed too uncertain. He wasn't very gifted in physics, so even if he tried to understand it that way, the path was limited. Perhaps it was easier to just think of it as the nature of magic- fickle, ever changing, and difficult to grasp.

The way Shay had acted, it seemed as if a rune like this were somehow elementary, and he wondered if this was something they would learn and practice in the Darkest Night equivalent of school. He was a very dumb child, indeed. Mason needed time to develop this skill so that he wouldn't be introduced to the council of the Darkest Night as the inept and inadequate new species, the hot new race ready for subjugation or destruction.

But even that skill alone was hardly enough. Mason had learned quickly that even with the assistance this world provided to helping him fight, he was still untalented even in that regard. Fighting the boar with Shay had been exciting, but he had mostly just hidden and stabbed. He could hold his own against the Biord, too, but even Bazy admitted that Biord were pretty much an embarrassment even where they came from.

So he was at least not the most embarrassing being around. There was a possibility he was capable of fighting one on one against Shay, but even that he doubted.

Musings over, Mason reactivated mana manipulation and tried to engage with the rune again, but less than two minutes later he was exhausted once more. He wanted to shout from frustration, but settled with laying down, trying his best to rest angrily.

His childishness made him laugh though, and in that there was a small sense of relaxation. He triggered Recovery and let his stamina fill back up so he could prepare for another attempt.