“I have a few questions I want to ask you before you continue your story, Lady Sorynel,” Mason stated with a confidence and clarity that defied how he really felt.

“Oh yes?” she drew out the words. “Interesting. I have a few questions for you as well.”

Faynel spoke up then and her voice wavered, but it was clear she was working hard to steel it, “You should answer his first. You… I.. We owe him that much.”

“Didn’t you save his life last night? Haven’t we protected him from our laws and his own enemies? I believe, too, we are clothing, feeding, and housing the human boy. Are you quite certain we owe him, Faynel?” Sorynel spoke not quite with a rush of energy pouring out from her, but a slow build. The room grew stuffy with its force.

Faynel dipped her head at first before going rigid, and then pulling it back up to look directly at her grandmother. “I’m certain. We’ve protected and strengthened him, so he owes us loyalty, or consideration from his people, at the least. But we also have deceived him, so we owe him answers.”

Mason barely regarded either of them during their exchange. This wasn’t about him. It was about the pecking order. It was about the respect that might lay between the two of them. For every bit as mischievous Sorynel came off, Mason could easily see Faynel pulling the same maneuvers. But it mattered how they let those cards fall between them.

The old woman continued to let her energy build, and Faynel almost balked as it began concentrating around her. Sorynel could likely kill the younger girl without moving, and everyone present knew it. But Faynel stood her ground, and waited.

After another several tense moments, the pressure spread out again, and Sorynel smiled. “Dear, where has this bravery been hiding all of these years? For you, if nothing else, I will answer the boy’s questions.”

“Then I want to know about The Trials. What is our goal in them? Is there a way out? Can I prevent my people from coming here?”

“Hm… I’ll answer your question, but I will ask mine first. I think you’ll be interested to answer,” she shot Faynel a look which broached no argument. “What is the path to power in your own world?”

Mason’s mouth fell open and his mind reeled at the question. It was… uncomfortable to even think of his world, but to think about the path to power made him feel deeply unsettled. He was about to protest that there was none, but his mind began digging at the question.

His thoughts bounced between images of King Arthur, the Pope, the president, MMA fighters and finally even banking executives. The path to power in his world? They were many and varied, but were any of them real? Surely Mason had never taken a step on any of them.

There was no notable wealth in his family. He would never even hold a small political office. The idea of rallying a militia force was almost laughable. There was absolutely no way he’d become a priest or a minister.

He did know how to code programs though. Alright, he knew how someone more talented and experienced might go about it. That was power, right? He could make machines perform tasks to his benefit. Should he try to explain programming? Should he call it technomancy?

Finally he looked up at the woman, and saw her studying him carefully. What was it that allowed her to influence her people? What allowed her to travel so far and so freely? That was her path to power. She used the source energy of the world to bring herself strength.

“Community,” Mason finally said. He took in the confused look on both women’s faces then. That was satisfying. “Humans on Earth don’t grow very strong in the best of scenarios. We’re vulnerable, and have no spells. But when we come together, we pass knowledge among one another to create great technology. We built great economies so that we can compile our labor to provide as much as possible for our people.”

“These are common skills, surely,” she said, unimpressed. “But I’ll be interested to see what shape that takes in The Trials. And your little gathering of souls within you seems to be a natural continuation of that tendency, too. Tell me then, what of your technology? What can you produce without magic to fuel it?”

Mason shook his head, “We flew through the skies, wielded weapons so powerful that we refused to use them on one another for fear of ending the world in a day. I could send a message to a million people in every corner of the world with just one device that fits in my hand. But if I were to explain it to you, most of us were like spell rune users. We took the simplified versions of the incredible things the explorers used, and benefitted.”

Nodding solemnly, Sorynel said, “A strange world you come from. These terrifying weapons-” she considered her thoughts, and changed her tract, “The Trials exist to create those in each person. We do not know the purpose, or the power behind it. But something great has brought us to this world and mandated we grow stronger. It threatens us, too.”

Faynel picked up the story then, “There are attacks. You saw the hive appeared where our paths once were. That was a Trial as we understand it. Another world brought here to challenge us. Some challenges are easier than others, but many of us believe that there are dangers we haven’t even begun to uncover.”

“Nobody has explored far past the city. The Corrosi and the goblins filled our people with fear, and our city, as well as my own strength, has served to convince the council that they can hide and pretend like nothing is different here,” explained Sorynel. “I worry that when the real challenges come, few of us will be strong enough to survive.”

“Why don’t you demand they begin training everyone in the city?” Mason asked.

“They fear me, but they do not listen to me without question. I had a difficult decision to make: allow them to die in large numbers, but let the strong be revealed, or protect them, and hope the strong reveal themselves. I worry constantly that my intervention was done in error. New Marra is too cautious. Even among those who claim to be Darkest Night, I do not believe they are bold enough.

“There are secrets to be found in this plane. Secrets that will reveal more about The Trials, and how to overcome them. But I cannot find them myself without letting our people die from mana starvation, and our people have not yet convinced themselves that the risks are worth it.”

“Is that why you went out of your way to train me?” Mason asked, uncertain if he wanted the answer.

Sorynel just laughed though, gently, “I am going to share with you what I can because you are willing and seem able to accept it. Nothing more, nothing less. If you grow strong through that, and choose to do great things with it, then you will have my gratitude. But I make no expectations.”

The snow hung in the air and the adventurer Sorynel froze in place. This was why a wise adventurer did their research before tackling a source point. What should she do?

A flex of a muscle pushed her right leg down, and she felt her body somersaulting forward. Suspended, floating, she reached back into her pack and grabbed a hook, and very carefully she thrust it forward and dug its teeth into the snow.

She grit her teeth as she felt the hook slip against the frozen earth, and watched the snow she truck begin to float and hover. The strike had disrupted her momentum and she began to float forward, but at least she hadn’t hit the ground harder. If she began to drift up…

Soryenl struck again, and this time the teeth of the hook bit. She pulled with all her might and felt herself shifting toward the ground even as the hook broke itself free. That was okay. This was alright. Her body squashed gently into the powdery snow and she shivered at the cold against her exposed skin. She had protections against the wind, but the water content of snow could still sap the heat from her body.

Gently now, she tried to bury the hook again. All she needed was to find a root, something to really latch onto so she could control her momentum.

This was the game of Source Points though, and she revelled in the unique challenge. Force. An appropriately vague term for a source point with all manner of strange abilities. Including, obviously, the absence of natural forces like gravity. The effects may not last in this area for long, but they could be deadly for exactly that reason. If an immune creature walked by before she could hook herself, she’d be nearly defenseless.

Or if she floated too high before the effects faded- well she’d find herself meet the ground more quickly than she’d like.

For now though, she was just uncomfortably drifting inches above the ground, growing colder by the moment. That was okay. Drifting slowly was fine. If she were drifting quickly, or upwards, there would be something to worry about. She just didn’t like not being anchored to the ground, but it was freeing in a way.

It could even be considered fun. More fun though if she could find somewhere for the hook to grab onto. She smashed it again into to ground and hit sooner than she expected. The shock jarred her arm, and she felt herself spinning in the air. As she flipped upside down, she lowered a leg against the ground to stop the revolution, and sighed. This was tedious.

Completely upside down, she looked around for something she might be able to drag herself to, but then groaned. She had company. It was a thick, furred thing, clearly a fat rodent of some sort, but it scurried across the ground without a care in the world. And it wasn’t lost on the adventurer that it seemed completely unaffected by the loss of gravity.

She readied her hook. There was no telling what it was, exactly. The species and beasts around a source point were many and varied, and often developed or lost abilities without any warning. And that meant there was no way to know whether or not something was dangerous usually until it was too late.

And the furry thing was scurrying closer to her. Sniffing at her. It would stop, sniff a few times, then dart a few inches away and repeat. But it was close. Maybe close enough to hit with the hook. Maybe safe enough to ignore. But it was sniffing at her. Closer and closer. And nearing her face with its long snout and mysterious powers.

Her head was tilted completely back to watch it, and it scurried right up to her face, sniffing at her forehead.

Then it bit her on the nose!

She immediately swatted out with the hook and startled it. The quick motion sent her spinning in the weightlessness, and the thing started squealing. And then it cast a spell. Force erupted out of it all at once, and suddenly the adventurer wasn’t just spinning, she was flying and twisting in the air.

At least she wasn’t raising into the sky, but she was crashing in an unknown direction at high velocity. Something struck her- or she struck it- and she grimaced as she flew through the tops of several bushes, activating her innate defenses too late.

The bushes meant roots though, so even as their twiggy branches slashed at her skin, she stretched out the hook and managed to snag it on the base of a bush after several failed attempts. The change in momentum almost pulled her arm from its socket and she cried out, but at least she managed to hold on while she came to a halt.

The adventurer took a deep breath and counted her blessings just in time for gravity to switch back on. She crashed to the ground in a tangle of bushes and swore as she rolled and pulled to try and free her many layers of clothing, pack, hook, and rope from the winter plants.

As she stood, she knew she was a disheveled mess, but she paid no mind to it. Adventuring had nothing to do with looking good. Well, not this far from the cities, anyhow. She looked about, and judging by the broken bush branches she could spot, she retraced her path back up the mountain. She hoped the gravity wouldn’t switch off as she marched.

Not long after, she had made it back to where she had been, and she angrily began to dig at a burrow in the cliff face that she presumed the furred creature had hidden in. “I’m gonna use your fur as a hat you little cretin!” she screamed in irritation. There were still twigs in her furs and though they didn’t really hurt, they weren’t supposed to be there!

What Source Master would take an insult from a tiny little rodent? Another swing of her hook cracked open the roof of its hideaway and she dropped the hook to reach in and grab it. She could feel it squirming, but it wouldn’t dare release a wave of force like that in such a small space.

It struggled in her hands as she tried to pull it out, but a crash behind her restored her to her senses. She let go and felt it scratch ineffectively at her glove, then she quickly picked up her hook, stood, and ran as the ground continued to shake below her.

“Mana damn me,” she swore as she looked behind her.